The Unhappy Rich People of Harvard Square

Today I took the commuter rail to Singing Beach, my favorite beach in Massachusetts. Even when it is hot and a little crowded, like today, I still love it. I body surf and play in the waves and most of the grown-ups look on, befuddled, but a little girl being held by her grandma laughs joyously every time I dive into the surf, so I know I am on the right track. One man my age watches me dive in over and over again, and finally, tentatively, dives into the waves along with his 10 year old daughter. When he surfaces he looks really surprised, like, "Wow, what did I just do?" and almost immediately heads to shore. Oh well. Maybe next time he'll do it again. And again and again and again. And finally have some real FUN in his life.

On the way back I had a nice long chat with a Swiss boy, I'll call him Emil. He had been biking to the beach with his Mom and older sister. He thought the sand was too hot. He said he didn't have enough toys with him. We discussed ways to make a bike-friendly beach umbrella that would dismantle to a size of about 16 inches by 6 inches, perfect for a bike rack. And I told him how a small shovel and small ruler are all you need to make a sand pyramid on the beach.

Then we talked about witches in Salem (Emil hoped that none would get on the train at Salem--I assured him all the people looked like tourists, not witches,unfortunately), UFOs (my daughter saw one once, hovering over her and a younger friend, in Quebec--maybe THAT explains everything!), snakes and how fast they can slither away and how they tend to eat things much larger than they are, and the alligator that came pretty darn close to eating a teenager in Sanibel Island, Florida until I yelled at the teen to quit bugging the poor beast. Emil told me about his two cats, and how one had run away, and then about the rat which took residence in their home and ate their potatoes. I thought this was very funny, the idea of a rat hunkering down behind the cupboard to munch on potatoes. His mother, on the other hand, was a little embarrassed. She said the rat ate the pumpkin too.

So for 40 minutes Emil and I had a most entertaining and fun time. Then we got off in Boston and said our good-byes, and I headed to Harvard Square, happy and full of sun and sand and salt and stories.

But arriving at Harvard Square...My God!!! It was even worse today than yesterday. WHY is everyone SO unhappy? Come ON people!!! If you are so bored in Harvard Square, go to the beach! Or take a trip to Vermont, Maine, NH, Canada, anywhere!!! But WHY hang around Harvard Square in a foul sour mood, grimacing and snarling at everyone you pass? Did someone designate H Square the "Nasty Mood Depot" or something?

On top of that, Peter the robotic Russian guitarist was playing. I really really hate his playing. A young know-it-all tried to educate me recently about my lack of openness and how I could really ENJOY Peter's robotic elevator music if I just opened my heart. I told him, "Nope, no way. This guy's music is totally repressed rage and sadness and it drives me nuts and I hate it with a passion." The young know-it-all suggested I TELL Peter how I feel. Hah!!! Peter feels he is at war with the world. Generally I never tell a musician I think their music sucks, and I'm definitely NOT going to make an exception with him. Too dangerous.

So I hung around, listening to my own music, earplugs in, read the paper, watched the shenanigans of Sam, high again, yelling at people about how they are all being controlled (probably true, but people tend not to listen when they think you are crazy or high), watched how the cop did not mind the thug guy parking his car in a no-parking zone, even told the thug it was OK if just for a short time, even though the thug was there for about an hour, and I was reminded of Sam talking about the Russian mafia in Harvard Square and corrupt cops.

But as hard as I tried, I just found it harder and harder to hang onto the happiness I felt from body surfing at Singing Beach and discussing witches and snakes with Emil on the train home.

I once told someone, "I don't do drugs, but honestly, I think a dose of Ecstasy for everyone in Harvard Square might be a GREAT idea!" Or maybe just get everybody off their psych meds and see if anyone feels any better? I can see why Sam resorts to screaming. Harvard Square will do that to you.

Sometimes People Come Through in a BIG Way

Yes, Sometimes People Come Through in a BIG Way, and then you want to cry, or maybe wash yourself in pure water (Walden Pond in April?) and cleanse away the tears and frustration and fear.

