2003-08-19 - 2:29 a.m.

Nothing beats a Monday off when nobody else has Monday off.

This was my first time. I�ve always gone for the Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday off--to break up the week. Which is a great strategy. Plus, everyone envies an extra day weekender.

But Monday. Who ever thought a Monday could be so sweet?

Bus schedules in full weekday mode, nobody out, with the long weekend looming?

It�s a curmedgon�s wet dream.

Eeeeeeeew.

OK--so the Roommate and I get ready, get set, and go outside to wait for the bus, and who do we run into? My S., who is leaving soon and who I shall miss. And then the bus came.

That sucked. It would have been fun to spend a little unexpected time with her, and maybe have her come with.

She�s leaving soon. I�m an asshole for not calling.

That being said, on the 90, this woman got on the stop after. This is not a long bus ride, mind you, but during the course of which, she managed to take everything out of her bag and put it on the seat next to her. She was looking for something. And it turned out to be an unwrapped bar of soap. She rubbed it on her hands, dropped it back into a fold of newspaper, and then proceeded to rub her face with her hands for a good five minutes.

Then came the Gold Bond.

Powder flying in my face, I continued to try to talk to the Roommate. I started to say something (I mean anything), but then that woman in front of us pulled open her shirt by the neck (believe you me, this was not an erotic moment, and powdered her chest. By the dumpfull.

I�ve seen fire and I�ve seen rain. I�ve seen people eat smelly food on busses and trains, I�ve seen fingernail clippings that I thought would never end.

Never thought I�d see that.

Another one for the pantheon of bus/train wackiness.

So here�s this.

When I lived in Winter Hill, and took the Orange to State every day, I always pictured myself as a participant in a walking race down that long corridor to the State Street exit. I�ve confessed this to about four people, and I�m sparing myself the embarrassing details of a full confession.

I disclosed this to the Roommate, walk really, really quickly, she keeps up, and lo and behold, we just barely catch the Blue Line at State.

And you know you�re winning when you get little breaks like that. Trust me.

From there to Maverick. I tried to make Jefferie�s Point, but I got a little soft with the mental map. I did show the Roommate the harbor--the Boston skyline at the time of day where all those buildings are fully staffed.

East Boston is so stunningly beautiful and neglected, and I advise all to visit (during the day). Unless you�re a writer for a hip Boston underground newspaper--hey, don�t spoil it for the locals. There�s no quaint this or retro that. These folks have earned their unbelievable 1902 buildings with sunset stain glass, and doors that would put Joseph of Nazareth to shame.

So let�s just leave it at that.

Hit Day Square, laid off the roast beef joint there. That�s where we kinda ran outta East Boston, which was in my notebook for most heretofore unknown Brooklyn-like Boston neighborhood.

Constitution Beach deserves a mention. (Just a mention. Think pretty beach, add jet fuel, swim. Or avoid. Your choice)

And then came Revere. Beach. Eventually.

ATM-free, for all you Luddites out there (and I know who you are).

We did run into this older man with a dog who stopped us on the street to tell us that the dog he was walking actually rang the intercom to get him, but the man seemed more impressed with the fact that, after he told him to take a load off four times, the doggy sat.

The Roommate and I walked up a bit and then doubled back, knowing that we�d catch up with the dog guy we had passed.

Hunger aside, I was thinking the only way this makes sense is if the dog rang the intercom of somebody who was NOT its owner, and sure enough, the old guy dropped off the dog at some other house, and started walking back.

I made a joke a while ago about how Roast Beef joints (although this can apply also to any fast food joint that isn�t a chain) are the only businesses in the country that can avoid false advertising lawsuits when they declare themselves famous. The Roommate and I decided that we would only eat at a place that had a dish that they proclaimed famous.

Approaching, the Roommate and I decided that we would only eat at famous place.

Well, the Revere Beach boardwalk is nothing to write home about, which is probably why six out of eight restaurants have divine-ded themselves. You guessed it.

The Roommate and I decided to stick with what�s actually famous, and that�s Kelly�s (yes, they declare themselves famous too).

And deservedly so. It was so good, the seagulls were stunned.

Unless you�re in one of many retirement homes around the beach, Revere is kinda unruly. My view is we�ll leave you alone if you wanna come to the beach, but don�t come into the neighborhood.

We got the 110 the hell outta there, and it was a very disappointing bus ride. I mean, bus rides are supposed to go from point A to point B, which it probably did, but every time we hit a square (Revere, Everett), it steered outta the way.

From there to Wellington (Medford two days in a row), with its monorail parking shuttle.

And from there to the Good Time Emporium.

Where we had a good time, actually, watching the Saugus little league team defeat Boynton Beach, Florida (the Roommate developed a crush on Florida�s coach. Despite our lack of beer, I devised a drinking game base around how many times he said you can do it, or called a player baby.

Nice things happened during our walk home and after we got there, but I wanted to close with two words.

Air hockey.