Mikey

Around the world

2010-01-20T21:57:00.001-05:00

I know it has been a while since I was a reliable blog to idle away time while you should be working. I want to start writing again. I see too much craziness in my life to let it slide into the gin soaked corners of my mind. I am going to start with a summary of my travel in 2009. It may not be super entertaining but when I looked into the details I thought it was impressive.
In 2009 I flew on 23 planes for a total mileage of 29,816. The circumference of the earth at the equator is 24,901 so good for one complete lap. While I didn’t travel all over the world I covered the US pretty well. I spent time in the following airports:
Boston (lots)
Salt Lake City
Buffalo
Seattle
Atlanta
Milwaukee
San Jose- Costa Rica
Manuel Antonio- Costa Rica
Detroit
Minneapolis
Cincinnati
Detroit has the cleanest and most attractive airport. The airport in Manuel Antonio does not have security but they do have a foosball table and they will weight you. I would also cast my vote for Atlanta as the dirtiest most crowded and least fun place to read dated issues of Cosmo. I only wish I had tracked the hours I spent floating with the clouds. A mistake I will not repeat this year!

Tarzan is a whimp

2009-10-08T13:29:00.005-04:00

What better way to check out the rainforest than by swinging through the treetops!

Costa Rica!

2009-10-06T13:10:00.011-04:00

Costa Rica is good for fruity drinks, monkeys and growing fungus. Spanish not required!

Fun Farmin!

2009-05-20T20:02:00.003-04:00

What could possibly be going on here....?

Off to the races

2009-05-04T13:06:00.004-04:00

Saturday my roomie and best mate George declared a "Guys Day". Rules are simple, no ladies and some activity to solidify our masculinity and promote silliness. Saturday was also the Kentucky derby and opening of the local horse track, Suffolk Downs. So it was off to the races! The track is like walking into a cartoon of stereo typical characters who's life story can easily be surmised from their animated faces. We commandeered some box seats and settled in for a day of placing small bets on inflated hopes. I picked my horses based on the character expressed in their walk. I don't recommend this method, net winnings 0. It was a great day regardless.

SLC Marathon

2009-04-24T17:54:00.007-04:00

Last weekend I traveled home to Utah to run the Salt Lake City 1/2 marathon with my little sister Amy. It was her idea to run the race together which was very surprising since she has never ran before. After months of training the day finally arrived and at 7am off we went. I promised to keep pace with her for encouragement and entertainment. Harnessing my natural instinct to race at a a lung exploding pace we crossed the finish line together in 2:17. Not bad for her first half marathon. The best part was the last quarter mile when we sprinted together and passed several hundred people to the cheers of thousands of spectators!

Boston pillow fight!

2009-04-06T15:14:00.010-04:00

I know, I know. I have developed bad blog habits. Lets try and get back on track! I attended my second city wide pillow fight last weekend! Nothing better than bashing perfect strangers to resolve buried aggression. April 4th is international pillow fighting day, who knew. Lots of cities all over the world organize pillow fights. enough said. We lost a lot of good pillows out there..

here is a video link

BAD ASS BROOKLINE PILLOW-BASHING CREW!!!!!

IN YOUR FACE!!! book

2009-02-17T15:44:00.002-05:00

At least once a week I have a variation of this conversation-“WHY AREN”T YOU ON FACEBOOK?”
I am a fierce anti-face booker. I have many reasons for this. The main reason is I prefer personal, private interactions. Also I don’t like the self idolizing or competitive nature of “collecting” friends that face book breeds in some. There are some people I don’t feel the need to keep up with, and moving away from people is very difficult with face book. These three reasons are the debatable points for my lack of participation. It is much simpler than this still. This blog is perhaps the most savvy thing I do with the interwebs. As a reader you will agree it’s not very savvy at all. Besides checking my e-mail, shopping on Amazon, and infrequently ranting here, my Mac book is basically a $2400 ipod. Don’t get me wrong, I am not condemning others for face booking. By all means tag, nudge, post to your electrical hearts desire. There may also be something meaningful in knowing when ones mild acquaintance from elementary school goes to the store, or returns overdue library books. Thanks to NPR’s Talk of the Nation I have discovered there are others unromanced by this idea of social networking. In an effort to create solidarity among us I am proposing a forum to chat and connect. This will be a place for likeminded, or interested people to find each other and support each other. You will be able to post pictures, tell personal stories and share all aspects of life. Just a way for the rest of us to keep in touch by the week, day or minute. I am calling it IN YOUR FACE! Book. For the sole purpose of accessibility and speed, I will publish it on the internet somewhere. I will keep you posted.

Fabulous prizes!

2009-01-31T12:58:00.000-05:00

Lucky you! The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me! My choice. For you. This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

1- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!

2- What I create will be just for you.

3- It'll be done this year. (might be a little while)

4- You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a story. It may be poetry or an article on properly cleaning your face before a masque. I may draw or paint something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure!

5- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.The catch? Oh, the catch is that you must repost this on your blog and offer the same to the first 5 people who do the same on your blog.

The first 5 people to do so and leave a comment telling me they did win a FAB-U-LOUS homemade gift by me! Oh, and be sure to post a picture of what you win when you get it! (I found this on my cousin-in-law blog.)

USA paragliding team

2009-01-29T15:18:00.003-05:00

My older brother Brad is quite the daredevil. When we were kids he was always doing crazy stunts. Highlights include superman dives off the trampoline, jumping from the top of our cherry tree, or my favorite, pretending to crash into cars on his bike with me riding on handle bars. The latter actually ending in crashing into a car and me being flung over the hood onto the concrete. (don’t tell my mom) It makes sense that his passion in life is paragliding. Currently he is representing the USA in the world paragliding championships. After four days of “tasks” he is in 16th place. Team USA is in third place behind Slovenia and Czech Republic. Since I don’t think Slovenia is a real country, lets go ahead and say we are in second place. If you want to follow the progress, or see some gorgeous pictures you can find it here. Good luck Bradley, and go USA!

one liners

2009-01-15T21:00:00.003-05:00

I have been revived from the stagnant and unmotivated blogless capsule in which I spent the last 6 weeks. It was not for lack of muse or adventures. You see I tragically inured my fingers back in November and as such my ability to type. I was just leaving church one Sunday afternoon, having completed my usual 2nd Mass for the day, when I noticed an old lady in a wheel chair with a sack of puppies and orphans on her lap charging ferociously out of control down a hill. As I sprinted to catch the innocent passengers I also noticed a shoplifter burst from a Mom+Pop store carrying their entire inventory. I keenly plucked the thief up over my head and tossed him in front of the careening Grandma. His soft body stopped the chariot of death and provided a comfortable landing. Later that day I broke all ten fingers stuffing Shaq in a game of one on one. I implore you to accept this unembellished account as just excuse for my absence. In an effort to catch up in the briefest manner possible I offer these one liners.
I traveled home to Utah for Thanksgiving where I broke two promises I had made myself. First I shopped at Wal-Mart, twice. Second I participated in the madness of Black Friday, where I was offered a management position at the aforementioned big box evil.
Returning to Boston I finally shaved my beard after 34 days of unhedged growth earning $35 for charity for the beard, and $10 each for my arms. The arm mane has yet to return to its fury splendor.
Through either generosity or smite I was gifted NBA tickets to the Celtics vs. Jazz game where George, Aaron and I were nearly lynched.
Fulfilling diplomatic duties I attend 4 (four) work holiday parties where thanks to open bars I both survive and salsa dance with my boss, which is documented and likely on U-tube.
Back to Utah for Christmas and decent snow I spend much missed time on the slopes catching up with an old friend and teaching my nephew to board. Annual chaos is greatly appreciated with all my family under one roof.
The last few moments of 2008 I spend in a black tie with a smorgasbord of new friends as my main mates choose to spend theirs in the cliché that is NY.
Last weekend I made a mad dash to Buffalo NY to say goodbye to Frank who will be working on a top secret mission in Arizona for the next year. Psst... it's the Moon...
Today I wore slippers at work all day; it is a sleep lab after all.

One hundred year old egg...

2008-11-24T16:24:00.001-05:00

This weekend was the second annual “Jump the Gun Turkey Run”. In its simplest form it is an excuse to have an additional Thanksgiving dinner. More importantly it is a large group of friends celebrating the holiday together. Each person contributes a traditional or nontraditional dish and pot-luck style we feast and revel in each others company. The dinner went very well, the turkey was superb, the wine flowed, and the company was refreshing. There was however one moment that I would like excised from my memory. Kristen decided she would share some of her Asian culture by contributing a traditional culinary treat. I speak of the one-hundred-year-old-egg. If the name does not elicit an immediate gag reflex let me expand further. The egg is made by burying it in the ground for several months with salt and rice and whatever else they think makes eggs rot in a stylish fashion. The egg spoils in this closed environment, the yolk turns green and the white turns black and jelly like. Immediately upon arrival I was presented with half of one of these little demons and prompted to consume. I have eaten some gross things. I once fought off a pack of New York pigeons to finish a slice of pizza on Wall Street. When I was a kid I would chew worms with delight for the sole purpose of grossing out my sisters. With this track record I did not hesitate to accept the mastication challenge for the entertainment of others. Moments after the slimy morsel passed my lips I regretted my decision. The consistency of the egg-black was similar to gummy bears that have been left out for a few days. The yolk was creamy and sticky like peanut butter. As I chewed small pockets of gas escaped the egg and filled my nostrils with the sting of ammonia and sulfur. Imagine a bag of gym socks soaked in urine and rancid milk and you might have an inkling of what I had a mouthful of. In protest my body refused to swallow. Despite my feverish chewing the egg would not reach a safe consistency to swallow. Each moment the toxic waste stayed in my mouth the closer I came to loosing my mind. Finally I gulped the mass down only to be left with the pasty remnants coating every tooth and surface in my mouth. I chugged the closest glass of wine and ate three pickles to cleanse any lingering sensation of the absolute worst thing to enter my mouth. Luckily there was heaping plates of delicious Thanksgiving dinner to chase and bury the vile mess. The experience does not deter any future endeavors of eating strange and disgusting things. I am almost certain nothing can ever be worse than the death egg.

Last words..

2008-11-13T11:31:00.003-05:00

sitting across from him on the train I first noticed his disheveled hair
I avoided gazing in his direction should he try and seize eye contact
peripherals baited my focus as I noticed the book he was holding was nearly four inches thick
four inches thick
at 200 pages per inch this literary treat must be worth at least 800 pages
I felt sheepish flipping through my advertisement sodden magazine
I noticed my greasy friend was a few pages from finishing this dictionary tantamount
I feigned interest in my inept text keeping an eye on the progress of my cross isle companion
what would happen as he read the last words
elephants would trot down the corridor while ballerinas danced on their backs
fire breathers following closely behind carried by albino gorillas
relishing the monumental accomplishment the reader would jump on his seat and yodel with satisfaction

he turned his last page
there must not be more than a few paragraphs now

I read a few lines of my own frivolous text trying to determine his pace
if he read slightly slower than me he would finish in no more than three minutes
sitting at a right angle mouth agape in anticipation of the final moments of a long and tiresome effort
then he reached into his coat
A TEXT MESSAGE
how can you stop in the final words to check a message
low be the day the marathoner stop ten yards from the finish line to check his stocks
thumbs twirl in response
the marathoner, stocks evaluated, ambles to the sidelines to sign autographs and kiss a baby
I nearly leap from my seat and slap the reader back to focus
nary missing my assault he pockets his phone
eyes continue lateral scans consuming letter by letter
letter by letter
letter by letter
how many letters are on this last page
at his pace I guessed this book was gifted to him on his birthday
three years ago
finally his eyes no longer moved horizontally
it was done
here come the elephants
he tossed the book on the seat by his side
and pulled out his cell phone

In a nutshell

2008-11-05T20:15:00.002-05:00

In an attempt at keeping my stalkers and hangers-on interested here is an honest update.
My living situation is vastly improved since the move. I still reside in Brookline which is clean, aesthetically pleasing and a little pretentious, so quite fitting. My roommates are Aaron, George, and Frank (the person). Frank the person has been squatting at our place whilst he figures out his next big move. He will be moving on shortly. The apartment is kept in good order for the most part. I am happy when visitors state it is hard to believe three dudes live there. It is comfortable and nice to come home. I don’t feel the need to hide out in my office nearly as much as last year.
We have had a lot of guests the last few months. My parents came and stayed for a week. It was really fun showing them all my favorite parts of Boston. We also went on some adventures to Maine and New Hampshire. I enjoyed their visit greatly as I think they did as well. We have also had some new friends and old friends stay for a weekend here and there. As a result I gave the same super-amazing-fantastic walking tour of Boston three weekends in a row. I promise the same experience to anyone who shows up on my doorstep.
Every Sunday we have been hosting what we call “Sauce Night”. This is a large Italian style dinner for 15-20 friends. We take turns cooking, the only rule being the entrée must have some type of sauce involved. It’s always a nice end to the weekend. It also keeps everyone close and up to date.
I will admit that the last few months have been a little rough. I have been fighting a general melancholy which gets worse with stressful times. Part of it stems from the realization that my life in New England comes at the detriment to relationships back home. The distance both emotionally and physically is very taxing. There have also been some incidents at the lab which have drawn attention all the way up to the CEO. Luckily I was not hung in the ensuing witch hunt. I am under the magnifying glass however which is tremendously stressful. While I no longer seek solace in my office, I spend long hours there anyway. This has solidified my decision that I must get back in school and move forward with my life goals.
My search for a Masonic lodge in Boston continues. I have been to several social events and met some good people. It is taken much more seriously here than in SLC. As a result it is much more active. I have been invited to a few special events in the near future.
This weekend we will brew beer which is a hobby I have severely neglected. On Sunday I will be at the Patriots vs. Bills football game so watch for me in the stands. Finally, for all concerned parties, the beard is growing back nicely. Thank you for all the sympathetic and degrading comments.

NOVEMBEARD 2008!

2008-11-03T20:53:00.006-05:00

as of 12:01am on the day of the first of November in the year of our lord two thousand and eight i henceforth declare all manly men under the eye of a God and finding themselves worthy shall with sharp implement or tool divest themselves of all facial hair which has been or may be residence upon their earthy faces the removal of which being verified by a likewise worthy and participating brother. Further it to be the practice of all manly men to abstain from the hedonistic practice of trimming ones facial hair growth with a sole exception be granted for the neckular region limited at its uppermost extremity by the hyoid bone and laterally defined by the mandible. Should a pledged adherent deviate from said practices of said manly manhood, said individual shall provide to all continued adherents, with admittedly superior male prowess, with a hereunto unspecified quantity of delicious and sudsy brew. It is with great pomp and circumstance and self importance with which i proclaim this proclamation of the commencement of the festivities of the revered and reckless revelry that is NOVEMBEARD!!

Follow link to see the hilarity that is me with NO facial hair!
Beardless Mike

Apple Picking?

2008-10-30T16:21:00.001-04:00

People in New England do all sorts of things that people in other geographical areas may not be aware of. They draw out the vowels when they speak. They label adjacent and often intersecting streets with the same name. The most baffling I have encountered yet is “Apple Picking”. Full disclosure, I have never been apple picking, or even invited. What the hell is this “Apple Picking”? I can tell you apparently it is quite the activity which will take up most of the weekend and requires months of planning. The name suggests apples and picking. I have gathered from descriptions that you roam the marvelous apple orchards and select your fruit, namely apples. You must pay for the apples you have labored for. From the apple farmers perspective this is genius. Bamboozling city folk to drive into the boondocks, clamor around harvesting the crop, and then PAYING you for it, this deserves a Tom Sawyer award!
Now some of you liberal fat cats would argue the aesthetic and organic beauty of the scenery and process. Fine. But call it a drive in the country, or escaping the city. Picking some fruit alone does not justify a full day, or day’s time. And what do you do with the trunk load of apples some guy tricked you into picking? You make pies, and bread, and cookies, and cider. Then you force it onto your friends and neighbors and poor homeless people. I know one guy that gets some apple product every day! Poor fella has developed such a complex that the sight of a bowl of applesauce makes him hop like a kangaroo. Other parts of the country have apple picking too. And there is a certain group of people that revel in the activity. We call them immigrants. You know how I pick my apples? Out of a bin at Stop and Shop.

