Kendall/MIT

Some days, a girl just doesn't feel like herself. Upon waking, she knows that she is, in fact, in her room. Yet it's odd and misshapen, perhaps like something out of a Bizarro Universe. Such is Kendall. It's there alright. But, you wonder if you really are --- maybe you're not. Maybe you took the wrong exit when waking that morning and traveled to some alternate world made of cement slaps that stick out from the ground like awkward monopoly houses and bookstores that only sell books about quantum field theory and molecular hydromantics. Or, maybe you just go to MIT.



Sixth stop: Kendall/MIT



Arriving on a cold, wet, and rather dismal Saturday afternoon I set out to uncover what made Kendall tick. Now, if I took a little break to sit in the corner of the COOP at MIT (3 Cambridge Center #10; 617 499 3200) and read about Sarah Michelle Geller's exclusive interview with Entertainment Weekly about why, oh god, why this is Buffy the Vampire Slayer's last season, well, so be it. Yet somewhere in the middle of her dishing about what it felt like to be Mrs. Freddy Prinze, Jr., I came to a stark realization: I could not write an entire column about me wishing I was Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Thus, I lugged myself to the checkout counter and heard odd words escape from my mouth, "Hi, I'm a, uh, a prospective student? Can you tell me if there is anything to do here." There was no double take. Someone actually though that I was that math-tastic that I could attend MIT. Cool. And, once I elaborated that by "anything to do here" I meant "like for fun," we were on our way talking about the glories of life at MIT. Yet, since I had already played the "let's pick a school out of a hat and transfer there" game, I decided to find The Garment District.

Located a few blocks away, I was amazed to find that the mysterious District (200 Broadway; 617 876 9795) was not a district at all -- but a mere two-story shop! Disappointment was not the least of my sentiment. My mind went through stages of shock, disgust, and oohhhh, that is one nice green feather boa.

For while the first floor was literally a sea of clothes that people were wading in (for $1.50 a pound), the second floor displayed vintage clothes from multiple eras as well as silly hats and sunglasses. All around me, girls were clothed in 70's style mini-dresses, while guys wore tight jeans; it almost felt like a night at ATO.

In terms of eats, Kendall Square has some good options. Thai's (1 Kendall Square, #300; 617 577 8668), a -- yes you guessed it-- Thai restaurant was quiet and hospitable and certainly a top choice. Yet, while their entrees certainly were inventive and delicious, one including: pineapple, peas, shrimp, crabmeat, caramelized onions, among other tasty ingredients, it did cost $15.95. And, as I've discussed before in previous columns, I am a lazy cheapskate.

Next door, as I'm sure all you mysterious film minors know, is the Kendall Square Cinema (245 First St. #1; 617 494 9800). A smorgasbord of indie goodness, currently it's a home to such masterpieces as: City of God, Talk to Her, The Pianist. They're great. Do not delay. Go see them.

Plus, if you go on St. Patrick's Day, you could even have the opportunity to visit the "Official St. Patrick's Day Headquarters" across the square at Doyle's Irish Pub (1 Kendall Square). There you can find such great Irish classics such as Paddy the Greek (Salad) and if you're still hungry, there are always the great Celtic proverbs on display, such as "Beauty does not boil the pot."

For our health's sake as meat eaters, let us hope that electricity does.

Sadly, although there were a few festive shops and eateries spotting nearby streets, the atmosphere at Kendall pretty much resembled that of a happening math convention. The literary world ceased to exist, instead pseudo-math book stores ran rampant with pained names such as Quantum Books (4 Cambridge Center; 617 494 5042). In terms of currency, while they did take greenbacks, they preferred this weird money, called tech-cash. Meanwhile, I nearly ran over a thin tallish fellow wearing a shirt that said, "Yes, I really am a rocket scientist."

The place was dead. Grey, depressing, one of the main streets was called Broadway, which only further mocked the atmosphere. I scrambled back on to the T and gave a sigh of relief, thankful that no one had ever given me a copy of The Math Book for Girls & Other Beings Who Count when I was growing up.