On the Slow Emergence of Springtime, Optimism, and Boston Weather.

And so this weekend, it was gorgeous.

Fifty some-odd degrees Saturday, if slightly overcast; a great day to walk around downtown and the waterfront, go to the Institute of Contemporary Art to see the Shepard Fairey exhibit, and do a little unintended puddle-jumping.

Sunday was even better: beautiful, sunny, pushing sixty if not quite making it; another great walking day. If any Bostonians weren’t outside yesterday, I weep for them. It was such sweet relief from the colorless and frigid last few months, and just a hint (one hopes) of things to come in a few weeks. It’s easy to forget Boston’s charm in the winter, when you’re holed up in your apartment, or at school, or at work, looking at the barren drear outside and wondering why the hell you ever came to this grey, bleak place.

(And this is from somebody who lived her entire life up to mid-August of last year in New Jersey.)

But yesterday, it was lovely. A friend and I walked all over, not quite knowing our way around the Mass Ave/Symphony/Pru/Christian Science/Midtown/Hynes Convention Center area as well as we’d thought, but having a really nice look at it in the process of looking for breakfast and Best Buy. With those missions accomplished, I went to meet another friend back at my place in Jamaica Plain, and from there, we had a walk around Jamaica Pond – which is really lovely, even with the grass still yellow from the winter and the pond mostly frozen over. The sun was bright, people were out – there were babies and dogs everywhere, which is always lovely when you’re not the one who has to deal with the poo. I don’t think I’ve spent that much time outside of my house since winter hit, and I think a lot of people could say the same. I think we all needed it – it was good to see Boston stretching its legs. All in all, a fantastic weather weekend.

But of course, now it’s Monday, and we’re back to snow.

I don’t mind it so much, though. Granted, I can’t say there wasn’t a groan in my heart when I walked into my living room and saw that winter grey-and-white again. But the day was kind of a relief; I can keep my one blue-skied Sunday in my pocket for now, be grateful to have had it (which I am), and recognize that while winter hasn’t given up yet, spring is definitely starting to sneak in.

Yay!

Miley Cyrus Has a Memoir.

It's true.

Nothing, but nothing, should have surprised me after Joe the Plumber got a book deal. And certainly, Ms. Cyrus' book will generate the most 'tween book sales since the release of the last turd novel in the Twilight saga.

But honestly - honestly - can this be anything but a sign of the end times for literature in America? I tend to lean toward populism in literature; snobbery doesn't help people to get reading.

But what the fuck?! Nevermind this girl's complete irrelevance to anything of any meaning or value - but she's sixteen fucking years old.

For fuck's sake!