T party

2008-10-22T18:32:00.007-04:00

The subway in Boston is called the “T”. It was nicknamed this for Mr. T who once saved an entire subway carload of Bostonians by swallowing a grenade. Those of you that spend your commuting hours comfortably in private climate controlled spheres are deprived the joy of communal transportation. The first thing greenhorns notice is the smell. It is not unusual to be forced intimately close to an un-showered sewage worker who is dinning on squid with garlic sauce. This leads to another point of interest. People eat, talk on the phone to their mistress, clip their toenails, pick their nose and various other personal activities without hesitance. Advanced T riders can feign interest in other activities while covertly observing these spectacles. An open book, Metro, or earphones playing no music are sufficient props to create a biosphere of personal space. “What is a Metro?” I am glad you asked. A Metro is the free daily newspaper handy at all T stops or often lying someplace on the train. It is roughly 10-15 pages of the most topical and useless news available. It is easy to spot the folks that get all their news from the Metro as they will know nothing about the turmoil in Rwanda but can give you every detail of Lindsay Lohan’s last visit to a McDonalds in Ohio. Rookies should also hold on while riding the T to avoid falling into a veteran rider with every start and stop, bump or curve. The veteran, on the other hand, can text message while holding 15 grocery bags and a 200oz iced coffee from Dunkin Doughnuts.
While a book or Ipod is a good prop, it is not necessary as entertainment is infinite on the T. Here are some fun games to play.
The Runner- This guy starts chasing the T four blocks before the stop in hopes of catching it. If he passes any other riders approaching the station, they too will start running for the train. The urge to rush and catch the T is contagious. I have seen 80 year old ladies with purses the size of saddle bags match pace with some punk on a skate board in chase of a train. The best part of this game comes when Pete Punk and Grandma get to the train just as the driver closes the door. The train stays stationary for 4 more minutes until the stop light changes but the driver refuses to open the door, or acknowledge the presence of desperate commuters. The expression of disbelief and disappointment on the ostracized riders’ faces is priceless. This game is of course much less fun when you are the runner and grandma beats you to the train.
Eye Miscontact- This game can be played one of two ways. The easiest is to look at people until they notice you and then look away quickly. Once they look away, look back, continue until they squirm with discomfort or threaten to poke your eyes out with a corkscrew. The second way to play is pick someone at random and look them right in the eye. When they notice you and lock eye contact, don’t look away. They will glance away and look back. Continue looking them straight in the eye until they get off the train or start crying. For added fun do this with a scowl or silly grin.
T Guess who- This game requires a partner to play. It is just like the guess who board game but instead of picking a random card, you pick someone on the train to describe to your partner.
“Does your person have a porn star mustache?”
“Yes”
For added challenge instead of naming specific visible characteristics try making personality judgments.
“Does your guy like secretly playing with teddy bears and china teas sets?”
“No, but he once used a teddy bear to dry his dishes because he was out of towels”

For those of you sitting lethargically in your fancy cars, press another preset stereo dial.

DOG TOWN

2008-10-06T20:41:00.005-04:00

This last weekend a large troupe of adventure seekers and myself escaped the city in hopes of finding some ruins, artifacts, or in the least ghosts. Our destination was a place called Dog Town which is a very old forgotten city. Back in the 1600’s a few hundred people moved inland in hopes of escaping the barrage of pirates and buccaneers on the coast. They set up a village and made fruitless attempts at agriculture. It soon became clear that the soil was much too heavily laden with rock to make farming a successful endeavor. Most people deserted the village. Those that stayed were mostly widows, their husbands meeting the treacherous fate of the fisherman life. The widows kept a large number of dogs for protection and this is how the town got its name. As is often the case with places on the fringe of society a large number of shady characters collected here as well. Namely witches. Some accounts name up to 100 different witches all living in the quickly dissolving remains of a village. The most notorious witch was named Tammy. She would often be found entertaining pirates with week long rum binges. And any that passed her house without paying homage would be forever cursed. When she died the surrounding towns were so relieved that they funded an elaborate funeral for her complete with a silver lined coffin in hope of blocking her evil hexes from the grave. All the structures have long since crumbled and been hauled away. The only evidence remaining is scattered foundations and cellars surrounded by thick forest and glacier boulders the size of houses.
After setting up camp we trudged into the woods eager for a spooky encounter or amazing archeological find. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with our large group of 13 people so almost immediately wandered off. Aaron, Theresa and Jesse came with me. No sooner had the voices of the rest of the group faded away then a small hunched woman appeared from behind a dark boulder. The thing to do when one encounters strange people in the wilderness is to avoid eye contact and move away slowly. This technique works well for door to door meat salesman too. Instead Aaron looks right at her and then turns to me and says “look at the beak on that hag!” as soon as he says this we all become paralyzed. The old woman approaches. As she nears the smell of sulfur and mothballs turns my stomach but I am unable to move away. She explains that we have crossed her land without paying the proper toll. Thanks to Aarons never stopping mouth, we are now held under her spell and will forever walk the woods never to see home or rest again! We have only one chance to save ourselves from this ominous future; we must find all the ingredients for her witches brew before the sunsets. Then like a vat of cookie dough at a weight watchers convention, she disappears. We all become reanimated and when we finish pummeling Aaron set to work searching. After hours of what seems to be walking in circles we manage to find the following items:

Throat of frog

Eye of newt

Brain of mole

Wart of toad

Red mushroom

Purple mushroom

Poison berries

Leg of grasshopper

We return to the place we saw the wench and set them all down on a flat rock. She reappears like a vat of cookie dough at a bulimic convention. She is pleased that we have managed to find all the rare ingredients. She releases us from the curse but warns us never to return. Aaron offers to sleep with her. Being unflattered by his offer she tells him that for the rest of his days his forehead will be as greasy as a basket of fries. We make our way out to the car to find the rest of the group is still stomping around on hollowed ground.
We decide to wait for them while drinking a celebratory bottle of wine.
After returning to camp we feast on hotdogs of all shapes, sizes and textures. There is an improve comedy hour with music accompaniment and then we burrow into sleeping bags hoping that we wake up in the same biological condition we go to bed as.

A-Bridged

2008-10-03T15:57:00.003-04:00

Last night we were hanging out in the kitchen discussing the finer points of Governor Palin’s stellar debate performance. Frank (the cat) came running in from the deck looking very upset. He stopped in the middle of the room and turn taking an aggressive stance looking at the door. I was not immediately alarmed; he tends to act crazy and often runs around like he is being chased by an imaginary pit bull. I looked towards the door and saw the glowing green eyes of nighttime creatures and goblins. I thought that Frank had no doubt been out talking trash to other cats and one had crossed his bridge to try and teach him a lesson. Then a small hand reached out and grabbed the screen. Frank (the person) shouted “it’s a raccoon!” Aaron, being slightly braver than a 12 year old girl in a haunted house, slammed the wooden door. I pushed him out of the way, excited to see the wild invader. When we got onto the deck I saw the distinct fluffy stripped tail end cross the bridge and scamper up the closest tree. When we spotlighted the bandit we saw TWO raccoons. It appears it was a nice couple out for an evening stroll, one large guy and one smaller female. The big guy was twice the size of Frank (the cat) which is really saying something. They were not in the least afraid of us. We sat starring at them, and they sat starring right back at us. The big guy actually hissed and growled. Frank (the cat), now backed up by all of us, was acting very brave standing on the edge of the bridge posturing at the coon’s. Now we have to figure out a way to keep the local wildlife and homeless from infiltrating onto our deck and very possibly our house. My first idea was some sort of pulley system so we can raise and lower the bridge. I consulted our in house engineer who informed me the upgrade would cost 2 million dollars and 18 months to build.

Pets

2008-09-29T21:49:00.001-04:00

If you have never met my cat Frankenstein much of what I am about to say will sound crazy. At the risk of portraying myself as one of those “cat people” I am going to share the new developments. Frank is a very unique cat. His distinct and fickle personality is the only reason I have him. He never likes to be held or cuddled. At the same time he always wants to be in the same vicinity as the action. Any physical contact is strictly on his terms only. And every so often he is simply a jerk chasing and biting people randomly. His favorite person to harass is Aaron, who considers himself a pants prisoner as a result of trying to protect his girlish legs from the Frank onslaught. His bad behavior has been getting worse since our last move. I am sure it is a side effect of the new training routine involving blasts of water for any unwanted behavior. We also had the idea that he was bored and needed to go outside. As our apartment is on the 2nd floor of a secure building letting him in and out at his leisure would be a difficult task. We decided as a solution to build him a bridge or cat walk if you will from our deck to the hillside behind our place. I enlisted the help of our houseguest Frank (the person) for the project. Frank (the person) being an engineer told me it would take 8 months and a million dollars. While he was busy trying to organize an environmental survey to assess the impact, Aaron and I built and installed the bridge. I was sure that Frank (the cat) would instantly run across the bridge to freedom. He refuses to use the bridge however. He stands at the end and meows but will not advance forward. The term “scardy cat” is very fitting here. We are going to add some railings, which Frank (the person) tells me will cost a million dollars and 8 months to build. Until then Aaron will continue to wear his pants and my coworkers will continue to think I cut myself from all the scars on my forearms.
In related news George and I set up the fish tank we found on moving day. It’s a small five gallon tank which we put two cichlids in. Mine is named Harpo Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr, in honor of all the Harpos that came before. George also is fostering a Costal California King snake which is really neat. We feed him mice on Sundays. We keep a bag of frozen mice in the freezer, so be careful if you are every rummaging in there for ice. I also learned from our new friends at the pet store that you can legally buy and keep alligators in Rhode Island. I am thinking of taking a road trip this weekend and picking me up a few. We can dig a moat for that cat-bridge and keep the riff-raft out!

Sports fans

2008-09-22T16:44:00.002-04:00

Most of you are aware that I am not much of a sports fan. This lack of enthusiasm for disgustingly overpaid sweaty meatheads combined with my lack of interest in video games causes some to question my manhood. Even though I can lift almost 50 lbs right over my head! The questioning looks and insults have never bothered me much. However living in Boston without even a rudimentary support for the local teams prompts some to overlook your mere existence. I will admit that being surrounded by such communal excitement has enticed my interest. So when the chance for me to pick up some season tickets for the New England Patriots arose, I took it. Yesterday was my first professional football game. I have always enjoyed college football games but usually the mentality centers on a reason to party rather than the actual game.
I took a chartered train from Boston to Gillette Stadium with a few thousand die hard patriot fans. Scattered sparsely in the sea of red white and blue were a few turquoise Dolphin jerseys. I felt sorry for the loyal fans as they were verbally brutalized by every fan young and old. I witnessed a ninety year old lady sporting a Tom Brady jersey tell a Dolphin fan he should be riding on the outside of the train. I followed the stream of partially intoxicated folks into the largest stadium I have ever seen. The uppermost seats crested hundreds of feet in the sky surrounded by clouds. I wondered if a seat that high came with supplemental oxygen. Because my inherited tickets came from a gentleman with season tickets since 1970, my seats were much better. I sat right near midfield about halfway up with a great view of the entire field and free of any rowdy fans seated behind. Right away I decided that some people take football way too seriously. Setting geographic pride aside, it is after all, just a game. As the game progressed the stunning self-righteous roar of the local fans diminished. The underdog Dolphins at first slowly and then with increasing dominance ran right over the alpha Patriots. The term “fair-weather-fan” was defined as the stadium started clearing out before the end of the third quarter. Since it was a nice day, and because I didn’t care who won, I stayed until the Patriots third or fourth string quarterback downed the last play. The ride home on the same train was much quieter save the cheers of jubilation from the previously humble Dolphins fan. The Patriots winning record of 19 games was shattered by the worst ranked team in the NFL. I had a great time at the game regardless; I am a Dallas Cowboy’s fan anyway!

Settling in

2008-09-16T19:19:00.002-04:00

We have been in our new apartment for a few weeks now. While is does not quite feel like home yet, it is comfortable. We have three bedrooms and two bathrooms in Washington Square. There are many fantastic restaurants and bars only minutes from our door. I have also learned that one can run from my bedroom to the subway in less than 2 minutes. I can hear the trains approaching and they do not leave me behind. We have a dinning room complete with dinning table and wet bar. The best part about the new place is that when I return at the end of a day, it looks just how I left it. I can also relax in my living room without the chance of a foreigner with little English skills, or a troupe of foreigners for that matter walking in. I don't think Frank the cat is adjusting as well. He has developed a new habit of pulling things off bookshelves. He also likes to sit in the foyer and meow for no apparent reason. His angst may be partially due to the recent training. I purchased some new furniture to class up the place and don't want him scratching it all up. He gets sprayed if I even see him thinking about it. Those that know Frank also can tell you he is very clever. The new game is he will scratch or jump someplace off limits but as soon as you reach for the spray bottle he runs off. Just when you let your guard down he returns to the scene of the crime and repeats the offense. It’s like drive by scratching and biting. I hope he calms down when I feel comfortable and release him into the streets of Brookline again. I would not be surprised to find him continuing the mischief in the streets with the skunks and wild turkeys the roam the neighborhood.

Head shrink

2008-08-28T16:21:00.002-04:00

I had my head substantially shrunk this morning. It was essential really. You see I really dislike haircuts, always have. Not quite sure why but getting a haircut reaches the same level of procrastination as seeing the dentist and getting my face fried off with a giant magnifying glass. It’s a good year if I make it in more than three times, every four months or so. This means that my hair just keeps getting bigger and fluffier and more unruly until something makes me cut it. In the case of this haircut, there are two main catalysts.
Last week I was on the train. Sitting across from me was a small boy with jam or toxic waste on his face. He looked very happy and kept staring and smiling at me. This happens all the time. Kids just seem to be amazed by the sight of me. Especially redhead kids, they are hypnotized with my presence. I think it is because they are struck with the idea that their hair will remain red and crazy into adulthood. Some of them are happy to learn that redheads reach maturity. But a few times I see a look of desperation as the carrot top kid realizes he will always have flames on his head. Back to Jam face. The kid looked like fun, so I decided to play around with him. I stuck my tongue out, I went cross eyed, I even filled my cheeks with air and did a monkey impression. He was quite pleased and mimicked me with delight. Just when I was ready to offer to pay for his college education things turned ugly. He had now reached a level of comfort with me that he felt the need to say what was really on his mind.
“You need to cut your hair” he exclaimed
I laughed nervously, his mother tried to hush him fumbling with embarrassment.
“But mommy, his hair is all weird and red””

“That’s not a nice thing to say Bernard, tell the man you are sorry”
“Mommy he looks like the bad man from Incredibles" Luckily we had reached my stop so I laughed again like an imbecile and said something like “good looking out kid” as I exited the train.
The second occurrence that led me to believe I had a problem is when my hat started popping off my head from the pressure of the trapped afro beneath. Since my hair had become nearly unmanageable I have been stuffing it under hats. It takes some work to stuff all the hair under the brim on the sides and front. For the last week or so the sheer mass of hair became too much volume for some of my hats to contain. They slowly have been creeping skyward off my head like a weed pushing through soil. A couple times I caught a glimpse of my reflection with a hearty mass of hair exploding off my already large cranium with a cap resting on top.
The lady that cuts my hair is very nice. I always feel bad by supplying her with such a formidable task. She has earned my confidence by providing many positive haircuts. I keep returning to her as a result rather than play the hair style lottery you get with the box cuts places. She likes to talk, a lot. Of course she is a soft talker so I spent the entire time saying “Huh”, and “what’s that”. She probably thinks I am deaf or near deaf. This is further validated by the care she takes around my ears. After this mornings visit my head feels very small. I also feel a little sad. Sampson may keep his strength in his hair, but I keep serotonin in mine.

