We in the greater Boston area are preparing for the DNC next week in a variety of ways. Mass General Hospital is staffing up to prepare for Lord knows what. Hoteliers and restauranteurs are gnawing their fingernails in the hopes that they can fill the blocks of rooms and empty tables in a city that’s pretty much going to shut down for a week. Shipments of bioterror “chempack” antidotes are zooming Bostonward. Everything from crunchy cukes at farmers’ markets to pickup at friendly blue mailboxes is going on hiatus during the last week in July. A friend at work said she saw military personnel erecting tall black fencing around a Restricted Area on the banks of the Chuck. And I won’t even bore you with the string of highway, street, and subway station closures that will force convention-related traffic (and those few poor schlubs who can’t leave town or work from home that week) through our local streets.
In contrast to the darkish, panicky vibe of late, I noticed last week jaunty streetlight flags lining Main Street, near where I work, which read: “Destination Cambridge — the Unconventional City!” D. and I will be out of town for part of the convention (though I dreaddreaddread driving back into the city on Tuesday or Wednesday), and I’m sad that we’ll miss the Central Square World’s Fair, which was canceled last year due to lack of funds — D. has never had the chance to go, and it’s something I have happy memories of (despite one shivery run-in with a drunken, flaking-pancake-makeupped clown while waiting in line for the bathroom at the Middle East — but I’d rather not think about that now, thanks).
Luckily, the always-sparkling Somerville ArtBeat happened this weekend, and we got to spend a couple of hours wandering Davis Square (the Paris of the ’90s, doncha know) sipping raspberry lime rickeys from the perfectly named women-owned and -operated Diesel Cafe (in a former garage, with trappings from the original space) and enjoying the arts-crafts-politics booths and two stages of local musicians. This year’s theme was Play, so there were poker games happening on the traffic islands, little kids getting bike-driven canoe rides, and interactive comics-creation stations. (My favorite theme so far, though, was “Food for Thought,” with friendly artichoke and beet done by Jef Czekaj of the Handstand Command.) Our rakish friend Jim (who does damn-fine renditions of Merle Haggard and Glenn Campbell, among others, in Georgia Overdrive), volunteering for the Somerville Arts Council, had a booth where you paid to get paid compliments. (The first compliment is complimentary; otherwise, it’s three for a dollar — or 3 compliments and an ArtBeat dogtag for $3.) Much more sanitary than a kissing booth, and Jim had elderly ladies blushing happily. Kevin, Tomoko, D., and I were asked if we’d been working out (for the boys), called sex kittens (for the girls), and commended for our tight asses. We also saw folks on tricked-out-crazy bicycles racing and eating donuts, an Edith Piaf cover band, and several friends.
After a dehydrating stint in the sun, Kevin and Tomoko and Ted and Teresa and Aaron and D. and I went to Eman and Michelle’s kickball party and barbecue. I was a hurt-ankle wimpola and didn’t join in the kickball game, but managed to suck respectably at croquet and cheer on Becky and Francois at badminton. (For some reason, I kept cracking myself up by yelling “Good hustle!” at everyone. I think it was the heat.)