Today I took my cat Pooh to the vet for a RadioIodine treatment for her hyperthyroid. There was no other choice, because she had a bad reaction to the drugs given for this condition. We had opted for just an injection with I-131, because the scintigraphic scan was above and beyond the funds we had managed to gather from contributions. The scan provides much greater accuracy, but we just could not afford it.

And at the very last minute, a fellow animal-lover, someone I have never met, called the vet to say she wanted to pay for the scan. I am stunned in disbelief.

So so tired. This has been stressful, but a real learning experience. Sometimes people come through in a REALLY big way, just when you least expect it. Wow. I am really honestly speechless.

What Happens When You Ask for Help, Sometimes...

So my cat urgently needs a treatment that will cost $1325 and NO I am not soliciting funds. But I have been going to various funding agencies, trying to get some help to pay this bill. Not good timing, at all. But I won't go into that.

However, HERE is what happens (sometimes) when one starts checking at various "emergency pet funds".

First of all, due to the fact that SO MUCH MONEY was drained out of the American economy directly into the coffers of Halliburton and other Iraq invasion beneficiaries, as well as to individual rip-off CEOS, Wall Street dudes, Bankers and other criminals, MANY pet funds have almost dried up. So cross at least 30% off your list right off the bat.

The few that still ARE accepting requests want the minutae of your life, down to the last detail. It is very invasive, to say the least. I am waiting for someone to ask for my medical file. I am sure that is next. Or a list of every job I've held, for own long, did I quit or get laid off or fired? Or maybe detailed info on my love life?

Some fund reps take advantage of people asking for help by being downright abusive. They figure YOU will take the crap, right, cuz you are desperate? Well, not always. I hung up on one woman today. After about seven minutes of her aggressive, condescending voice, I just could not take another nasally nasty comment. And I really did not want to scream at her. Or no, I really did. Want to scream. But thought perhaps better to hang up than totally burn that bridge (I can always say I lost the connection...).

Some people are touchingly kind. One person, on government assistance, offered $5. I declined. Seriously, I just cannot take money from someone on a fixed income, even if my cat urgently needs this procedure to survive. (RadioIodine treatment for hyperthyroid--the meds were causing serious liver problems and she was taken off them)

But the end result of all this is that it occurred to me that at least in the Boston area, it is really "not done", you know, asking for help. I once asked two city employees to walk me across the BU bridge (half of it, really). I was at the end of my rope due to the abusive pricks at MIT and in the middle of an anxiety attack. Do you know what they did? This lovely man and woman, who probably go to church faithfully every Sunday (or not) laughed at me, and ridiculed my plight.

Fortunately, just as they walked on in their hilarity, a European student on a bike passed by and very kindly stopped to help me.

I know, Boston is full of pricks. Even the Globe has written articles about this. But some of the people I have spoken with this week are from other parts of the country, and also not so nice.

So I am thinking maybe, just for spite, I will start asking people for help. Simple things, like, "Would you mind carrying this heavy bag up the T stairs for me?" Or "Could you tell me where Garden Street is?"

Just for the hell of it. Just to freak people out. I know, I know. In other communities such questions would be considered quite ordinary, and in the case of heavy bags, I would probably not even need to ask.

But around here the policy seems to be "Do it yourself or phoque the hell off!" (a phoque is a seal in French) Last September I must have asked 10 Harvard students if they could check an address of a church on their iPhones before I finally gave up and asked a Haitian cab driver for help (my phone had no internet).

An older Haitian woman had asked ME for help to find the church, where she could get some shoes (hers were completely threadbare). The cab driver kindly offered to drive her to the church, free of charge. But the rich students were just too damn busy (or not, One said "Uh, my reception is not that good" as he clicked through his email).

So here is my plan. Just to stir up some manure and create some excitement, I am going to suddenly turn even more radical! I am going to try EACH and EVERY day to ask someone for help!!! Please don't arrest me for this! I know it is REALLY REALLY STRANGE. But that is my plan. Change the world, one "Could you help me?" at a time.