Catch up

2008-08-19T19:14:00.003-04:00

For the last month or so I have been crazy busy, especially on the weekends. My little sister Amy was staying in Boston with me for a few months so each weekend was packed with activity in an attempt to entertain her. I am not sure if she had any fun, but I did.
We went camping in New Hampshire which is were I met Jonesy, and capsized a canoe in the middle of the night. The midnight canoe trip was supposed to be some nice quiet time to enjoy the silhouetted wilderness. It was, but it all went wrong when I tried to adjust my seat and sunk Amy, George and I into the drink. This led to an hour swim back to shore towing the waterlogged borrowed vessel. We all lost our shoes as well. My mom would like me share the lesson I learned from all this, but there is none. I guess next time I will wear shoes more securely attached to me feets. What good is life without adventure and surprises!
The next weekend Amy and I took the Fung Wah to New York City. We spent two days exploring as much of Manhattan as possible. We were able to see all the normal things you think of in New York. We also saw a hilarious Frenchman on a bicycle, a man playing the piano in a fountain, a street ball competition, and the inside of the health department. The trip was capped with a trip to Broadway to watch Hairspray.
Next I went to upstate New York to my friend Greg's place. He has an awesome house on a lake. Each year his family hosts a weekend of hanging out playing on the lake, having cocktails, playing games and participating in general shenanigans. I caught seven fish, giving each one a kiss before tossing 'em back. I made my famous mojitos for the crowd and helped organize a campfire Disney sing-a-long. The sing-a-long was shut down by the authorities for "fowl language". It makes no more sense to me than to you.
This last weekend I made a long list of things I needed to complete, some of them had been neglected. After a Friday night dinner party with friends I spent the rest of the weekend ambling about with no real purpose. Nothing on the list got finished. I did make a successful trip to Target, try and talk a tow truck company into returning a friends car, and buy some authentic 1970's clothing. It was really nice to be able to burn a weekend still.
On a closing note, I hate garbage day. Here in Boston they still collect the garbage using a truck and two sweaty mustachioed fellas. They drive up and down the street collecting the pile of trash people leave in bag on the sidewalk. This alone is not so bad. But because I walk everywhere I must first hurtle, dodge and evade the encroaching trash. But then later in the day after the collection the smell lingers. Empty trash containers emit the unpleasant odor to a radius touching the stench radius of the next container. There is no relief! Every inch of sidewalk is fully saturated with the ghost of spilled milk, discarded produce and what seem to be rancid lollipops. With all academia striving to solve all life’s mysteries in the Boston area, you would think they could have solved this debacle. Until they do, I will continue to practice walking without breathing. If anyone finds me passed out one garbage day, please roll me someplace safe.

Petrichor

2008-08-07T18:24:00.001-04:00

Petrichor

Filtered light creates an ominous mood.

It must be considered when planning for the day.

Wool pants and dry clean only are poor choices. Don’t wear that silk blouse for sure.

Out the door, heavily laden with props for the day.

An umbrella, a raincoat, sensible shoes?

Half way to the shelter of your transport optimism teases.

Perhaps serendipitous timing will keep that umbrella from seeing action after all.

No sooner does the thought end it happens. One large wet drop stains the sleeve of the cotton shirt. Then a few moments after, another.

Rain is afraid of heights.

Each drop sits trembling high above the earth.

The drop’s instincts urge the leap into the air.

The drop has experienced this moment countless times before, but it never gets easier.

They cling to each other hatch lings not quite ready to begin life.

There are always a few brave ones and they leap first. Slowly others follow.

More afraid of being left behind than the dizzying precipice they all clamor forward pushing and shoving.

The first few dark spots on the cotton are not convincing.

Chameleon like the fabric transforms from light to dark, the umbrella snaps open.

The spontaneous stimulus to the senses is enjoyable before the unrelenting rain becomes a nuisance.

Scent is the strongest trigger of emotion

Earth and water clash together releasing trapped organic matter into the atmosphere.

Momentarily water and earth move in opposing direction and convene in the nose.

The world is crisp, pure, invigorating and alive.

Stone is cleansed of grimy buildup.

Life is dusted and refreshed by nature’s housekeeper.

Beer thief

2008-08-06T17:33:00.004-04:00

A few weeks ago I was camping in New Hampshire at Russell pond. This place is great! The pond is surrounded an all sides by lush green hills. The water is a refreshingly comfortable temperature. It is so nice that I was not even bothered by the leaches and other pond life that was abundant. There was one moment when mother nature and I butted heads though. After a morning spent wading around in the water catching critters we sat relaxing at camp sipping some beers. I was half way through my first Sam Adams when I noticed a small black and yellow fly nosing around the rim. In an attempt to get the free loader away from my tasty beverage I blew on him. Instead of sending him on a new course, he went straight into my bottle! I held the bottle up to my one open eye peering down at the scamp. He was suspended on the top of the beer looking quite pleased. I swear I could hear him gulping down his weight in brew. I was not about to let this weasel drink up my afternoon refreshment. I tilted the bottle to my lips and began gulping down beer as fast as possible. The thought occurred that i might drink the fly as well, but so be it, serves him right! I am not much for chugging so I had to take a break. On my second round I finished the beer and again winked into the bottle. It was empty except for the unmoving fly at the bottle, somehow he had evaded my lips. I instantly felt bad for the little guy. After all he was after the same tasty treat as I, and I have respect for any beer enthusiast. I placed the bottle upside down on my hand and tapped the end until the fly fell into my palm. He was lifeless and drenched. I began blowing lightly on him hoping to wake him up, or dry him off. A little man to fly CPR if you will. after a few moments his legs began to twitch. I continued drying him with slow breaths. He eventually stood up but did not fly away. He looked dry now and it seemed the malty goodness from the brew had stuck his wings together. I considered washing him with some water but in the end figured he might not survive two swims in one day. His little legs continually ran over his body like he was frisking himself. And then suddenly his wings began buzzing and off he flew. As he flew away I think I saw him fly right into a tree, but flies can't really get drunk, can they?

Jonesy

2008-08-04T18:34:00.002-04:00

The slightest warming of the cool night air told Jonesy that morning had arrived. With reluctance he forced his thousand eyeballs open the smallest slit and sure enough, there was the sun peeking its nosey face into the calm peaceful morning world. A moment later when all his sensory departments were operational he became aware that all his so called "friends" were long gone. He was not annoyed by the aggressive embrace everyone else seemed to always have for life. He was not even threatened by the motivated and meticulous methods they employed to find the best food. No, he was frustrated with himself. He just could never seem to replicate their success no matter how hard he tried, or how much coaching he received. Most of the others figured he was lazy or lame and simply ignored him. It was the ones that continually hazed him that really made him sad. Maybe today will be different he thought as he stretched his three sets of legs and ran his sensitive hands over his wings to make sure they were as he had left them. Confident that everything was ready to go Jonesy leapt off his leaf and into the crisp air wings instantly snapping into action lifting him higher. Today, he thought, I will find the smelliest and most delicious food!
After flying for hours Jonesy settled on a twig gasping with fatigue. Despite his optimistic and frantic search, he had found nothing to eat all morning. Meanwhile he had encountered many of his tribe who were already heavily loaded and satisfied after a huge meal. Some of the nicer ones tried to help him out giving him hints and ideas about where to find a tasty banana peel or some raunchy spilled milk. Whenever Jonesy arrived the food would be finished off or completely crowded with the feeding frenzy of his peers. As he sat on his leaf of solitude he began to feel bad about himself. Maybe the others were right; maybe he would never be skilled in his profession.
Just then electrical impulses began firing in his control panel. He was confused at first and then realized something sweetly intoxicating was near. Very near. He scanned the horizon but could not pin point where the tremendous aroma was coming from. He buzzed around in a circle pattern just as he had been taught slowly increasing the circle size trying to catch the gradient of the smell. Then, without warning, the smell hit him from below like a rain drop going the wrong direction. The intensity of the smell nearly knocked Jonesy out of his flight pattern. He gathered himself and descended directly down landing on the rim of a crater. He gazed into the deep crater the strong aroma completely enveloping him. Deep down at the bottom he could hear the pop and sizzle of whatever delicious substance that was releasing the smell. He wanted to dive down into the crater and explore whatever had attracted him. His instincts told him to be cautious however. Slowly he took a few steps down the vertical wall. After only a few steps the wall rapidly tilted horizontally, everything went dark and then Jonesy felt water surround him completely and begin sucking him below. His head dropped below the surface level and as he tried to yell him mouth was filled with sweet liquid. Jonesy's senses became conflicted as his gut told him to drink as much of this delicious substance as possible while the rest of him wanted out, and fast! Wildly he flung all six legs at full speed trying to rise himself above the ocean to fly up and away. His struggle seemed only to sink him further into the cold sticky liquid. The turbulence of the waves overpowering him slowed and a dim light allowed Jonesy to see that the liquid was not water but some type of brown foamy substance. There is no time for reflection on this, the world was tipping again and this time poor Jonesy sliped all the way to the bottom. As he opened his mouth the brown liquid floods in and fills him up. He looks up towards wavy brown light and thinks "what a tasty way to die". Jonesy closes his eyeballs and stops his spastic movements. He hears the voice of his grandfather "Fly towards the smell Jonesy, follow the stench"! In his void of darkness Jonesy smells a fantastically powerful and organic odor. As he moves in the direction of the aroma a calm euphoria flows into him.
Suddenly the stench vanishes like a minnow from a shadow and the world is bright and noisy. Jonesy feels a strong wind and opens his eyes to see what has happened. The wind rips down on him from a dark opening surrounded by red bristles. Jonesy notices that the wind carries the same stench as the brown liquid that swallowed him only moments ago. He is bothered by the wind and wants to find a safe place to hide. When he attempts to stand and fly away he struggles with the weight of his soaked body. But the wind is drying him at a quick rate and soon he is able to get his feet to work again. Once on his feet he starts checking himself for damage. Everything seems to be in working order but he is unable to move his wings. "I am crippled"! He exclaims. Horrified he runs his six hands over each wing in alternating order, left then right. Then with the slip of an alcoholic surgeon, one hand slips under a wing and with a pop they both begin buzzing with life! One final check and Jonesy is up in the air again. For a while his flight is erratic and he bumps into leaves and other members of his tribe, but eventually he returns to normal. Later that night Jonesy tells the story of his adventure that day, and how he looked death right in the nose. His story is verified by a few others that had been in the area and heard his cries. They described how they watched him fall into the pit and then his lifeless drenched body. They fill in the details of the strong wind telling that it was some monster covered in red fur that made multiple attempts to eat Jonesy. From that day on, Jonesy never had another day struggling for food. He was elected assistant to the vice secretary of stench and recovery and each day his meals were brought to him.

And now for something completely different!

2008-07-30T16:46:00.003-04:00

Let’s take a brief break from the Greek odyssey to talk about a life long goal of mine which I have just accomplished. I think I first became aware of my desire to follow this dream about the same time I learned to write. I have attempted to follow it through to fruition multiple times. I plan ahead and try to keep track of my progress, but it just never seemed to pan out. But today, without me even anticipating it, it happened! I used my pilot P-700 fine point pen until the ink completely ran out! I think I purchased it 8 months ago and have used it diligently every day I am in my office since. Today as I went to write down a phone number half way through the digits the pen ceased to leave a mark. Confused I tried again, and again with haste movements. Then the gravity of the moment settled on me and there was much uproarious celebration. At the constant assault of my hand alone I finally bested this high quality writing implement and with a final gasp in the down stroke of the number seven, it was done. All I have left to do now is climb Mount Everest and my life goals will be complete. I think we can all agree that with this proof of my commitment to a task, Everest should be a piece of cake!

Rhodes part 2

2008-07-24T01:11:00.001-04:00

I woke very early the second morning in Rhodes. I wanted to see what the old town was like in the sleepy morning hours before many people are stirring. The streets were exactly like I had hoped, completely deserted. Even the stray cats were tucked away still dreaming of feta flavored mice. My first order of the day was coffee of course. This turned out to be a challenge. I did find a few cafés being cleaned and prepped for the day by their early bird geriatric owners, but they would not sell me coffee. I was enjoying having the small streets to myself so really didn’t mind all the walking in search of the Greek sludgy eye opener. I eventually found likely the only place open, and ordered two cups. I immediately drank one, and took the other to go. Feeling a surge of energy and admittedly a little twitchy, I continued my stroll. I decided I would walk in one direction all the way to the city wall and then walk the perimeter. When I reached the wall I noticed a small iron gate, closed but not locked. I quickly pushed the gate open and entered. As I have already mentioned in previous posts, I have a hard time passing up the chance to stick my nose in places it’s not necessarily allowed. I found myself standing in a rundown, maybe forgotten courtyard. The courtyard was completely surrounded by high walls with many statues in different states of erosion. All of it was covered by overgrown grass and vines. I was on a path which I followed through the courtyard. It ended in the corner opposite where I entered at a dark staircase leading down into what I thought was another courtyard. After descending the staircase it took me a few moments to realize I was in the moat!
The moat is obviously no longer in use, and luckily drained and free of shark, piranha, and aquatic tigers. As I stood at the bottom of this canyon created by two enormous walls I tried to imagine all the soldiers, prisoners, and giants that met their fate where I now stood.
The moat was about 75 yards across and maybe 50 yards deep where I stood. It was mostly high weeds with small patches of green grass. I also noticed tons of perfectly round stones, which I learned the day before are ammunition flung at the castle during an assault. I was giddy with excitement and wonder. Not like little girl giddy mind you, more of the tough just won the super bowl kind. I looked in the only two directions available, because returning the way I came was not an option, picked left, and was off. I felt like a kid rifling through his parents closet looking for a present (which I have done Mom and Pops, sorry). Any situation is made infinitely better when you know you are not suppose to be there. Periodically I would find small tunnels leading downward at the base of the castle wall. Further investigation showed each tunnel to be closed by iron grating. I am not sure if these were sewage conduits or passages. After walking a half hour or so I came across a larger tunnel than the rest with no grate. After maybe 30 feet of blind stumbling I found myself in a round cavern which I realized was one of the castle towers. I climbed a staircase that followed the curved wall upwards for the equivalent of 8-10 floors and was again standing in the morning sun. I had found my way to the top of a castle tower! I sat on the wall edge with my feet dangling and savored the rest of my caffeine sludge. Sitting so high and looking down into the grave of an ancient moat, the boundaries between reality and my imagination disappeared. I could hear the battle cries and commands shouted from soldiers all around me. Flaming arrows whizzed past an all directions. Gigantic crocodiles swam below me with armies of rabid midgets on their backs. I finished my coffee and decided to leave this bazar battle behind and see what else I could discover. I climbed back down the stairs but instead of exiting I found another passage and followed it to the top of the lower castle wall. I was now walking on the top of the castle wall.
I walked for a while but eventually came to a dead end when another tower with no entrance ended my wall walking expedition. I had to backtrack to the original passage I had found. It had been a few hours by now and I was starting to think people would be going about their business and I might get caught. Instead of going back through the court yard I felt confident I could continue in the direction I was walking and find another way back into the city. This turned out to be a brilliant plan as I more than once found passages into the city but blocked with grates. At one I stood on the outside and watched as a man walking his dog walked right past, stopped, saw me, laughed, said something in greek like "oh man, what a good looking kid trapped in the moat" and moved on. At least his dog didn't pee on me. I ran around at the bottom of the moat for a while longer before I realized there was no way into the city. I guess that is the point of a wall and a moat after-all. Well done Rhodeians, your fortified city has proven to be Mike proof. I found my out, but could not get back in. I ran back to the court yard praying to all Gods that the unlocked gate was still unlocked. If you choose for the gate to be locked please turn to page 12, If you find the gate unlocked turn to page 38, if you are eaten by a troll close the book and hit yourself 7 times in the head with it.
The gate was unlocked, I reentered the city and quickly dissolved into the mass of tourist that the most recent cruise ship had delivered. This is one of my most favorite moments in Greece. I promise not to be so long winded in the future. I know how irritating it is when you are reading a blog and it just goes on and on with all these details that no one cares about. Or worse when the story just continues with no real purpose. I can empathize with how annoying that is.I remember this one time I was reading a blog about a guy that is making the world largest ball of tin foil. He kept talking about the best types of foil and the best application techniques but none of this reveled if his ball of foil was big enough to roll over a truck. Talk about a waste of time. Up next, how I got the smallest car in the world stuck between two buildings!

