My hippie boss, that runs the high school research program at HMS, sometimes really irks me. Mainly, because she constantly hugs me. It is weird. But also because I think she can be inappropriate. For instance, a few weeks ago during high school student orientation, she made a bunch of 16, 17, and 18 year olds watch this dvd called "The Secret." In a nutshell, it is many mini interviews with experts (some being scientists, whom I summarily checked their publication records and was unimpressed) saying that whatever you want you will get if you just have a positive attitude. Apparently, that is the secret to success. I huffed and puffed and somehow managed to not yell "Shut this crap off!" I think the self inflicted nail marks in my thighs helped.
But about two weeks later something strange happened. A has been determined to go sailing this summer and in fact, has been planning sailing lessons. A bevy of activities seemed to thwart these efforts. It was a Sunday, and we were determined that this day we would take the sailing orietation class. We met up at the Charles River boat house an hour before the orientation meeting began. When we asked the dissaffected teenager, "how do we sign up for the class," she replied, "just wait over there, it will start in an hour." To amuse ourselves, A bought us snacks of fruit and smoked gouda flavored popcorn, a gourmet snack food that would only be found in the upper crust Beacon Hill neighborhood. We ate by the river, hoping the recent rash of summer thunderstorms would no strike while we were one the docks. But because we needed good weather, good weather appeared.
We arrived to the meeting place 15 minutes before class was to start. Just as we sat down though, a brunette preppy man in his late twenties approached us. "Do you want to out on the water?"
Confused blank stares from A and me.
"Are you ladies part of the club? Never mind that does not matter, would you like to go sailing today?"
"We are here for the orientation class," A said.
"Oh, this would be better than that. I want to take out a boat, but I can't take it out alone. Would the two of you like to come out with me?" He asked.
We looked at each other. "Of course," we said.
I'll admit to being confused for the first thirty minutes while the two of us helped our new compadre, H, get a boat out of the lagoon and into the Charles. What were we doing? We had randomly accepted a boat ride from some stranger with no hesitation. It was exhilirating. The boat zipped. While the boat leaned due to the pressure on the sails, I dipped my hands into the water. H lamenented on low winds, but to me the experience was exhilirating.
H taught us the ropes, literally taught us which ropes to pull and why. He told us about quartering, tacking, and jibing. And he told us that there once was a Hooters in Boston. Who knew.
For an hour and a half, A and I got a personalized sailing lesson. Perhaps even more than we expected for a Sunday afternoon. But maybe just maybe our positive attitudes for the day, attracted H to us and therefore we got what we wished. Maybe I will give my hippie boss some slack. Probably not, she still hugs me and that part is still odd.
"The Shutter: 17 Year-Old Cafe Mozart: An alarmed reader informed us today that the website is down and the phone is disconnected for Lincoln Center staple Cafe Mozart. A spot check confirms: the space is closed and gutted, and from a sign in the window, it looks like the place was seized by the landlord. Theater-goers, it's time to start looking for a new post-opera snack spot." 
