Wow, it's a scorcher out there, innit?

I can't complain about the weather this summer, because for the most part, especially compared to the rest of the country, it's been grand. Of course, I haven't been in the rest of the country, I've been here, but, even when you consider that, it's been pretty grand on balance, I'd say.

Even today, while roughly about as hot as the hinges of hell out in the naked sun, there's been this playful little breeze whispering "autumn!" And some of the trees on the Esplanade are listening. That's because of the dry spell we've been having, but with the unseasonably cool weather that's predominated over the last several weeks, some days it does actually feel like autumn.

I was riding on the Esplanade this morning and passed a kid in a bright orange DOT vest with a clipboard and a counter just this side of the Harvard Bridge. And then another one on the other side of the Pops foot bridge. I wondered if it might have something to do with plans, still going forward after a group squeak of horror at the idea a few weeks ago when The Globe reported on it, to close that part of the Esplanade to reroute Storrow Drive onto it for two-plus years.

After my workout I rode over to the garden. Today was Fensfest, woo-hoo!


What exactly is Fensfest, you ask? It's a little gathering with some food and a string trio in the Fens hosted by the Fenway Garden Society, during which awards are given to gardeners, recognizing their various contributions and achievements.

As many of you know, I have been snubbed the last two years, for which I have earned the rep as the Renée Zellweger of the Fenway. But this year was my Cold Mountain. I won the "Designed Beds Garden Award," which sounds a little made-up to me, but whatever—I think of it as a sort of "Lifetime Achievement" thing.

Anyway, yay Renée!

Tony won for Best Summer Color, quite deservedly. Yay, Tony!

Of course, I accepted my award graciously, but wondered aloud if the Garden Society hadn't given more awards this year than last. Like they decided that everyone should get one this year, or something—and because I don't look at gardening as a competitive sport, I like the idea of recognizing everyone's contribution—I think we're all winners at the Fenway Victory Gardens!

Yay Everyone!

But I was told that they actually gave ten less this year than last, which makes me wonder why I didn't get one last year, but whatever. I'm over it.

I asked the lovely and talented Steve, who has won Best Shade Garden two years running (yay Stevie!), who the judges were, anyway, and how they arrived at their decisions. I have, of course, seen them with their clipboards out touring the grounds and jotting down their evil notes, but I have never been clear on where they got their mandate and how they legitimize their authority.

Steve didn't know, either. But then he has never thought to ask. He has never been snubbed by the Academy.

I only stayed about an hour. I mingled a bit, almost bought a t-shirt—they had some nice fitted ones for the 65th Anniversary of the Garden Society—but then realized I didn't have any cash on me. I guess it wasn't a big surprise to me. I never carry any. I hopped on my bike and sped off to look for an ATM, ran into my friend Randal, whom I hadn't seen in yonks, near Symphony Hall, went for a drink at Woody's, and just never got back to the garden.

So I missed the actual presentation of awards, and never got to make the speech I had been practicing in front of the mirror every night for three long years...

Wow, just... oh, wow (flapping away tears). I... I don't know what to say. I'm... I'm overwhelmed! You... (choking up)... you like me! You really like me!

(Composing myself) I want to thank the Acad—I mean the Garden Society—and all of the little people out there who made this moment possible. I forget their names, and some of their faces—I'm struggling with prosopagnosia, as many of you know, which has made not winning any awards in the past even more painful. You know, you sweat and toil in the garden, while struggling with a disability, and every year the Garden Society's basically telling you you're a big loser.

(Pause to let the shame sink in.)

But, wow! Here I am! I made it! (Flapping away more tears.) It's been a long, hard climb. I had to do a lot of it on my knees. But I'm finally one of you!

And I just want you all to know that I don't bear anyone a grudge for passing me over in past years. And even if I did I couldn't recognize you to revenge myself on you. Of course I could probably find out where you live and have a pretty good chance of it being you when I came to your apartment on Kilmarnock Street to revenge myself. Not that I would do that.

(Little giggle.)

I mean, it's just a little award, right? A piece of paper. Although it is suitable for framing. And if it's just a trifle, no big deal, why did it take so long?

But those are yesterday's questions. I understand sometimes there are politics that get in the way of doing the right thing, the obvious thing. But that won't keep me up night after night after sleepless night, as I plot and plan my strategy for the next season—this time I'm really going to blow them away! This time they'll see what kind of a gardener I really am! This time they'll like me! They'll really like me!

That's the past! Now I can truly say, I'm a winner! Like the rest of you! I can bury the old hatchet in the "Best Designed Beds" in the Fenway Victory Gardens along with my Angelique bulbs.  I don't have to cry myself to sleep anymore.  I can finally come off my meds!

Thank you! Thank you all! Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Kelly Clarkson! Thank you Oprah!  Thank you Obama!  Thank you!  Thank you all!  Thank you!

Since I couldn't do it for the Acad—I mean the Garden Society—I did it for Randal, instead, and let me tell you, we were both sobbing into our beers by the end.

After leaving Randal I rode back across the river, but decided to take a totally different route than in the past. It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me!

It didn't take long before I found myself in the No Man's Land of MIT student housing. I was drawn, in mounting horror, to Simmons Hall at 229 Vassar Street...


It's hard to capture the heinousness of it in a photograph, and this is actually a less offensive angle to view the structure from than this:


One question: WHY?

Luckily there was a rugby match going on out in front of the abomination, which quickly diverted my attention from it.


It's been called "a hooligan's game played by gentlemen."

I have a special fondness for this type, myself. I've written before, elsewhere, about my college roommate Cecil, who was a rugger ("but not a bugger," as he was always quick to remind me), very philosophical off the pitch (an adherent of moral non-cognitivism and eliminitivism in the philosophy of mind), a big blond (not quite the type Dorothy Parker wrote about), with the most magnificent coarse, thick, curly blond hair on his forearms, the back of his hands, his chest, back, neck, just everywhere. Yes, he was built a bit like a wild boar, but there was something about him. I know, there’s no accounting for taste.

There were some skinny-legged ruggers out there today, though.  That and the fact that it was just too damn hot to stick around and watch the match, got me back in the saddle and cycling toward home.

I dropped into Star Market at Porter Square to pick up some bread and my beloved Lavazza espresso coffee on the last leg of my morning's adventures.

I have to say, while Porter Square's overpriced, Star Market has a policy that if their product is incorrectly tagged you get it for free. They have been supporting my Lavazza habit for half a year now. Every time I go in to get an 8 oz. tin of it it's marked $5.49, and when I get to the check-out it always rings up at $5.79. And I always call the clerk over and she always writes it up, and I get it for free.

I've started to feel a little sheepish about it, in fact. But it's not my fault. And a policy's a policy, right? I mean, what's the alternative? I suppose I could say nothing and just go ahead and pay thirty cents more than the tag on the tin. But why should I?

So that always adds a little spring in my step. And more so today because the clerk was Asian and bowed to me when he handed me my free coffee. And I thought, yes, that's how it should be. That's service.

It was still too damn hot to have a celebratory espresso when I got home. So I took a nice, cold shower, and had a siesta, and tomorrow's supposed to be downright chilly.

It'll be the perfect weather to wake up to a little victory Lavazza.

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