Rhodes part 1

2008-07-17T18:45:00.007-04:00

Rhodes was my favorite part of Greece, so take a breath this is going to be a long one. After a restful nights sleep on the boat I woke with just enough time for a quick breakfast before we arrived at the port of Rhodes. On approach I was amazed by the harbor and the ancient fortified walls of the city, which I had not expected. The Rhodes harbor is home to one of the ancient wonders of the world.
The colossus is a huge statue that at one time served as the gate to the port of Rhodes. I would learn later that the statue only stood for 66 years before an earthquake toppled it. Excitement to explore made me eager to leave the comfort of the ship to the unknown and unplanned island of Rhodes. No sooner had I stepped off the boat then I was approached by a small old lady holding a picture. “I have room” she said. Instincts initially told me to avoid the solicitation, but curiosity won out and I asked for more details. Her name was Fona, and she was the best thing that could have happen to me. She explained that she had a room for “let” very close by in the old town. She also helped me make arrangements at the travel agency nearby for my remaining ferry tickets and rental car. I had expected to pay 100 € a night for a room, so when she gave me the room for 50 € it only felt like a near miss to the baby maker.
We left the travel agency and I followed her into Rhodes old town. Rhodes is a fortified city, which means it is completely contained within very high and strong protective walls. As soon as I passed through an entrance into the city I felt I had gone back in time. This was the Europe I had been hoping to see! The very narrow and intimate streets are paved with black and white beach pebbles. The pebbles are stacked tightly edgewise which makes them look very organized.
In places the contrast of white and black pebbles is organized to make intricate patterns and designs. It is staggering to think how many long man hours it must have taken to pave almost every inch of street this way.
Centuries of walking and grinding from carts and wheels have polished the tops of the stones making walking a texturous treat for the feet! The pebble streets would make heels impossibility even for the most skilled runway model. Every inch of space within the city walls has been cleverly inhabited or resourced.
This makes the streets, which are really alleys, very tight. It feels like you are roaming the dark mysterious paths of an amazing labyrinth. Doorways are spaced randomly which enter to amazing houses some nearly a thousand years old! In the most preserved buildings the pebble stone street flows into the building and supplies the flooring. Modern advances and technology are discreetly blended in to preserve the medieval style village that has stood for thousands of years.
And my room is right in the middle of all of it, down an unassuming quiet alley! As I unsling my pack and lay down for a moment on my bed I try to fathom how old the room I am in is and how many hundreds of people have spent a night here in the last five centuries.
I waste no time with rest almost immediately rebounding to head out and discover this magnificent place. Immediately after leaving my room I discover an old world synagogue. The Jewish people or Rhodes have a painful history, as is true for Jews everywhere I suppose. When WWII reached Rhodes all remaining Jews were captured. Most were murdered, very few survived and almost none returned to Rhodes. Most of the details of this tragedy were connected for me by a small Italian-Turkish man I met in the temple. His family had narrowly escaped before the soldiers arrived. He walked me around the old Jewish parts of the city pointing out where the original synagogue had stood, or other related facts. Some of the buildings had been bombed out, so not much remains besides rubble or lonesome staircases that reach into the sky with no destination. The house where his mother lived still stands and he points it out nostalgically. One colorful native catches one to what we are doing and invites us into his home which he explains use to be a Jewish household. The guy is straight out of a Grecian daydream. The skin of his face hangs loosely; his nose bulbous and pink from a lifetime of labor and alcohol. He explains in broken English that he has raised five children in this house and right next door was the site of the old Jewish university. Stepping outside and walking to a nearby playground he gets excited. Stomping on the ground he tells us that the old Jewish temple still exists underneath the dirt. He says he has been down there when the before the entrance was filled in and that the hidden room contains beautiful architecture and ornaments. The Jewish people I have ended up on this spontaneous tour with are skeptical, but I can’t help wondering what I might find after a few hours of digging. The tour group dissolves as each person returns to thought of their original agenda. I have no agenda so my wandering continues. I weave in and out of street after street, each one displaying unique characteristic of the people that live within the walls. After a while I follow a line of cannons pointing out into the harbor into the entrance to the main castle. The castle was partially destroyed at one point by a gunpowder explosion in one of the towers, but has been reconstructed. Another 12€ gains me admission.
The castle is exactly what my little boy imagination tells me a castle should be. Long halls with 30 foot vaulted ceilings open into massive rooms with even taller ceilings. Each room is decorated with amazing detail. The floors are mosaics made from tiles the size of dimes. The woodwork is richly engraved each small piece taking hundreds of hours no doubt. Some rooms have artifacts and exhibits but many are empty except for several pieces of original furniture. The awe inspiring architecture and furnishings do not elicit as much of my attention as the many locked doors and gated passageways I find however. Many times I end up gazing out a window or down a long tunnel at some off limits portion devising ways I might gain access. After a few hours of roaming, I estimate I have only seen about 20% of the castle. Above all, I wish to find a way onto the castle wall and up one of the towers. Most people would leave this desire to rest and move on. Not me, and the next morning, I find a way to drink my coffee at the top of one of the towers!

Time zone

2008-07-13T22:10:00.002-04:00

Times zones don't make much sense. I understand how it works to try and match the day and night hours in a place to the time. After a ten hour flight on which you suddenly loose seven hours, it seems to become more about bamboozlement that anything else. After one day of transatlantic traveling I don't think anyone would argue with Einstein that time is relative. And for this reason, I am wide awake after my first night at a very early morning hour. I try to coax myself to reestablish slumber eventually deciding to start my day. Hotels in Greece include breakfast with a nights stay. Not just a doughnut and cup of juice like we are use to here in the states either. When I make my way to the restaurant I find a full spread of choices, all covered in feta cheese mind you. I am introduced to Greek coffee too. Greek coffee is made by boiling finely ground beans and then serving. No filters are used, so the coffee is stronger, but be careful because there is a layer of sludge at the bottom. I can tell you from experience it is not good to drink the sludge. I check out of the hotel room, the front desk agrees to hold my bags securely for me while I explore, and I am off!
Back to the Acropolis, now open, and charging 12 € (that symbol is a Euro for those not in the know. Basically for Americans it is constant reminder of how Bush has been driving our country into the poor house. From this point on whenever you see this symbol think (-spending that dollar amount plus a kick in the crotch-). I take out a small loan and am granted admission. I was hoping to have a nice quiet morning exploring this archeological specimen reflecting on the great moments and people who graced the same spot I now stand. No such luck. It seems every other tourist in Athens has decided to visit the same time as I. Rather than roaming about on my own finding some yet undiscovered treasure like a chest full of gold, I admire the Acropolis by following a weaving qeue line. Each time I try to break out of the line to venture into some quiet space I am redirected back to the tourist safe zones by staff that comes out of nowhere. I noticed something else which is true for most places I go in Greece. They don't have uniforms when working. Not even a semiofficial looking name badge. There is really nothing professional visible to signify that people are employed or volunteer with any establishment. In fact, now that I reflect on it, I bet some of the Grecians that made rules for me were motivated by self-amusement. So anyway, the Acropolis. Its big, old, and made of stone. It also appears to be under construction. It is completely surrounded by scaffolding and cranes and many people with no uniforms pushing and pulling parts of it back and forth. When I asked someone what they were doing they explained that it was a huge reconstruction project to preserve and restore the structure. This has been going on since it was originally built in the 70's apparently. I don't mean to sound unimpressed. I enjoyed the Acropolis very much. It was not so much the structure itself as much as the idea that I was in a place with so much history. Whenever I am in a place like that I like to ponder all the stories and events that have filled the space with life for so many years. I have an affinity for dusty dilapidated forgotten corners that encourage my curiosity and imagination. Try and keep me out of an attic or cellar. The Acropolis is not forgotten proven by the hoards of fanny pack wearing camera toting fat cats all around me. It is dilapidated and dusty, so two out of three is not bad. I had not planned much of this trip beyond getting on a plane, romp around, and then get on another plane a week later. I love the spontaneity and adventure that comes from traveling this way. As such I was very receptive to suggestion. A lady on the plane said "walk around Plaka, tis bery niece". I had a free map of Athens that the hotel had given me. After wrapping up 12€ of Greek history I pulled out the map heavily laden with local advertisements and right there next to my current location, Plaka. Plaka is Greek for strip mall. I will admit that the strip mall has an old world charm. By that I mean that there are stray cats and dogs and a strong body odor mixed with the scent of synthetic leather. Also unlike a strip mall, window shopping will open the door for strong arm selling tactics from the shop keep. I did buy a leather bracelet which I promptly tied on my wrist and still have not removed. I also found a Greece national team soccer (football) jersey (I collect them from places I travel) which I purchased for 9€ (ouch, right in the baby maker!). despite my travelers savvy, I end up eating lunch at a tourist trap. My sandwich is the size of a fortune cookie but without the chuckle or insight that you would receive after excavating the fortune within. The drink I order is served in a shot glass, but is not alcohol. I know, I know, Americans are accustom to massively unhealthy portions. I am not being glutenous I promise. Miss Flockheart herself would remain hungry after this infant portion size meal. My time in Athens has expired, I must now go back to the hotel and collect my bag so I can take the metro to port at Piraeus for my ferry to Rhodes. I am greeted at the blue star ferry by a platoon of well uniformed guys in bow ties eager to help me settle for the overnight voyage. I splurged on my ticket with a private sleeper cabin justifying it as a hotel and boat ride on the same dime, or € (damn straight in my downstairs mix up!). The boat is more than i expected. It has a couple bars, two restaurants one of which is fancy, a few lounges and activity areas, and the staff is smartly dressed and eager to assist with any request. I am feeling quite smug as I lay down for a brief nap to debrief the days moments before enjoying the night on my mini cruise to another unknown and unresearched destination.

Athens

2008-07-11T10:08:00.005-04:00

Athens is dirty. Very dirty. I guess is makes sense if you consider how old the city is. Which is the only reason you should go to Athens, to see the ruins. Don't be fooled either, they are ruins. Getting through customs in Greece was a breeze. After a poor choice of transit into the city I spent over an hour on a very hot bus. I decided on the bus in order to get a scope of the city. It was a bad choice because the city is not attractive. The bus I was on did not get me even close to my hotel either, so I ended up taking a taxi anyway. The city itself is very crowded and well broken in from people living there for many many centuries. Graffiti must be a hobby for everyone as well, I have never seen so much and I have been to Compton and Harlem. Everything with a surface has been tagged. Stray dogs and cats inhabit the streets with confidence. I saw a straggly looking mutt sleeping on the steps of a bank, and he had been marked with purple spray paint! A mobile advertisement for the local middle school gang I suppose. There does not seem to be any infrastructure in place to collect trash. It condenses in alleys and cutters and there it stays. This is all enhanced by the intense heat of the concrete body of the city. Plus dust, lots of dust on everything, but at least it is not humid so sweating actually provides some relief.
I had booked the hotel already, and the pictures looked nice. The hotel turned out to be acceptable as well, clean and modern. What they fail to advertise is that it is located between a brothel and a spray paint supply store that gives extreme discounts if you buy in bulk. I made a note to myself to make sure to be in the hotel at dusk to avoid being tagged, raped, mugged, or fitted for a suit. I get comfortable in my room and take a nap before breaking into the city. He is an interesting fact, in Greece you should not flush toilet paper. In each restroom there is a small trash can for the paper. In my restroom there was also a shower. But not the kind of shower we are all use to. I have instead a shower head attached to a hose going to a tap. To make things more bazaar, the shower is a small square of raised tile with no enclosure. So when you shower the water sprays all over the bathroom (read W.C.)and puddles on the floor. Now the Greeks pride themselves on being innovative in architecture from the stone age, but they have not figured out how to make a proper shower, or septic system. After my nap I get some directions to the metro and am off to see Greece! The metro in Athens is actually pretty good. I read a sign that said it took 200 years to build (how is that possible?). The trains are clean and air conditioned. The subway tunnels are the only place in the city spared from the graffiti as well. My first ride I learn that Greek people do not wear deodorant, or shower. I slightly revel in this atmosphere however, trying to immerse myself in a new culture. Only a few stops from my hotel is the Acropolis. The Acropolis was build before the first Starbucks existed! I think the first Starbucks eventually did open there about 5,000 BC, but it no longer operates. I did not get to walk around in the steps of the great philosophers at this time. The Acropolis closes at 7pm. The area surround is very nice. On the pleasant cobblestone walk up then hill to the worlds first office building there are many cafes and shops and one hidden gem. I collect vintage movie posters, and there was one posted on a wall. upon further investigation I discovered that around the corner is an outdoor movie theater. The theater is not really for tourists, it is where locals go on a nice evening. The movie that night was Klimp with Jane Fonda, old school and fabulous. The theater is in a court yard surrounded on all sides by walls covered in ivy. the screen has marble statues all around it. the seating is lawn chairs with an occasional table between. There was a concession stand when you can purchase beer, wine, snacks and cigarettes. This brings up another point. Greeks smoke, ALOT. They smoke everywhere too. In restaurants, on boats, while checking you out at the super market, and in movie theaters. I actually think the pilot lit up a cigarette while we were landing. Besides occasionally having to time my breathing in cadence with the smokers around me, the movie was great! I felt right in the middle of the culture, there were even stray cats roaming the isles searching for abandoned or unguarded popcorn. One problem did arise. After a few beers
(local beer is Mythos, tastes like Amstel) I had to use the restroom. I could see the doors, but the labels were in Greek with no universal pictures. I had to restrain myself until finally a girl went in one door and using my superior deductive reasoning, I went in the other one. I had a great Greek meal on the roof of a nearby cafe with a panoramic view of the ruins and then returned to the ghetto for bed. The next day I had a full day in Athens before catching a ferry to Rhodes.

Back from Greece!

2008-07-10T10:34:00.001-04:00

I will start at the end. I am home, refreshed, and full of memories of fantastic spontaneous adventures! It took 36 grueling hours of traveling to return home. The finer points of the journey are arriving at the airport 12 hours early, trying to sneak into a closed restaurant to sleep and getting kicked out THREE times. Its amazing what you can get away with when you don't speak the language of the low level authority figure trying to harass you. Trying to sleep in an airport is as easy as a blind man trying to pick out wallpaper. Airports are designed to be as mind numbingly uncomfortable as possible. They should have cots available for rent at the airport. And movie theaters. I am certain whoever designed airports, never actually spends anytime in them. I have always prided myself on my ability to capitalize on circumstances. Realizing I had 10 hours to wait before I could check in for my flight to JFK I re-coned the entire terminal to find the most conducive environment for sleep. It just so happens that spot was a nice cozy leather sofa... in the closed restaurant. But I say if they didn't want people in there, they should lock the door. Well to be fair, the door was locked. It did not reach completely down to the floor so thanks to my slim figure and swift moves I was able to infiltrate and settle on the sofa. I was thrilled to be spread out on the couch reading full of empathy for all the suckers sleeping on the marble flooring. After dozing for a few hours, I was awaken by a poke and some gibberish that sounded like yiddish rap music, but may have been greek. I of course had no idea what he was saying but it was clear I should move on, which I did. I returned to my sofa 10 min later when the mustachioed fella moved on to harass other innocent travelers. This interaction repeated three times. Always the same mustache, always the same rap music, always the same bewildered and harmless look from me.
Finally I boarded my flight to JFK. It takes 10 hours to fly from Greece to NY. During this time they screened two movies which I saw none of. Served two meals, I missed both. And handed out those very important declaration cards you need to get through USA customs. Guess what, I didn't get one. This makes my conversation with the customs guy later go like this-
"declaration card and passport please"
I hand him my passport and my boarding pass
"sir, I need your declaration card"
"oh, right..... where do I get one"
"sir, they gave it to you on the plane"
"Umm, no, they didn't, can I have one now?"
"SIR, you need to get out of line and sort yourself out"
"Hmm, I assure you I am sorted"
"Sir, if you are prepared to enter the United States please present your declaration card"
"Let me see your declaration card first" I exclaimed pointing at him
At this point he picks up the phone, and I scurry off to find the elusive card.
I make it through eventually, but I would like to take a moment to give a shout out to all the Delta staff on flight 133. Thank you for making me beg for meals I missed, make my own coffee on the plane (actually kinda fun), and most of all for neglecting to give me a piece of paper to be admitted to my country. Top notch crew on that flight. When I was in the kitchen area waiting for my coffee to brew I asked one guy if he enjoyed flying all over the world all the time. His exact response was " Oh man I can't wait to retire, I hate this job!" And it shows.
I have a 3 hour layover in NY of course. At this point I feel like I have taken 12 antihistamines and drank a bottle of wine. I wander with no purpose like a drugged penguin at a fish market. After a amusing conversation with a dreadlocked guy about the conspiracies of airlines and their link to social brainwashing, I board my plane to Boston. I am seated in a three seat isle next to a father with an infant and a three year old richard simmons with a heavy british accent. At least the flight is short I think. 3 hours later, when we are enthusiastically informed that we are now only number 5 for take off I am grateful that my first impression of the young family was wrong. They are polite, quiet and highly optimistic. Once I land at Logan intl. airport it is only a matter of a bus, two trains, and a short walk and I am home!
And that is the story of my adventures in Greece! I hope you enjoyed it. What an amazing place.

