Last night’s bitch ‘n’ stitch was great fun. We met for pho phirst, then moved on to Algiers Coffeehouse. I think that the staff there are becoming increasingly tolerant of loitering knitters; the waitress actually asked us if we’d all made our own scarves (we had) and admired people’s projects. I got going on the intarsia part of D.’s skull and crossbones cap —  though now I’m reconsidering the skull design. If it looks too weird, I’m going to have to rip it out and start over with a new design. Goodbye, 2 hours of work; hello, repetitive stress disorder.

Anyway — I met Max, Simone, Becky, and Brianna; Tomoko and Kristen were there too. Everyone was super-cool and friendly, and Becky and Simone are advanced enough to offer tips and teach new techniques.

I just realized that I never wrote about last weekend — quite possibly the best one so far this year, kicking off with cocktails and tapas with Teresa and Ted at ZuZu. Mmm, whipped garlic. Mmmm, harissa. Unfortunately, we were too tired afterward to go see Jon Langford. At least the Mekons are coming to Boston twice next month. Mmm, Mekons.

We spent pretty much all of Saturday in bed, heh heh, though we did stumble out for dinner at Christopher’s. We got to sit right by the fireplace and had some good eavesdropping action with a bunch of having a hen party. One was involved with music therapy, but she didn’t get to talk enough — the loudest of the three made sure her friends knew she was a fan of SUVs, Starbucks, and the complete “Are You Being Served?” series.

Sunday, we started off with brunch at Renee’s, then headed to the MFA. The Sarah Sze installation was breathtaking in its detail and fluidity. It seems more a living entity than a piece of art and complements the MFA West Wing atrium wonderfully.

We got pretty well lost wandering around and discovered the William H. Lane collection of modern art. He’d acquired some wonderful pieces by Stuart Davis, Marsden Hartley, and quite a few by an artist I wasn’t too familiar with, Arthur Dove.

After all the purty pickshers, we wanted to find a relatively quiet, Superbowl-free spot to get a beer and something to eat. After vetoing anything vaguely pub-related in the Northeastern area and along Mass. Ave., I decided to introduce D. to The Other Side Cosmic Cafe. We had some tasty Rapscallion and Hobgoblin ales, a fruit/bread/cheese plate, and sammiches while we listened to the Shins and Pedro the Lion. Bliss. The staff did get pressured to turn on a TV, but they kept the sound down at least. A couple of guys stood at the end of the bar, bellowing intermittently at the screen. In response, a couple of the more tattooed staffdudes sarcastically hooted “Whoo! Football! Yeah!”. That cracked us up.