I'm not looking for a New England

I don't want to change the world ...

So that's not true, but SUCH a great song.

Hopped to Boston this weekend - despite getting hung up in the Midwest overnight, where I had a hilarious dinner at Nick's Fishmarket at the O'Hare. I was the only woman there under 50 and one of two people not wearing a buttondown shirt and navy blazer. Fortunately, they serve GIANT martinis. Ordered king crab legs for the first time in years - so fun and still an excellent vehicle for drawn butter. Ahem.

On to Boston the next morning (after losing a double-ended lipgloss to the TSA, due to hasty handbag re-packing at 4:30 a.m.). Checked into a room with a view and took a nap before meeting the fantastic Micah and Rachel for lunch at Shino Express, meandering up and down Newbury Street, El Diablo (chocolate and cayenne) ice cream at JP Licks, mocking the Eurotrash at the Armani Cafe, and marvelling at the candy selection at Sugar Heaven, and managing not to keel over laughing at Micah's wit and Rachel's wisdom. You know you've got good friends when their friends are this good. Met up with Jacquie and Darren for dinner at The Franklin Cafe - dark, with blood-red walls and good martinis. I never understand why they fill them to the rim - get bigger glasses or (heaven forbid) make smaller martinis, but I was spilling all over before my first sip. When they tell you the wait is an hour and a half at the Franklin, they mean it. Finally sat down to a decent veggie spring roll, and amazing black pepper seared tuna sashimi loin with citron blanc, field greens and chive mash. Found a bottle of Evolution No. 9 from one of my favourite Oregon vineyards, which went well with all the dishes (others had miso grilled salmon and sweet pea ravioli). Then it was back to their new pad for prosecco and dacquoise.

Saturday morning dawned sunny and hot - I slept in a wee bit (not enough time nor the right kind of weather for the MFA, apologies to BS) and was picked up by my favourite cousin and family for the trip out to their home in idyllic Concord, Mass. Insane the place is, I'm telling you. White picket fences, a swing set in every yard, barking dogs (neither too long nor too loud), kids learning to ride bikes, Walden Pond, dads mowing lawns, the smell of bbq, beautifuly restored clapboard houses, a ribbon cutting ceremony at the elementary school down the road, home made ice cream and fresh corn from the farm down the way. Amazing.

On the way back, I flew in an exit row with two seats from Logan to Denver. The woman in the aisle seat arrived first, unpacked all over my seat (the gate attendants had announced to the assembled passengers that the plane was full before boarding began), lowered her tray table and was 1/3 of the way through a chicken caesar salad as I arrived at the row. She apologised perfunctorily and let me through. The smell from the salad was overwhelming, and then she pulled out a dressing packet the size of a small keenex pack and proceeded to ooze it all over the salad. That's right, I can't fly with hand lotion or lipgloss, but giant packets of salad dressing are perfectly acceptable. She was also on her Blackberry throughout the flight, including take off and landing. And did I mention the baseball cap and dark blue windbreaker ensemble?

Grr.