Blogglectful

2008-06-30T19:46:00.002-04:00

I have heard some complaining lately about the lack of updates here. I must admit I was surprised by the number of people that read my blog! There are a few reasons for my lack of composing. My little sister Amy is staying the summer with me. People that know Amy will agree that she is a tiny ball of vibrating creative energy that needs constant exhausting to prevent an explosion. Most of my free time lately has been spent touring her around the city, trying to convince her there is other food besides pasta, or buffering her from the influence of my roommates.
I am headed off to Greece tomorrow for a week. I know I have not wrapped up my last Trip before leaving so i should have some type of citation. I will leave it up to you to decide what may be appropriate. I will conclude the Bmore trip soon. Fair warning, some details have moved to the archive portion of my brain. This may actually work out better because it means I can make most of it up. So stay tuned loyal followers of my life saga. Also the larger portion of you that just need something else to do at work to avoid actually working.
Cheers!

Bmore day one

2008-06-11T01:51:00.002-04:00

When I finally decided to take this trip to Bmore I found all the hotels within a reasonable distance to the conference center were completely booked. After some creative searching I found a hostel fairly close, with a bed, and only $25/night! I know that many people have this negative impression of hostels. I will also admit that for the modest traveler they are not ideal. I have stayed in hostels before, in NY and Vancouver. I know what its like but for a simple place to sleep and shower I find it acceptable. The hostel in Baltimore is described as occupying an old mansion. It has been recently updated with new private bathrooms, lounge area, and modern kitchen. This placed has all these things. It also has a display of "art" in the common area. The art has a extremely dark motif, like Tim Burton and Steven King took a community art class together and had to collaborate on their final project. One of the pictures is of a couple sitting at opposite ends of a large dinning room table. They both look like quasi-human dolls. The wife has her head on the table with blood leaking from her ear to a puddle, she stares blankly forward. The husband has his wine glass up in a toast, he has no eyes, void dark spots fill his ocular cavity. It gives the room and building a nice cozy feeling that encourages comfort and a sound nights sleep. Even still, the sheets are clean, the bathrooms are spotless, and the building is secure.
After picking my bunk, top of course, and unloading my things I went out to discover the city. I heard about this local bar that is acclaimed for the great selection of fine beer. I walked there with a new friend, Jacob, staying in my room, and presenting some research at the conference. Our entire basis for choosing each other for company was based on the fact we both sported the same complimentary messenger bag for registering for the scientific forums. He has turned out to be an intelligent, funny and relaxed friend. So there we are, complete strangers having a pint together. This situation repeats itself often in my life. I had contacted some couch surfers from Baltimore for advice with touring the city. One of them, Michael, met us at the Brew Art and took us out for a driving tour of the city. He showed us all the sections of town and gave good facts and stories as well. There are all the usual spots, the harbor, mostly touristy, the rehabbed yuppie neighborhoods with 20 somethings walking their dogs, the artsy section, the gay hill, the financial skyscraper vista. After we have driven through, around, and back around all these places Michael asks "how brave are you two?" I answer for both of us by saying "really brave, why". Michael explains that being a local he feels we should see ALL of baltimore, the good, and the bad. He takes a few turns and we find ourselves in "Pig Town", the ghetto. It is alarmingly obvious how racially divided the sections of the city are. Even more disturbing how typical they are of the socioeconomic stereotypes you would expect. At this point it is 11pm, there are elementary school kids running around the streets ambitiously involved in rowdy play. Large groups of teenagers cluster on the corners doing nothing much at all. Rows and rows of track houses apparently none with air-conditioning cause the occupants to escape to the stoops for some relief from the heat. When I ask about the crime rate Michael tells me that this part of Baltimore is regularly listed in the top ten most dangerous cities in America with a tinge of pride in his voice. There is no police presence. Instead there are surveillance cameras mounted on poles 30 feet above each intersection. Each camera has a flashing blue light announcing its existence. Instead of preventing crime, they film it. This may deter trouble within the invasive eye of the camera, but no doubt simply moves any shady activity to dark corners and alleys. The flashing beacons can be seen for miles in all directions creating a false sense of security. Before the imminent car jacking occurs we return to yuppieville and the red light district for cocktails to finish the night off. Drinks are cheaper here than Boston, I make up for it in quantity.

B-more...?

2008-06-07T15:02:00.002-04:00

This morning I woke super early...8 am. For someone that makes his own schedule this is EARLY. I had a plane to catch at 11 am for Baltimore. The international sleep medicine conference is happening this coming week and the Children's hospital funded my attendance. More on that later perhaps.
I did not have a suitable suitcase (ha) to transport the dress clothing I needed. I have always either traveled with a simple duffle bag or a backpack. Both of which would cause permanent wrinkles and creases in my dry clean only garments. I asked my roommates. The only offer I had was a medium sized red leather suitcase of Aaron's. I suitcase may of had its heyday sometime in the 70's but even then only the most brazen would be seen carrying it about. Of course Aaron fits this category of panache. The kid has not one, but three pair of white leather gatorish shoes. Being my only resort, I packed it up and off I went. I am now the guy sporting a nicely fluffed red afro, and suitcase to match.
Nothing really to mention at Logan intl.' airport. Security is a breeze, I always travel with only a carryon, no matter how long the trip. I did take the smallest commercial plane I have ever seen. There was no room for carryon, so they took my fancy bag as I boarded stowing it in the hull. Do planes have hulls? Is hull the right word? Anyway, tiny plane. I felt like a giant as the overhead was at shoulder level and the seat was nostalgic of my days as a toddler. My seat companion was my favorite type, a businessman, and frequent traveler. We exchanged simple pleasantries, worked out a arm rest sharing agreement, and then never spoke again.
Once we had arrived I stepped off the plane and was smacked in the face with very offensive weather. Last night I wore a sweater out, and now I felt like I was standing in a sumo wrestlers armpit after a especially rowdy match. But there is good news, unlike in the west were sweating actually makes you cooler as it evaporates, in the east it just accumulates and forms tiny rivers which all flow to awkward and uncomfortable collection points about your body.
The guy unloading the hull grabbed my manbag by the fastener, which immediately snapped, spilling the contents onto the tarmac. He looked around sheepishly, stuffed it all back in and slammed it onto the cart. Which leads me to the end of my travels for the day, a mile walk around the airport to find the light rail. Then a half hour ride into the city, all the while with my bag wide open displaying the valuable contents. Finally a mile trek back through the armpit to land me at the front desk of the hostel I am staying at looking like I have just finished a swim, What is Baltimore like? I will let you know, when I know. First impression, dirty.

Gloucester MA

2008-06-02T22:03:00.006-04:00

This weekend George, Jessica and I took a field trip to Gloucester. This town in Massachusetts is the oldest fishing port in America. It is also where they filmed the movie the perfect storm. I was told before leaving that it has the best beaches in New England. Go ahead and giggle about "beaches juxtaposed with New England". I cannot say much for the beach atmosphere, partly due to the overcast weather we had that day, but it is very beautiful. There is a very pleasant fishing motif heavy present as well. It seems every house had lobster traps in the front yard. The houses are the typical grand New England style you would expect. We did not have an agenda, and since Jessica had left her Tourist for Dummies guide book at home I found myself once again aimlessly walking through an unknown town talking to strangers. The people are refreshingly friendly and helpful. Without much prompting they will not only offer great advice, but also share their life story. We met Kristen upon arrival who had moved from California to take care of her ailing grandmother. Jay had a very impressive job as a resort appraiser, and boasted that he grew up in the most picturesque house in Gloucester. By far the most memorable people were met would be the local mafia. Oh, now I have your attention I am sure. It was around 11pm when we realized we had never gotten around to the delectable seafood dinner we had planned. Our search for food was proving extremely difficult, each place we entered had stopped surviving anything but a liquid diet. We resorted to walking the streets asking people in hopes of finding the local seafood midnight jackpot. I approached a group of gentleman smoking cigars on the sidewalk. I introduced myself and asked if they knew of anyplace to get dinner at this hour. The quickly replied that we should step inside the establishment they stood in front of explaining there was a italian buffet inside. George and jessica being famished quickly entered. I lingered speaking more to these kind older guys, and entered with them. I immediately noticed two things. One, this was not a restaurant. Two, every person in the place was Italian and seemed to be starring at me. I found my way to the back to find George and Jessica merrily enjoying plates of italian appetizers. Still feeling the skeptical examining gazes I explained that we "probably should not be here, and that I think we might get our own pairs of cement loafers is we stayed." My friends seemed only mildly bothered. Soon a few rough looking men approached me and started what became a short interrogation. After answering a few questions with responses like, "I don't know anyone here" and "please don't make me take a dirt nap" I was saved by the guy that invited me in. He seemed to be affluent and once he said "they are with me" no one really bothered us again. I chatted with him for a while trying to make a good impression. He actually asked for proof of my Italian heritage, which I made by showing him my passport.
A DJ started playing dance music, with almost no one dancing and this is where we go from being outsiders to relished guests. The three of us, no doubt elated at not being "offed" danced up a storm. In fact George and I started pulling heavily made up women onto the dance floor. Many were thrilled. Let's be honest, they were all thrilled. However the respective husband was not always thrilled, and more than once our dance partner was pulled away from us, or we were persuaded to find a new one by a subtle but threatening look of disapproval. We made friends, ate their food, drank their booze and danced with their women. Best of all I am alive and well and writing you the story of how it happened. I will end by saying at the end of the night we thought it better to leave the town and make our way safely back to Boston.

JFK

2008-05-27T06:27:00.002-04:00

Hello all! It is 6:30 am and I am sitting in JFK airport waiting for my flight home to Boston. I escaped to Utah for the weekend. If you have ever flown on a redeye flight I am sure you can appreciate my pain. I was lucky this time not to sit next to that guy that wants to talk the entire flight. I think of them as single serving friends. Sometimes chatting with a new interesting person is ok, but sometimes you just want to be left the hell alone to endure the flight. As far as seat companions go, a chatty chad is fairly mild compared to the screaming toddler, or grouchy pompous fatty. I may empathize with a parent at wits end while their shrieking toddler makes them instant enemies with anyone within earshot, which is everyone. But I really get disturb by a self entitled asshole that finds it necessary to complain and gripe through the entire flight. It is as if they want to infect those around them with the internal pain and discomfort they feel. This situation can become entertaining if they are matched with an equally unhappy flight attendant. In this situation it is highly possible the fur will fly, and you will have front row seats. Something about being locked in a metal tube makes people loopy.
Utah was great! I surprised my family by arriving in the middle of the night and making a bed on my folks sofa. They were quite surprised in the morning. I stayed very busy all weekend, mostly with family. I did dedicate saturday night to some drunken reunions with friends. It was a much needed and well enjoyed trip. Now I must get back to Boston and hopefully catch a few hours of rest before heading back to work.

Dear Durian,

2008-05-21T16:19:00.004-04:00

A durian fruit is a large green-brown heavily spiked Asian delicacy. The flesh of the fruit is described as a "rich custard like texture with an almond flavor". The real appeal of the durian is the smell! The odor is intense. Some find it appealing, and some find it offensive. It has been described as being sulfuric, or smelling like a dirty diaper. And because of this stench, the fruit is outlawed from many Asian public places, like hotels and trains. Yesterday my friend Greg invited me over to try this notorious fruit. I was not able to make it but I received a full report from George and Aaron. Aaron left the house heading to Greg's with a machete, wearing a pirate hat. My last advice to him was, "try not to get arrested". He returned a while later with George and a few small pieces of light yellow fruit in a zip lock bag, like some type of specimen. George and Aaron explained that they had hashed the fruit and then pulled it apart toe reveal three segments each surrounded in a protective sack.
Within each sack there was a large seed enveloped with the beige flesh. They both told me that the fruit tasted "fine" and that I should eat the sample. I was obviously reluctant. What of the infamous stench, I asked. They both looked disappointed when they reported that the smell was not overly strong, or disgusting. I opened the bag and had a whiff. It did not smell too bad at all. The taste test demonstrated a fibrous mushy texture tasting like sweet eggs. Overall the experience was a little anti climatic most likely due to the long discussion for days prior describing how smelly and intense the fruit would be. Maybe we picked a less then prime fruit for our research. For our next trial we may enlist the aide of an expert to ensure we pick a good stinky one.

Frustrating things!

2008-05-15T13:02:00.004-04:00

We did not get the apartment. We did not get a good reason for the reaction either. Hours before we were to sign the lease the relator called and explained the landlord refused our applications. On a side note this relator fits into a new classification-

C- This guy plays the buddy card. He is younger and tries to assure you he has been in your shoes before. He will explain that that is why its lucky you found him because now he can help you avoid the craziness. He will try and engage you in conversation about whatever typical guys talk about. Girls, drinking, sports, golf, not apartments. He also makes a big show about how busy he is and how many clients he has to help. The "time is money" idea is pounded into your head which is reeling from all the apartments he is showing you in a shotgun fashion. You want to actually like this guy, but your instincts are sending up warning flares. He did pick you up in a black cadillac after all.
We are back to square one in the apartment search. scouring craigs list and praying that we find housing by the end of summer. I remain optimistic.

There is also a pile of laundry in my room that has received several avalanche warnings from the governing body. Frank (the cat) is not allowed near it for fear he should become buried. Why don't you just do the laundry you might ask. There are three logical answers for that. First refer to previous blog about the challenges of laundry in the big city. Two, for a few weeks I just did not have the time to complete the laundry challenge. Three, laundry eventually reaches critical mass. At this point it has grow to a seemingly unmanageable pile. The idea of dragging all this down the street makes me once again certain I need a sherpa or a pack mule. Which brings me to the third frustrating thing of the day...

I am completely out of clean undies. I even wore the few pair that I keep, but don't really like. I will let you use your imagination to devise possible solutions I might be using. Winner gets a good prize!

This is just to say

2008-05-09T18:01:00.001-04:00

I ran across this poem recently, I really like it. Not only is it iconic, it’s brutal and hilarious.

This is just to say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

-William Carlos Williams

And here are some I wrote in emulating the original.

This is just to say,
I just realized I never loved you.
I know you were saving your love for someone special
And you thought it was me

I was pretending those two years
Sorry if you’re hurt
I was lonely
And you are wealthy.

This is just to say,
I have been cleaning the toilet with your toothbrush
I realize you reserve it for your teeth only
but you drank my last beer

forgive me if you get a vicious mouth infection
the toilet now sparkles
you thanked me for cleaning it

Gil Hoy!

