Things have been pretty low-key this week. The weather’s stopped freaking the fuck out on us momentarily and it actually feels like June, a little. I don’t even mind a little thunderstorm or two–that’s normal enough–but, please, no more ten-day monsoons.

I was riding my bike down Boylston yesterday on my way to the gym, and a couple of school buses were idling at Berkeley Street. As I passed, some smart ass kid inside shouts out the window, “nice bike, HAR HAR HAR!” And lest any of you think it was meant as anything other than a taunt, just consider that (a) it was a thirteen year old, and (b) he was on a school bus. I shouted back: “Nice bus, HAR HAR HAR!”

I mean, first of all. YOU’RE ON A SCHOOL BUS. How COOL is that? Making fun of the guy on a bike from a SCHOOL BUS. Think about it.

I went to Wendy’s for one of those 99 cent chicken bombs sometime after that, and while I was waiting I noticed this guy I’ve seen a couple of times before in the Back Bay. I always notice him because he’s this tall, good-looking, clean-cut twenty-something in a suit WHO HAS HAD HIS EYEBROWS WAXED ALL THE WAY TO HELL AND BACK.

I can’t help but stare at this YUPPIE SIDESHOW FREAK with a sense of creeping horror, because while he looks like Bruce Willis from the nose down, he totally looks like Joan Crawford from, like, the middle of his face up. And I’m sure he has absolutely no idea. I’m sure that was not his intention. And I’m sure he thinks people are staring at him for some other reason.

What’s so dreadful about it is that his boss has obviuously not called him in to his office and said, “look, Walker, what’s with the Joan Crawford look? We’re not that kind of firm.” If his coworkers cared for him at all they would find a way to tell him.

It’s like that Snicker’s Commercial where the bald guy is wearing a Snickers toupee, and a big group of his coworkers come up to him, and one of them’s like, “Um, Steve, we just wanna let you know we know you’re bald. We think you should stop wearing the Snickers.” And Steve’s like, “Wha–whaddya mean?” And she’s like, “It’s not fooling anyone!”

If anyone at all cared about that guy they would be like, “Um, Steve, we know you think you’re Cleopatra, but enough with the sculpted eyebrows, dig?” Name and shame, people. It works. Trust me.

As JCS pointed out the other day, the park has, indeed, been mown. Whether this constitutes the extent of the “nice investment” Margie Lynch of the DCR spoke of on the phone, I can’t say. We’ll have to wait a bit to see. I certainly would not want to jump to any hasty conclusions.

Did anyone notice we have a new resident in the park? Has anyone sent over a fruit basket? On sunny mornings our new neighbor can always be found sprawled out on his favorite park bench, sleeping soundly and occasionally waking up to briefly and loudly philosophize to himself.

Now, lest anyone think I have it out for lovable vagrants or public inebriates, think again! On the contrary. I’m concerned that our benches don’t provide adequate lumbar support. That’s why I am investigating “sleep number” park benches, to see if we can’t get the DCR to provide them. Otherwise, you don’t get the deep sleep you need, and you’re tired and cranky for your evening binge. And how can you continue to be a lovable vagrant when you’re disagreeable on account of a day of tossing and turning on an uncomfortable old park bench?

Have you seen anyone evade in the new automated system so far? Have you heard of anyone doing it? Share!