A kind companion

It turns out that all throughout this morning’s commute, I wore a Trader Joe’s PLU sticker on my back without knowing it.

It most likely latched itself on as I walked through the store’s aisles last night in search of weekly goods. I bought bananas, a salad, and oatmilk, but no sweet potatoes.

Yet the sticker made its way over.

She rode with me on the train, packing in tightly to let passengers in. She saw, maybe even for the first time, the streets of Downtown Boston during rush hour.

We walked together up Bromfield Street, stopping to glance at fountain pens in the pen shop’s window. We wondered how much each of them cost, knowing full well neither of us could afford them.

We took the long way to work, crossing paths with an old friend and choosing to stay just one minute longer out in the sun. We then made it inside.

It wasn’t until I took off my sweater in order to hang it that I finally noticed she was there. No one had stopped me to point her out. Yet, having lived through this morning together, I’m glad no one did.

¡Ándale, mija!

I’m off to California in two days and can’t help but listen to the music that reminds me of home. The song on repeat this morning was “Paso del Norte” by La Original Banda El Limón De Salvador Lizárraga.

The tuba, the trombone, the tambora and timbales all come together in an expression of joy Mexicans call tamborazo. I used to despise banda, but something about it now enlivens me to the point of giddiness. I know it’s because it reminds me of my dad.

Since what I listen to reflects what I’m feeling, this song definitely encapsulates my excitement. I’m ready to be in California and see my parents once again.

Other songs on repeat this week are “Amor Eterno” by Guan Gabriel and “La Ley del Monte” by Vicente Fernández.

When life gives you socks…

Just a seat away from me, I noticed a woman silently reading a copy of The New Yorker on the train. I, in turn, opened up my backpack and pulled out my own copy featuring this week’s cartoon caption contest.

I looked over at her and hesitated. “Do I ask her?” I asked myself.

In the moment’s silence, I decided to go for it. “Excuse me?” I interrupted, “Can I get your opinion on something? What do you think of these cartoon captions?”

She laughed and replied, “Oh, so you’re the person who does these!”

I laughed and went on to show her what I had come up with. Many of them were standard, like the mention of regret or forgetting to pick up clothes from the cleaners.

But the two that I liked the most were about the dog in the background and the mention of the man’s socks.

She pointed out that, although the one about the dog was funny, the sock caption made more sense since the woman seems to be reacting to something the man is saying.

“His level of cluelessness,” she said and broke out in laughter. I couldn’t help but join her.

She was right. The man pointing out his socks as opposed to the rest of his wardrobe made it all the more humorous.

You’ve been warned

Looking through my bank statement, I saw an uncanny $120 be withdrawn from my bank account.

I looked into it. The culprit? The New Yorker.

I never cancelled my discounted subscription, knowing full well this time would come. Despite my mental notes to cancel and despite my calendar reminders, I ignored it, turned away.

And so, I sit here, laughing and crying with fists in the air, looking up at the sky asking, “Why, God? Why?!”

But it was me.

And now, with $120 less in my account, I count the ways in which I could have spent this money: new running shoes, books, maybe even some cool new socks. Anything but a subscription.

And so, for this next year, I will be receiving The New Yorker in the mail. Technically, it’s not a bad thing. I’ll have more material to work with and many more cartoons to look at.

But it cost me. It cost me a pretty penny.

So, with that said, be wary of lingering subscriptions.

I love you, MA

I submitted this caption yesterday for the Weekly New Yorker cartoon caption contest.

Although very regionally specific, it’s a homage to New England. The farm-to-table experience of Western Mass and the ever present slush in the winter make for a very familiar scene.

Bay Staters, I appreciate you. MA, I love you.

There goes my hero

Because we can all get a kick from this kid’s winter adventure. He put himself through it and yet held on ’til the end.

A kid at Bryant Park in NYC this past weekend.

The best part was hearing him scream as he spun. What a day.