2008-05-07T17:37:00.002-04:00

Brookline is a town, not a city. I learned this from a little old lady named Harriet. She went on to explain that this means there is no mayor in Brookline. We have what are called "select men". There are five select men and they work together to do the job a mayor would do. I should back up here...
I met Harriet as she was standing in the busy Brookline intersection of Coolidge Corner. She was holding a sign in support of Gil Hoy, who is running for select men (or select man, not really sure). The day was a bit chilly and overcast. Harriet asked me to hold the sign for a minute, her hands were very cold. Who could possibly tell a little old lady with cold hands no, not me. So I held the "Gil Hoy" sign to give this poor little lady a chance to warm her hands. We chatted a bit, she explained the complexities of brookline politics. She also outlined her reasons for supporting Gil, "the only candidate with any sensibility" she exclaimed. Time passed.
Eventually I felt I should be moving on. I told Harriet I had to leave and tried to give her back the sign. She would not take it from me! She said she was leaving and expected me to be in charge of the sign and do good things! I told her there was no way I could possibly stand on the corner holding this sign all day. I had never met Gil Hoy, and I can't vote in the election regardless. She remained her small polite self and matter of factly said "Gil is standing over there, go say hello, and tell him I had to leave and you are taking over". And with that she walked off leaving me standing holding a political sign, dumbfounded. Eventually it became clear to me. This little old lady had completely bamboozled me!
I stood there for a while lost in the idea that I can no longer trust unsuspecting grandmas. Finally I made my way over to Gil Hoy, who was standing on his soap box in the center of the intersection. He smiled hugely as I approached. Before I could open my mouth he extended his bear paw of a hand and vigorously shook mine. "I sure appreciate your support here!" he said. "your welcome" I replied. " I have to leave now" I continued. "well thanks for your time son!" With that he took the sign from me and I shuffled off feeling spun around by the whole incident. And that is how I became a active supporter of Gil Hoy by no action of my own! Word to the wise, just becasue she looks old, and sweet, and like your grandmother, be wary! The years of wisdom have made her very savy and sneaky!

Boston REAL estate

2008-05-05T22:41:00.006-04:00

I have learned many things with this new life in the big city. Most of them have been enjoyable. I will share with you one of the least enjoyable aspects of life in Boston. The apartment search in Boston is somewhere between a swirly and getting punched in the kidney on the fun scale. Most people are aware that the cost of living in Boston is outrageous. My definition of “cheap rent” has drastically increased. But not only do you have to pay a ridiculous amount to live in a Boston apartment, you have to jump through high flaming hoops just to find one. Enter the realtor…

To rent an apartment in Boston you have to mediate the lease agreement through a realtor. The realtor shows you the apartment facilitates the lease agreement and works out any details between the renter and the landlord. That in itself does not sound bad. Of course you have to pay the realtor for their time. The typical fee is one month rent. Half a months rent if you are lucky. Some people (crazy ones) might find this reasonable. Here is the rub… 98% of realtors in Boston are either incompetent or crooked. Upon meeting this new supposed friend they will fit one of these two descriptions.

Realtor A- Very nice person, most likely a woman. Her car will smell like cats, or fried food. She will not have the key to the apartment you want to see, so will show you a “similar” property which will not have the number of bedrooms, bathrooms, or location you desire. She will then try to take you to view “better” places in a part of the city you have never heard of. She can’t answer difficult question like “does this guy passed out in the bathroom come with the apartment”. In the end you will have to make up an excuse to terminate your outing, something like “I just remembered I am dying later this week so will not need an apartment after all”.

Realtor B-This guy is typically a sleazy foreigner. He may actually be so sneaky that you don’t even realize just how crooked he is upon meeting him. He may pick you up in a nice car and smell of cologne and sausage. This guy is even worse than the bumbling fool you met before. He will lie to your face. He will say anything to get you to write him a check and sign a application. "does the apartment come with a blow up bouncy castle and can we install a moat?' "of course it does and you can have alligators too" He will reply in a heavy Russian-Greek accent. If you get duped you will end this interaction by shaking his puffy hand which is slimy with sweat. You will smell of sausage cologne for the rest of the day.

Aaron, George and myself found a prospective apartment on Saturday. We wrote him a check for a large sum of money. We walked away free of strange smells, I am still skeptical. But optimistic at the same time. (yes, you can be both)

Random bits

2008-05-01T01:29:00.009-04:00

So what have a I been up to you ask. Or maybe you don’t ask, maybe you don’t care. Well you must care at least a little you are reading this after all. Either way I am going to tell you! I have been up to many things. All of which are fun, and none of which should be tried at home.
My friend Frank will be leaving Bean town soon and moving to Maui. Poor guy I know. But before he goes he wants to explore New England. So each weekend we pick a unexplored city and invade it. Some people explore a new city by walking around seeing the sights, having something to eat. We do this too, but shake it up a bit too. In hopes of creating a presence we pick a friend at random and make it their bachelor party. Then to create a theme we all wear silly hats! It looks something like this!

In this case we are in Cape Cod, and it is Georges bachelor party.

Another exciting thing that I participated in Marathon Monday! The Boston marathon happens on a state holiday. Which is great because the entire city is free to participate. 25,000 people run the race. And those that don’t run the race, party. I am in the latter category. We decided to dress up as 70’s track stars and run amuck at the race. My friend Matt was having a party at his apartment which is on the course so this worked out well. It was so exciting to see literally thousands of people stream by in a continuous flow for hours. Lance Armstrong ran the race. I saw him, he did not win. In fact there were hundreds of people in front of him. I think it would be great to be able to say… I didn’t win, but hell I beat Lance Armstrong. Check this out…

I guess aside from acting like a over grown child I have not been up to much. Work is going well. I am looking for a new apartment for the end of the summer. Planning some summer travels. Boring stuff mostly not like this stuff…

I will try to keep a better web log…blog as the hip kids say, from now on. Before I wrap it all up I have a few shout outs!
Little Bro Kev.- Congrats on finishing college kid! Big things ahead, I am very proud of you!
Georgie- I am very sorry for scaring you in your sleep. I will not practice my didgeridoo anymore at 2 am.
Jena- Yes all five are complaining… they also said you look silly and can’t read good.

Sorry

2008-04-28T16:37:00.002-04:00

Hey kids, so I have had some complaints about the lack of posts. There is really no excuse. I have been learning Russian and designing a fighter plane for the air force, but still I apologize. I am very sorry. I don't have time to write a good one now. I will write a brilliant one later though. In fact, write and tell me what you want me to write about. I hope you are all well!

Weekdays

2008-04-16T17:14:00.002-04:00

It is no secret that my entries here, or blogs as you hip kids say, are focused on the weekends. “Why is that” you are asking. Well I will tell you. It’s because I am frozen in a block of ice during the week and thus very little happens. Around 4pm each Friday a crew of 15 polish refugees use science to thaw the ice and I am reanimated and primed for shenanigans!
OR
As much fun I have on the weekend is as hard as I work during the week. Some people (George, Aaron, or anyone that knows what I do at work) would attest that I don’t work as “hard” as I do “long”. These people are silly and no credence should be paid to their comments or ideas. The truth is a typical workday goes like this, Wake up about 11am (thank Jebus for managing my own hours), make coffee, clean/read/run/workout, shower, go to work, work until 9-11pm, take shuttle or train home, relax, sleep, repeat. And even as I sleep I am working, as I am on call from when I leave work until I return. Once in a while something exciting will happen. Like one day I went to the post office, man that was crazy. But mostly there is not much to talk about. It is exactly this lack of activity and spontaneity that incubates the necessity of such active weekends. This approaching weekend already has the makings for a footnote in all high school history books. Saturday I will be traveling and exploring Cape Cod. Sunday of course is Italian dinner with good friends and Monday is the Boston Marathon! I have heard fascinating things about “Marathon Monday”. We have work off so I will be able to enjoy all the festivities. The entire city buzzes with energy and an amazing sense of community. So tune in soon for all the recaps!

DISCLAIMER-
No polish immigrants were harmed or made to eat glue for the purposes of this story. Each immigrant holds the proper paperwork, credentials, and vaccinations to be involved in the practice of science in the United States of America, or American territories. Reading this message may cause dry mouth, itching, red eyes, hunger, thirst, itchy bum, smelly feet and or nasal discharge. Both George and Aaron and big girl’s blouses.

Weekends

2008-04-08T22:36:00.002-04:00

Weekends are great! This weekend a bunch of us hoped in car are drove up to Portland Maine. We went there for two reasons. One, we had never been, and two LOBSTER. even though we left fairly early after a night of rowdiness, our spirits were high which made the car ride High-larious. We told stories and talked the whole way. Portland is a fantastic city. It has a small town feel. The shops are very nice and there are plenty of streets bursting with character to explore. The people of portland are very friendly too. I am sure the fact that we all were wearing silly hats made us very approachable as well. After a few pints we headed to the "local" spot we were advised to eat at. We were wearing silly hats for no other reason than to have fun. But people did not seem to find this an acceptable answer. So I decided it would be better if we had a reason that promoted solidarity. So I started telling everyone it was Aaron's bachelor party! It worked like a charm. Soon everywhere we went people were hounding him or congratulating him. We even got a few free shots out of it. The place we ate at is called J's. Go there if you ever find yourself in the area. The seafood is super tasty and plentiful. For $10 we got appetizers that included 6 oysters, full claws of lobster, scallops, shrimp and crab! The entrees are unique and large as well. Its a good thing Frank was with us because he finished most of what everyone else left on their plates. Be careful of the long island ice tea, it is terribly potent.

We spent the next while walking down some railroad tracks to a gorgeous beach. Some people had given us the idea for some delicious brandy-coffee. This kept us warm on two levels. When the sunset I was sure it was only 4pm, the time had flown by. A hospitable irish pub caught our eye. By this time we had created a local hum of excitement. Many people in the pub wanted to chat and have a drink with the Boston Bachelor party! Here we met lobster men. Whoa, calm down. These are not half lobster half men. They are men that catch lobster. That day they had brought up about 100 pounds of lobster each. One guy had even caught a golden lobster, which is amazingly rare. Everyone was having an award wining good time, I think the award would be called FUN FARMER OF THE YEAR! I was even giving piggy back rides around the bar on request. It was late and the better sense in us was telling us to leave. We said our goodbyes to al the new friends and exited. luckily the "lack of sense" in each of us took over at this point as some live music caught our ears. The bar, Andy's (note for later) was jiving with a hot local band. Again we made our presence known in an instance. Much more ballywhoo happens here. The locals tell us that the gay bar in town is a huge party on the weekend. So of course we have to go check it out. The place is called Styx, and it lives up the reputation. Surprisingly there is a good mix of people. True to our style we end up on stage performing improv dances. Some hopeful fellas even bought me a few drinks. No lap dance for the "bachelor" though, as far as I know.

Eventually this place closes down and we REALLY decide to get back to Boston. The drive home at 3am replicates the drive up. SHINANIGANS! It was a trip for the record books. In fact I am pretty sure somewhere in the archives of Portland city we made a notation.

And that bar... Andy's... they closed out my forgotten tab for me the next day, and mailed me my credit card. Such nice people up in Portland!

White Mountains!

2008-03-31T17:14:00.002-04:00

On Saturday my Space friend, Frank, and I took an expedition to New Hampshire and the infamous White Mountains. Frank is my “space friend” because he studies and loves space, not because he is from there. Although some think he does go there sometimes. The White Mountains are named thus because they are mostly covered with white aspen trees. It is home to Mount Washington, which brags the worst recorded weather on the planet! The fastest wind speed ever occurred here and toped 231 mph! And very frequently the temperature stays below -50 F for days on end. Obviously it is a relaxing and fun place to be.
After 4 hours of driving we finally arrived at one of the main lodges. The staff at the lodge was very friendly and helpful. They also quickly crushed our plans to summit Mt. Washington by telling us the temperature was -33 F and wind gusts to 100mph. The fellow could tell these conditions did not immediately deter us, so he went on to ask if we had crampons and ice axes. We of course did not, so without even a hint of a smile he said “well one wrong step, or slip and you will plummet several hundred or thousand feet to your death, but do what you like”. We bought a map and picked out a less “death trap” area for our exploring.
We were not really prepared or equipped for the deep snow and high wind conditions, but it did not hamper our spirits. We happily stomped into the wilderness following some cross country skiing trails. As long as we stayed on the packed trail we were fine. But occasionally a misguided step would lead to a plunge through the crust into waist deep powder. It was fantastic. Eventually the ski trail stopped going the direction we wanted to go so we had to forge ahead through the snow without a trail. At times the only way to move forward was to crawl to stay on top of the deep drifts. We saw a really spectacular waterfall. The water on the surface was frozen in a deep blue rolling wall, but the water behind it still flowed. Up stream we encountered evidence of a GIANT beaver. He had chewed halfway through a tree trunk three feet in diameter. The beaver himself was home sipping a hot toddy. This was a wise choice because a few moments after seeing his workshop the wind picked up and enveloped us in a freezing whiteout. It was exactly like being inside a snow globe just after a vigorous shake. We could not open our eyes but still stumbled forward, one hand guarding our faces, and one outstretched as if we were feeling for furniture in the dark. After about a hundred yards I made a frightening discovery. The wind subsided just enough for us to realize were stood in a clearing. And some further scanning showed we were in fact standing in the middle of a pond. Even with the conditions we had no idea how thick the ice would be. We back tracked and proceeded through the tree line on the perimeter.
Our hike ended back at the very hospitable lodge with some sandwiches and a few cups of hot coffee. We then made the reverse journey back to craziness that is Boston. Our ride home included a confusing conversation with a shop keeping about “what the hell a Wombat is?” and some political discussion in which my main argument was that Hillary and Barrack are secretly in love with each other. It was a refreshing daytrip. My perception of New England now feels more welcoming as I have found some real wilderness to escape to.

Sports FANS!!

2008-03-27T16:29:00.003-04:00

A huge difference between Boston and SLC is the sports fans. Back home people like sports. Most people support the Utah Jazz. And some of my greatest times stem from the clash of a U of U vs. BYU football game. But beyond this, the sports scene is fairly stagnant. But In Boston for many the local teams ARE vitally important. People will plan their commute, work schedule, even sleeping schedules around the local teams. You may think I am exaggerating, which I must admit I do at times. But here are some examples.
First, the Red Sox. (spelled SOX, not SOCKS, I got in trouble for this) EVERYONE here goes nuts for the red sox. The season opening occurred this week in Japan against the Oakland A’s. The game was aired here in Boston live and started at 5:45 am. Bars, yes Bars, opened early just for the occasion. And people packed these bars. Many people took the day off work, or went in late, just so they could watch this first seemingly trivial baseball game.
Fenway stadium is close to my apartment, and very close to the main hospital. On a game day, people are allowed and encouraged to leave early to beat the “Sox traffic”. And much like a snow day in Utah, no one is really penalized for missing work, or a meeting to attend a game.
A local furniture store, Jordan’s furniture, is offering a very special deal for the month of April. Any furniture bought in April is FREE if the sox sweep the World Series this year. They purchased an insurance policy just for this event. The same deal was offered last year, and I know two people who received full refunds when the Sox won the series.
Next, the Celtics. Anyone paying attention knows they are doing really well this year. I commute through North Station where they play all their games sometimes. Last night I went through just as the game let out. (They beat the Phoenix Suns by 20 points, Shout out to the Gun) The trains were packed! Everyone wearing green. And drunk. I have not mentioned yet, but over half of being a sports fan is consuming a lot of alcohol while cheering for your team. On the very packed train, a fight broke out. You are thinking that a Suns fan was being beaten by the mob I suspect, but no. Two Celtics fans started arguing over WHO was the BIGEST fan. It was all about loyalty and a long term commitment to the team. Besides the time I watched George argue with a girl (named Swan, no joke) for two hours about who would win in a fight between a pirate and a ninja, it was the dumbest thing I have ever seen.
And who can forget the Patriots. Oh yes, people are still mourning and debating the super bowl loss. The general consensus now if that the patriots threw the game for financial gain. Who really cares…? EVERYONE! On a side note, I won $750 betting on the Giants, Yeah!
In summary, you must like and support the local Boston teams if you intend on living here. Or you can do what I do. I make sure I read the sports section each day. This way if someone brings it up, which they always do, I can say something like- “Can you believe Garnett put up 30 last night! I say MVP for sure!”
Also, a pirate would make a ninja walk the plank.

