Good old Boston University — schizophrenic paradise of contradiction. Is it an urban nightmare bathed in cement or a sprawling wonderland of grassy knolls and Frisbee exhibitions? Damn, I just don’t know. I guess it depends on the season.
The heat changes all: walking down the sidewalk through the thick 88 degree-day, with crowds of flipping and flopping people sipping a good old poetically named iced beverage — the good life.
I’m ordering things like “iced coffee” these days, which is no more than a third-of-a-cup of coffee overloaded with gigantic, unmouthable cubes of ice that quickly act as an amazingly productive flavor-reducer. But what the hell, it’s cold, right? I’m pounding this stuff with spring-induced fury, because aside from my climate-less Student Village apartment, I’m not going anywhere near hot coffee until October. It’s all frappa-this and coolatta-that for the next few months and I say God bless it. Bless every half-cafe-venti-mocha-soaked cube of icy delight and bless every $3 lighter per plastic cup’s worth my wallet gets on a daily basis.
Because they’ve got you over at Starbucks — oh man, oh man, have they got you (myself included in the general “you”). When the Charles River turns into a frigid wind-distributor six months out of the year, big brother Starbucks is there to promptly warm you up.
“One Grande Vanilla Steamer, please. Extra hot.”
And what you see on your walk ‘n’ sip — hoo doggy — it’s something else. The hot weather transforms people — their look and their, like, “aura” — and all of a sudden it’s like you’re on vacation. You do things like “throw on some flip-flops” before going outside and “go out to get ice cream.” Sure, the school year is still kind of plugging away, but man, I feel like I’m at Club Med. I’m waiting for some overly exuberant man in an aloha shirt to come out with a clipboard and tell me my activity options for the afternoon. Like, how am I supposed to choose between trapeze school and synchronized swimming with dolphins? I guess I’ll just go to the bar. Up for some sand volleyball later?
And I know other people feel the same way. I mean, I can see it your faces (yes, your face, dear “one of the seven” that reads my column this far. And believe me, seven might be a tad — or perhaps, vastly generous.) I can see in your faces the way the sun has shaken your soul into a mood margarita, which will be happily sipped throughout the day. Sun me baby. Sun me long time.
Wear sunny-day clothes. Do sunny-day things (might I suggest a little badminton or perhaps red rover) and drink lemonade — a lot. I mean we’ve been under snow and ice and hail and parkas and mittens and scarves and instant noodle soup for months on end. We deserve our lunch outdoors, our esplanade open-season, our open sunroofs, our frogurt sundaes and a general end to our bone-numbing depression. We deserve it all.
And just as our dessert, the Boston University campus transforms along with the souls of its students to celebrate the weather. The trees bloom, the BU Beach’s appeal skyrockets, ice cream vans occasionally show up to provide much-needed marijuana and classes are conducted — get this — outdoors. Is this a little too perfect? Every time I see a class outdoors I feel like I’m at some hip small New England liberal arts college. Acoustic guitars for all!
And let’s just say, BU goes great with a mocha frappaccino. Take that as you will.
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