French Invasion

2008-03-24T19:04:00.002-04:00

This weekend was very unique. All my roommates were off traveling the globe which left my large apartment empty and quiet. I was excited to have some personal time to Chillax (this is a real word… probably). But as the weekend approached I received several request from couchsurfers wishing to stay the weekend with me. For those of you in the dark, basically couchsurfing is an internet network for travelers. You create a profile based in the city you live. When fellow surfers travel through the city they can ask to stay with you. Conversely when you travel you can ask to stay with locals wherever you are. Sound sketchy…? Relax, there is a system to leave references and vouching, so the rift-raft is screened out and you only interact with people you find acceptable. I am an advocate for this cheap and personal approach to traveling. By the time Friday arrived I had agreed to allow 6 people stay the weekend, filling the void of space from lack of roommates and canceling the quiet sanctuary atmosphere I had planned. In all 5 girls and 1 guy arrived. All French. They were very courteous and polite, bringing me gifts and making crepe dinners. They even made flambé! I was anxiously standing by with the fire extinguisher, no singed eyebrows to report however. One problem did occur. I found myself feeling quite foreign as the household language became French. I took some French in high school, but besides ordering a beer or expressing my love of cheese, it’s useless. I had to declare a strictly NO FRENCH rule. But as the wine bottles emptied, they just could not help themselves and the French returned. It was fine, my French improved a bit. I noticed something else too. I began paying much more attention to body language and speaking patterns. I found I could understand much of the conversations by watching facial expressions. It was really neat. I introduced the French to Beer Pong, which they were helpless at. Besides the language barrier, it was enjoyable to host these lovely people and give them a local feel for Boston. (That’s right; I am claiming to be a local now)
Some other exciting things happen this weekend as well. I changed my shower gel. I upgraded to a very masculine black bottle called PANTHER! There is a warning on the label saying I may become irresistible to the opposite sex. I started using it this morning but have not encountered a demographic to test it on. I will keep you posted. I hope I don’t have to hire a body guard. I also bought a Mac Book. I have not “owned” a computer in years. If nothing else it will make me look important at starbucks. In combination with the PANTHER, I might need a body guard after all.

All things Dutch

2008-03-19T18:17:00.003-04:00

Aruba despite what they tell you, is part of Holland. Not many people have heard of the Great Dutch Empire, but I have seen evidence of it. Back in the day (which was a Tuesday) the Dutch “acquired” a bunch of islands in the Caribbean as trading posts. One of which is Aruba. The influence is heavy. Most people speak Dutch, and Arabians even have citizenship in Holland. When I asked what the “native” people of Aruba where like I was told that the Spanish moved them all off the island to become slaves. But they didn’t make good slaves, so they just vanished. Someone else told me that there were NO people living on the island before the Dutch. Much like there was no one living in America before the Mayflower. Besides an abundance of Heineken, and silly Dutch food, there is bar trivia…. In Dutch. If you have heard someone speaking Dutch you will agree that is sounds like they are making it up as they go along. It cannot possibly be a legitimate language. Nonetheless, there I was deep in Dutch bar trivia. I took 5th place. Lucky for me there was a music round and a geography round.
The “city” portion of Aruba only exists on one side of the island, and only for a mile or so. This means there is lots of uninhabited nature to explore. I did my best to see everything. With guidance I managed to see a natural bridge carved by crashing waves, a few costal caves straight out of pirates of the Caribbean, and many tide pools full of unsuspecting ocean life to harass. I love foraging through tide pools playing with all the sea creatures locked in private lagoons until the next high tide. I even managed to find star fish and a huge blue crab that was very grouchy. There was also some trilobite looking things clinging to the rock. I found them creepy and discomforting. Proof of alien life perhaps. I never found a treasure chest full of long lost pirate gold, I did see lots of booty though!

Eels and 27!

2008-03-18T16:33:00.003-04:00

One day in Aruba I went snorkeling. I was a little hesitant, as some of you know, I don’t swim well. For $40 I got a catamaran ride out to two awesome dive sites and an open bar the whole time. On a side note, drinking while swimming in the open ocean is a GREAT idea! My fear quickly turned to excitement as we set anchor at the first site which is the largest shipwreck in the Caribbean. How the Antilles actually “wrecked” is debated by the locals but it goes something like this. It is a German freighter that was docked at Aruba during WWII. When Germany invaded Holland, message was sent to Aruba to capture the freighter which was believed to be supplying U-boats. Rather than surrender the boat, the Germans blew a huge hole in it, and it sank and became home to millions of ocean creatures. The boat rests on its side, and is HUGE! Even from the surface it is easy to see tons of amazing fish, which up to this point I thought only naturally existed in dentist office aquariums. (Why do dentists always have aquariums?) In some places the ship is so close to the surface you can touch it. I saw fish of all types. Blue ones, red ones, stripped ones, fat ones, long ones, some even wearing hats. I even had a close call with the vicious Moray Eel! I could have stayed there all day, but we moved on closer to the beach to check out a large coral reef. Lots more fish here, and some sea snakes, which we stayed away from. The fish would eat bread right out of my hand. Once a fish confused my finger for bread and took a strong nibble. I survived the attack, but barely.

Later that night I found myself in the casino at the Hyatt. I am not much of a gambler, I was mostly just exploring. I decided to play a little roulette. Slot machines are very boring, and card games are intimidating. I bought $20 worth of chips and vowed to not give them any more money once it was gone. On my second game I bet a few chips on 27, in honor of my recent birthday. (Yes I am 27, I know, I know, I better start taking centum silver) Well I got lucky and WON! My $20 had become $150! I played a few more dollars and then cashed out and left. That’s how you stick it to the man! What did I do with my winnings you might ask…? I opened the islands first fish taco stand! Again, sticking it to the man!

Overdue Post

2008-03-17T18:56:00.003-04:00

So I have been MIA for a while but I have a good excuse... ARUBA! That’s right I escaped to a tropical paradise for a week! Most people instantly think of the beach boy’s song, and know nothing else about this place. Here is the low down. Aruba is actually a desert. The island is covered in cactus and awesome Divi Divi trees and little else. The Divi trees grow in only one direction as the wind ALWAYS blows from the east. This is good because without the steady breeze any part of the island 50 yards from the beach would be TOO HOT in the HOT TUB! 80% of Aruba's economy is driven by tourists, so expensive. But the locals are eager to please, and take your money. Aruba speaks Papiamento, which is a mix of Portuguese, Spanish, English and Dutch. A common way to great someone is by saying "Dushi you". Which is basically -hello sweetie- but I found it very fun to say. The Caribbean ocean here is very nice. Crystal clear and 75 degrees! Tons of natural reefs and ocean life. The palm trees are imported, as is everything in Aruba except water, and a local beer called Balashi. A Balashi tastes like Heineken, gets better after two or three. Most beer comes in an 8oz bottle, so holding one makes you either feel ripped off, or like a giant.

I stayed off the hotel strips in a condo. The condo is called paradise, and it was. Newly remodeled with new furniture, and a private pool complete with waterfall and grill. Besides lounging by the pool or on the beach I spent a good deal of time exploring the island. The next few days I will post some "extended, director cut" stories. To get things rolling and to give you a feeling of the mix in cultures here is a simple good one.

After spending an afternoon hiking and exploring a natural pool, I was driving back to the condo being navigated by a local I had met named Marisa. I was hungry from all the activity. I had also been talking for a few hours non stop, to the chagrin of those in my company. I was craving a fish taco like a crack fiend. I was certain I could find a great place on this tropical island to eat about 12 delicious fresh Mexican/aquatic treats. So I asked Marissa "is there a good place to get fish tacos"? She replied "there are two places that a re good, one is 5 minutes from here". I got very excited. I started to describe what I hoped to find- "oh man its going to be so good! White fish wrapped in corn tortilla, with tartar sauce, cilantro and lime! I can't wait!"
The navigation Marissa was giving me was a little sketchy, taking me into some run down neighborhoods and once actually driving through an abandoned train yard. I figured I was about to discover a local gem of a Mexican stand kept hidden away from tourists. Finally she told me to part and pointed to an entrance. "Right in there" she said. I will wait here. "Are you sure you don't want one?" I asked. She looked at me like I was a mutant and said "why would I want one?” I walked into the entrance she had pointed out. I found myself in a bait shop full of Arabians. They all gave me a look like I had just busted down the door. I asked one, "where can I order a taco?” he said something I did not understand. I looked all around the shop, but saw nothing that looked like a place to order food. So I walked out thinking I must have entered the wrong door. Marissa was outside, "there are no taco's in there" I said.
"Tacos?" "Why would they have taco's" She asked
"I want a fish taco."
She threw her hands up in the air and looked exasperated. "I thought you asked for fish TACKLE"!
I lost it, laughing and complaining at the same time. She then informed me that I needed to speak correctly. Apparently it was MY accent that was difficult to understand. She then broke the tragic news to me that there are NO fish tacos on the island.
I still want one, and still have not had one.

Old man Winter

2008-02-29T17:59:00.002-05:00

So A few months ago I saw Old Man Winter on the train. I kid you not. There I was minding my own business quietly eves-dropping on the couple in front of me arguing about his "obvious" social faux pas. On aside, it was not really his fault. How was he to know it is not appropriate to discuss her very smelly feet at a cocktail party? He is not a mathmagician!
Anyway I felt a slow bitter cold presence pour over me like steam over the side of a boiling pot. I shivered and pulled my coat and scarf more securely around my muscularly bodice. But the teeth chattering, nostril burning feeling would not subside. And then I saw him, standing near the door!
He is very thin and tall. His hair is pure white and hangs down to the middle of his back. His beard is the same dove white and matches the length of his hair. His mouth is not visible beneath the alpine facial grooming. After gazing into his crystal blue eyes that are devoid of pupils I can tell he is grinning. He is very pleased with the shivering subway car he has created. And he is even more amused with the intruding aggressive chill he has produced outside. Before I can react he departs the train at the next stop. I think it was Arlington (never get off at Arlington FYI). The remainder of the week was amazingly cold! I knew it was my fault. If I had not froze, pun intended, I could have choked the bastard and saved Boston! After a week it warmed up. Old Man Winter must have left. I think he went to New Hampshire.

This morning as I walked home from the hospital I was sure I had frost bite on my ears. They had gotten so cold they hurt, and then they stopped hurting, so I was sure they fell off. This afternoon it all made sense. George text me and said he was on the train with Old Man Winter! I told George to capture him, and have not heard from him since. But it’s still really cold, so George most likely did not make it out alive. A moment of silence...

If you see Old Man Winter creeping around in your neighborhood, do us all a favor; take him to a steam room, a hot tub, or for hot coco. Whatever you do don't let him get away!

Anti-depressants

2008-02-29T00:37:00.002-05:00

Recently I have had a few weeks where I was feeling low. I could not place my finger on it, but for some reason I was sad. Some possibilities I came up with are:
1-winter, long, cold, grey
2-I can't juggle
3-I have been working 60+ hour weeks
4-I lost a sock doing laundry
5-I miss being close to my family
6-I realized I most likely will not grow up to be a dinosaur
7-roomates keep our apartment in constant disarray
8-I can't fit my fist in my mouth
9-most of my recreational activities involve drinking
10-I came in second at a "Mike look alike contest"

So I decided quick action was required. I started with a healthier lifestyle. Eating better, cutting drinking down to one night a week. I also started running 5 times a week and joined the local gym. And I have actually been going regularly. Slowly, and steadily my outlook became much brighter, and my smile returned. I noticed that when I am in a good mood, other people seem to be in a good mood too. Maybe happy people gravitate to each other, and the same for gloomy folks. Turns out exercise and a healthy body are my anti-depressants. I am going to re-enter that "look alike" contest now and see if I can beat the girl that won the first round!

SNOW daze!

2008-02-22T15:38:00.002-05:00

This Blog is devoted to all the kids back in the SLC, 801! So for the entire week all people have been talking about is this HUGE storm we are suppose to get Friday (today). People planned ahead, stocking up on food, water, condoms, whatever. Schools closed, the mayor (a ditz) ordered all "non-essential" staff to go home. Basically people are just freaking out. Well it's Friday. It's all happening. I am looking out the window of my office and it is the kind of snow we would call light, flurry, snow flakes the size of pepper flakes. The "STORM" was forecasted to start early this morning and "dump" all day. Total accumulation so far...get ready... better sit down... do you have enough food and condoms... 3 inches! OH SNACKS! I better get out of here and down into the bomb shelter (which we actually do have, it breaks the ice during orientation, here’s the cafeteria, the locker room, and the bomb shelter) before the roof collapses and I am crushed!

During my short time here, they have had 5! Snow days. Ok, those in the SLC, raise your hand if you remember 5 snow days in one year. No one? Ok, raise your hand if you remember 5 snow days total. Fine, raise your hand if you even remember a snow day. That’s what I thought. New England if full of high-strung-stress-cases. Back when I was your age, we used ta hav ta go ta skool thru ten foot a snow e'vry day! Once I had a legitimate snow day. I told my dad. He made me walk to school anyway, which was closed. But every kid in the "hood" was there anyway sledding. Even when we don't have to go to school we went. Why? Because that is what Jesus would do!
I'M DONE.

Boston, Big name- little city.

2008-02-19T18:09:00.002-05:00

Boston is a big place. I am not sure how many people live here, but do know there are 300,000 college students alone. The great thing about Boston is how small it is despite its size. I think there are two reasons for this. One, different parts of Boston have their own names and attitudes. For instance I live in Brookline Village, or just "the village". Its mostly Jewish upper middle class. We have tons of restaurants and small shops. Some other places are Washington Square (heavy Russian influence) Back Bay ($$$) The North End (little Italy) Cambridge (Harvard and MIT, what more do I need to say) Roxbury (don't go there) Jamaica Plain (Artists, big houses) South End (Irish) and so on. People take pride in where they live, which promotes solidarity. And the second reason there is an intimate feeling is that people are forced to be near each other. If you commute, you see the same faces on the train. It becomes rude after seeing the same face everyday not to say hi. Having laundry in your building is a luxury. So again you see the same people week after week (or month after month in my case) washing their drawers. And what’s more intimate than washing your undies with your neighbors. Because most people walk, they use places that are convenient. Same grocers, same banks, same delis, same coffee shops.

The catalyst for this rant is that I actually ran into the same girl three times yesterday, in three different places. First she was in the laundry mat, then in the coffee shop, and finally in the restaurant where I had dinner. But I don't live in Wyoming or some other tiny place. I live in Boston. And yet I run into the same people all the time. Sometimes its old friends but often it’s a familiar face, who becomes a new friend. If you approach someone friendly they are very likely to reciprocate. So the next time you find yourself stuck in line try saying hello to someone.

Brass is made of copper and what metal?

2008-02-11T16:54:00.000-05:00

Well here we are, Monday, again. And once again I have a fun packed weekend to write about.
Friday was a relief after working a 60 hour work week. I left my lab early and hurried home to start the craziness that would be the weekend. I was super excited when my buddy Bret (The Amtrekker) surprised us by bursting through the door to stay with us for a while. He just finished #6 on his list by walking to the top of the empire state building! We took the lazy road and walked to our local bar (Matt Murphy's). Its always a sure shot as they have live music every night. The band was large and mostly salsa music. The place is always so packed that dancing is impossible however.
Saturday Bret and I made our way to Harvard for the wrestling match. We met up with Daria, who despite my excellent offer to let her cheat would not wrestle me. Harvard actually won the match! And this is where things go the way of out of control. Jessica picked us up in Harvard square and drove us to meet George and his Nerd crew from the museum. The plan was to go play laser tag. I know some of you picture laser tag as immature or an activity that should be left to young prepubescent middle school kids. But what you may not realize is that these young kids are easy pickings for a superior and dominate sniper like myself. I will admit I felt a little sleazy being at least ten years older than any one in the place I did not come with. But after beating Bret three times in dance-dance-revolution I lost my inhibitions. The squeaky voiced acne ridden curfew abiding mob was no match for me. I was pleased to take THIRD place! No matter that the kid who won was 14. It’s still early when we get back to Brookline so we hit a bar. The bar was a dive so we decide to move on. We are walking down the street when we notice a group of people having a great time and decide we should check it out. Turns out we follow them into a water-polo party for Boston College students. We instantly blend in and make friends. I even spent a while serving keg beer to the hormone driven crowd. After witnessing several scenes of way too affectionate public displays, its time to leave. The night ends with some well fought foosball.
Sunday George and I decide the state of our apartment requires serious action. We must either burn the place to the ground, or clean like our parents are about to visit. We decide neither of us should go back to jail, and commit to a deep cleaning. After hours of intense scrubbing, I was again comfortable and pleased with my living quarters. We quickly clean up and put on our best suits to meet Aaron for his work party at the very swanky Harvard Club. We do our best to mingle with the elite of the Boston social scene but in the end move to a place we are more comfortable. Most Sundays we play trivia at a place in the Back Bay called Crossroads. Bar trivia is great! A proctor asks random questions and everyone works in teams to answer them in hopes of proving our intellectual eminence to the MIT students that typically win. My team did quite well. If it weren't for one question where our team was divided and ultimately chose the wrong answer, we would have won. The second place prize is a clear plastic Jenga game. More Foosball gets me to bed and now we are all up to date. Back to work, but my personal approach to life is once again validated, ITS FUN TO HAVE FUN!

6 word Memoir

2008-02-07T15:58:00.000-05:00

An interesting idea I heard recently was to write a six word memoir for yourself. Try and fit as much of yourself and your life into six words to encompass your entire life and personal perspective. Something that might fit on your head stone. I came up with a few for me, tell me what you think. And write one for yourself. Have fun!

Socially gifted, goal reaching, wilderness seeking.

Big hair, Big heart, Big party.

Affable leader, gentle engager, good douchebag.

Boston brewing male seeks daily happiness.

Tom-Foolery

2008-02-04T15:53:00.000-05:00

Hello all. Or the five people that read this. I am sure everyone is one the edge of their seat curious what I have been up to. Being a sleep specialist I feel I must update you so you can stop loosing sleep over it. It can be summarized by basic "tom-foolery".
My week days are typically the same. I wake up, sometimes by soggy items being placed on my chest by my generous cat (Frank). I go to work. I help little cute kids sleep more better, and then I save a few lives on my way home. Not very exciting, But I make up for it on the weekends. Some of you spend the weekends with me, and can verify this.
This weekend started with a quiet movie with 5 friends. The names of these friends will be left anonymous for their protection. There is a great theater by my place called the Coolidge Corner Theater
It is a historic independent theater with tons of character. A bunch of us had free passes. We won them several months ago by participating in a "truffle shuffle" contest at a screening of the Goonies. I should have won the contest, I didn't have enough belly fat to properly replicate, but that is a tangent. We watched Juno. It is a very funny film. It was enhanced by some adult "tea" we brought from home. If any of the employees inquired of my beverage my plan was to explain that I needed to drink it to control a kidney disorder. I did not get a chance to tell anyone my story. Feeling especially euphoric after the movie we decided the night was still young and a stop at the local tavern was in order. The Washington Tavern is a unique type of bar. It is managed by some Irish guy who hires his staff for personal reasons that don't necessarily include good customer service. I have witnessed the bar tender ask a group of girls to leave because the were taking too long with their drink order. They also will simply refuse to make any drink they do not approve of. Don't order anything with a garnish, or if fruit juice is required. They are more than happy to pour anyone a whiskey. We all had one and that if pretty much where my night ended.
Saturday I woke early and went for a run. There is a great pond near us called the Jamaican Pond. It is about a mile to run around and is a very nice green place in the middle of the city. I think this is where I will do most of my running. Feeling great after doing something healthy, I went back up to Cambridge to watch Harvard vs. Boston University wrestling match. The teams were more evenly matched than the previous weeks and it ended with a tie. I explored Cambridge a bit more having lunch at a really colorful burger place. To acquire a burger there are several steps. It is a process that locals are very efficient with, and tourists (which I consider myself) fumble and fail. It starts with waiting outside in a line. A lady hands you a menu. I thought, how nice, now I have time to read everything and make a good choice. Nope. The line moves forward and there is an old guy sitting on a stool taking orders. So of course when it is my turn I just point to a burger (turns out it is the Condoleezza Rice, which has bacon, cheese, and a gap) add a ginger ale, my menu is taken, the order disappears and I remain in line. After several minutes I am at the front of the line. Some places keep track of different orders by taking a name. Not this place. Here you are identified based on your drink order. This girl asks "are you the ginger ale?" I think she is making a joke about my hair. She guides me into the restaurant which is super crowed with a wide variety of people looking very happy with their burgers. The seating is ideal for people like me, who like to talk to everyone. The tables are long and run the entire length of the place. The hostess points to an open seat between an older gentleman and a young couple. Not only does this place serve very tasty burgers named after infamous people, it is a great place to make friends. By the time I left I knew that the older guy (Richard) was a venture capitalist, and the young couple had met at Harvard and were recently married. We all had ordered a different variety of fries, which become communal. Saturday ends with me making Marsala sauce for ten people and Sunday is the super bowl. I just realized how long I have been rambling so I will wrap it up with a cliff hanger and follow up later. If you add 2 cups of corn starch to sauce it makes sauce Jell-O. Cheers!

Dirty Laundry

2008-01-28T21:06:00.000-05:00

Another weekend for the archives! This Saturday I went to watch the intelligent yet weak Harvard wrestling team. I was really excited because as most of you know, I wrestled in High School and a bit in college. So I have a passion for it. Harvard does not have a good wrestling team sadly. The had two matches, and two losses. I still had fun, and after the match I even went out on the mat and beat up on some people. Yup, I still got it!

Sunday of course is dinner at Franks as always. It was a good sauce, mushroom and sausage. But before dinner I had to do laundry. Which is the basis of this entry. Most of us can agree that doing laundry lies somewhere between a trip to the dentist and a smack to the face as far as fun goes. But it gets better. For me to do laundry I have to pack everything up in a very large suitcase, drag the suitcase down three flights of stairs. Then I have to pull the suitcase several blocks (in the snow yesterday) to the laundromat. But wait, I forgot to get quarters. So now I have to try and hide my suitcase and run to the store. Now, with a pocket full of quarters, run back to the MAT to start the real fun. Sort all the laundry as fast as possible in an attempt to keep weirdos from checking out my undies. There is actually a benefit at this point. I can do four loads at the same time. This of course cost $4/machine. But things are moving fast. There is a sign posted which basically says "don't leave things unattended or they will be stolen and we really don't care". So I ignore that and run out for a cup of coffee. I am 50% sure I will return to find all my clothing gone. Or better yet See people wearing it on my walk back. I get lucky this time, everything is accounted for. Its dry time! I don't know why the dryers are so much larger than the washers. But I figure its so you can fit more. So I put my four loads in two dryers drop another $2/machine. I am also very smug thinking I have beat the system by putting two loads in each dryer, suckers. Guess what... Two loads, no matter the size of the dryer, takes twice as long to dry. So with this time I pretend to read a magazine and not eves-drop on the guy next to me conversation about his newest STD. I also hope I am not using any machines he used...(nothing itchy yet, I will keep you posted). Here is the best part of the entire adventure, folding. There are two types of folders. There are the people that hold their underwear high above their head and maybe even hang some about. And there are the people that quickly seek out all their underwear and stash them out of sight. Guess which I am? I actually like to see if I can get people to help me fold my underwear like its a sheet or something. Because of this I am no longer allowed in the MAT close to my place. Or within 100 feet of the entrance. But my clothes are clean, and I don't have to repeat the process until every last pair of underwear is dirty again... and still maybe not for a few days.

Boston is Slanty!

2008-01-24T18:07:00.001-05:00

When I first arrived in Boston I stayed in a sublease for three months. The place was furnished and in a nice area. I had never seen it in person so was a little surprised when I arrived. My room was very slanty. I am talking like a 15 degree slant towards the door. The dresser was so slanty things would roll off. It was impossible to sit at the desk becasue the chair had wheels and you constantly would roll to the door. In fact it was so slanty I had to sleep backwards in bed to avaoid a head rush. But since it was only for three months I figured I could tough it out. My next apartment will be level, I thought.

Guess what? Its not. Nope not even close. The stairs up to my room are so slanty I have witnessed people climb up them gripping the handrail like its a Everest expidition. This of course becomes more entertaining if the climber has finished a few drinks first. It is nearly impossible to make our foosball table level. One side clearly has the advantage. So what have I learned? BOSTON IS SLANTY! Maybe the ground settles differently here. Maybe flat is not important. Maybe one of my legs is shorter than the other. Whatever it is, I live in a slanty-shanty. And I have become comfortable with it.

Flamingos In the woods!

2008-01-23T19:25:00.000-05:00

So my Little brother Kevin is not impressed that I managed to find a flamingo in the winter wilderness. But I bet some of you are! So how did this happen? The answer is the STONE ZOO. After wondering around for a few hours and a close call with some ninjas, Frank and I found ourselves on a road. We started walking up the road picking up trash. (save the planet and such) After we had walked just far enough for me to become certain we were walking the wrong direction we found it. The zoo had a very meager entrance and not a single car in the parking lot. Our curiosity overcame us and we went to the ticket booth. There was a guy who explained the zoo was open. He also told us that a good number of the animals were hiding, to escape the cold. He was so desperate to actually have visitors that he gave a a discount and in we went. The Zoo was AWESOME! It was very small taking only 30 min to see everything. It was so wooded and quaint that it really accented the animals well. Ticket-Guy was right, many animals refused to show. I did see wolves, Mt. Lions, Meercats, and Flamingos. The Flamingos were super noisy. I really didn't know why they were making such a ruckus. It reminded me of the scene in ALICE IN WONDERLAND where they use the flamingos to play croquet. Frank and I tried to set up a game really quickly, but as we were the only people in the zoo we were found out quickly. They even had a "exotic Mexican rat" but I am fairly certain it was a gerbil. Still I like the Stone Zoo. A great surprise to a day of hiking!

**DISCLAIMER** Wondering and WAndering can be interchanged when traveling in the woods. Obviously AMTREKKERS don't know this. Maybe thats one reason AMTREKKERS are often lost. And can't read good.

Middlesex Fells

2008-01-22T20:03:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone! So that little germ I told you about last week... He finally left. He put up quite a fight and actally I think he was a smoker. either that or he was smoking meat cuz my throat is sure itchy! I have a lingering cough to remind me of the little terror.

Another great weekend to report. I want to focus on my wondering in the wilderness though. Sunday my good friend Frank (the person not the cat) woke me from a very short sleep period to drag me into the woods. Don't worry, nothing unsavory happens at this point. We were going hiking. He had found a place 30min outside of Boston called Middlesex Fells. We drove out there and went wondering around in some very pretty territory. The place is mostly pine trees and granite rocks and it surround a very large lake. Frank told me that the lake is the fresh water supply for Boston. I am not sure i believe him but I threw some rocks in just for prinicple. I was really cold. I was carrying a bottle of water and it froze solid. So when my itchy throat needed some water I was left licking an ice block.Even with the bitter cold, walking around and frolicking in the woods was exactly what I needed. I left with a clear mind and a smile on my face! Here is a list of animals I saw on the hike.
Bald Eagle, several rodents, various birds, flamingos, canadian lynx, and a puma.
Now some of you may be thinking that I am "exagerating" or "stoned" but i assure you that I saw all the animals listed above in the Middlesex Fells. I have Frank (the person) as my wittness. Come back tomorrow and I will tell you how.

Cheers!

Man Down!

2008-01-17T15:27:00.000-05:00

Most people that know me are aware that I pride myself on having a stellar immune system. In fact I have gone as far as to gloat that I have the immune system of a super hero. How did I acquire such a defense system. Some people attribute it to my eating things I find. Perhaps it is because I work in hospitals so am regularly exposed to pathogens. I think its just a natural part of being a bad ass. Something strange happen yesterday though. I sneezed. Then I coughed. And then, I got a fever and felt dizzy. Some crazy strong germ somehow managed to skirt my defenses and is now trying to make a living making me feel like crap. But don't shut yourself in the bomb shelter just quite yet. After taking enough vitamin C to prevent scurvy for the rest of my life I think I have him on the run. I refuse to be a good host, and have made it quite clear he is not welcome. Still if you fell the need to send soup, or whiskey, I will not stop you.

Sniff, Sniff-

Amtrekker

2008-01-15T22:07:00.000-05:00

I have met many interesting people in my wanderings. Once such guy is named Brett. He currently goes by the name Amtrekker. We met in Boston when he needed a place to stay and found me through http://couchsurfing.com This site allows people to travel the world and crash on couches with locals. Conversely, you can allow people to crash on your couch. More about this later.

Brett had a great job with Disney designing sets for rides. His feet were itchy however, so he created his own adventure. He made a list of 50 things he would like to do in the USA. Then he quit his job, bought a train pass and left home. He has vowed that he will not return home until he finishes his list. Initially he stayed with me for a week in Boston. He has left and returned many times however. Now we are great friends. I have even been able to participate with some on the things on his list. I really like what he is doing and hope to do something similar one day. Check out his website, I appear more than a few times.

Cheers!

http://amtrekker.com

Weekend update

2008-01-14T20:06:00.000-05:00

There is nothing I like better than spending time with friends, and that is what I did all weekend.

Friday, George and I finally committed some time to getting our keg system set up. A bunch of friends came over, with lots of beer, and worked with us on getting the taps setup. I am sure I am about to become very popular because I now have three beers on tap in my house! That's right we have a kegerator and three kegs of home brew up and running. It has been a goal of mine for a while. I finally worked it all out with the help of a couple friends who happen to be engineers. One more reason for everyone to visit me in Boston

Saturday my roommates and I hosted a party. We really like theme parties, so the theme was "bring your own holiday". My roommates dressed as, new years, 4th of July, Mardi Gras, St Pa tricks day. I was Oktoberfest. That involves me in some very small leather shorts, and lederhosen. My very hairy legs were a big hit. It was a fun party, and there were many good costumes. I will get some pictures up here at some point.

Sunday I woke to find the house in serious disarray. It smelled like a dive bar too. After some forced breakfast (nothing like grease to absorb alcohol) there was some serious cleaning. After the place was returned to normal I watched the Dallas Cowboys loose in the playoffs. I lost $5 on the game, so there goes the private jet I was saving for. The weekend was wrapped up with some bar trivia. We took sixth place.... too much fun, not enough focus on the questions.

Now I am back at work. I am actually glad to have some peace and quiet.

Cheers!

Cost 20 bones to be dry!

2008-01-11T14:58:00.000-05:00

So this morning I awoke to the sound of machine gun fire outside my window. After hitting the deck and shreeching like a little girl further investigation revealed it was only rain. That's right, rain, loads of it, in December, in Boston. Not such a bad thing I guess. Except I had a meeting I had to be to at the hospital. Normally I walk to the hospital, its only 5 blocks away after all. As I was in the shower the solution came to me. A TAXI! I could call a cab and ride to the hospital thus avoiding the buckets of water falling from the above. I called a cab, it arrived promptly, and I was off. (I had gotten dressed as well, this story is PG) How does this story end.... it ends with a 30 min cab ride for 5 blocks. Why? Because its Boston! No one believes in courteous driving here. Oh no, block intersections, take up two lanes, and honk..... a lot! I did arrive dry, but the 5 block ride took twice as long as normal and cost me 20 bones-jones. Was it worth?, you may ask... well the cab smelled like fried chicken and urine, so ya it was worth it.

North End

2008-01-10T18:59:00.000-05:00

Solast night I had dinner in the north end, which is little Italy here. There is a great resturant with very authentic food. There are only about four tables and a huge Guido looking guy at the door. You literally have to stand in a line on the sidewalk until a table is available. And of course it is cash only. Come to Boston and I will take you to meet tommy-two-toes (guy that works the door)!

Spring?

2008-01-08T17:58:00.000-05:00

Hey kids,

Its really warm in Boston today. Feels like spring. But I will not be fooled. I hear its been really snowy in SLC. How is everyone holding out?

Don't faint Sue

2008-01-07T23:00:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone. And by everyone I mean Sue. Becasue I am sure she is the only one reading this. I was so impressed with Brads blog that I decided you were right. It is a great way to share whats going on. PLus I really don't want to loose touch with all those people back West. Dallas is going to win the super bowl!