Epiphanies = Being an infant at 29

This is something that, if you cook, you probably already realize. Let me preface this by saying that I've never been a short-order cook nor have I ever taken a cooking class. I love food and I love cookbooks...I've cobbled together what I know through trial and error. Today, I came to understand what must be doled out in the first day of any culinary experience of value: dual-usage.

Three days ago, we had P&M over for dinner. I decided to make pasta with a meat sauce. I tried something new (after sauteing the meat, onions and garlic, I added a cup of chicken stock with the spices and let it all simmer until the liquid had evaporated). This resulted in the best red sauce I'd ever made...and, as usual, I'd made way too much. My first thought was to make more pasta for the sauce. However, after a trip to Costco and returning with way too much meat, I decided to use the sauce to pour over some chicken. It was a Chicken Marsalas sort of dish after I added Feta to the sauce and covered the casserole with cheese at the very end. Holy crap, did it work out nicely!

But here's my deal: this is the first time that I've used a 'sauce' for two drastically different dishes like so. I was blown away by my 'innovation' at first but then I realized how my Mom used to do this sort of thing...and it was called 'leftovers'. Not in the 'I-had-Thai-last-night-and-these-are-my-leftovers' sense but as in the 'use-what-you-have' way. I'll be honest, I love cooking and have for as long as I can remember. As far back as being in my single-digits and making peanut butter cookies with my mom. But, for some reason, using what you had on hand hadn't sunk in until tonight. My Mom always seemed to have on hand what was needed to make a dish but, as I realized in a flash tonight, it wasn't that she had this or that specifically on hand; she simply used what was at hand and made do. Christ, I'm a slow learner...

S.

I'd say it's hot but I understand the rest of you are feeling it too

To recap the last few days:

The beach was nice, though it cost me $2 to walk onto a beach that was no more than 300 yards long and packed to the gills. Apparently, walk-on fees are standard with New England beaches. Sort of sullies the naturalism of the event. Sort of like paying to get into Zion or Yellowstone. Oh, wait...

Aside from the strangest sunburn I've ever gotten (it can only be described as 'splotchy', but in a very Pollack sort of way), I learned that women go to the beach to watch other women, compare themselves with those other women and either feel better or worse for wearing their own swimsuit that day. In short, not much was learned.

The following day, we rented a Zipcar for a few hours. It's sort of like a subscription car service. You pay a membership fee and then have the ability to reserve one of several cars parked in your area online for half hour increments. It turns out that the closest one to us just happens to be a Prius, a 'hybrid' sedan. This gasoline/electric bastard had its quirks, like a shifter that I swear was a rip-off of the classic Pole Position shifter of the 80s, but turned out to be a fine mode of transport for us and our stuff. Driving in Boston, on the other hand, was a pain in the ass.

Much like Italy, if the road is wide enough to accomodate four lanes of traffic, it does so without the benefit of additional painted lines. This is all well and good, except that it requires a judgement call on the part of each driver. What's wide enough for me might not be for the blue hair driving the Caddy 18 mph in front of me. Further, Boston seems afflicted with the same naming convention issues that Atlanta is stricken with: a road can only be called one thing for 3-4 blocks, then its name must change. Also, EVERY intersection is a 'Square'. There is one not a block from where we live; it's a normal 4-way stop in a sleepy residential area but it's called "Susan 'Bee' Smith Square" with the subtitle 'Dedicated Mother, Quilting Enthusiast and Public Employee'. With luck and perserverance, I hope to get it changed to "Shaun 'Tall Shaun the Prawn' Van Eyk Square' in the next few years of living here. Subtitle: 'Low Miles, New Tires/Brakes'.

Aside from those two excursions, it's pretty much just been setting up the homestead. We are officially 'unpacked' and ready for guests. I painted the bathroom today (Grape Reflection...apparently, the same people that name squares also name paints) and will knock out the hallway tomorrow. w00t.

Cheers,

S.

Boston Dispatch #10 - Creature Comforts

Oh man, do I hurt. The movers showed up around 9:30 this morning and yes they brought the semi. To my amazement, they weren't forced to move and hire a van. A cop did show up but only he only made the truck pull forward a bit to provide access to the fire hydrant across the street. It was as though the entire city of Cambridge just sucked it up and walked it off. Thank you, Cambridge.

It took them about three hours to off-load all of our stuff. As they brought boxes in, they read off the tag numbers of each one and I marked them off on a list. They pretty much just dropped stuff off in the bedroom so after marking the item off the list, I'd run it to the appropriate room. They were rather rough on our stuff. Several items, including the all-important TV, were damaged. I called our 'agent' and she gave me the number to some claims adjuster that'll come out and, well, adjust our claim. I'm not exactly sure what that means.

I couldn't keep awake long enough to finish this post last night. Brooke called me around 1:30 or so to awake me up and have me tote her bags in. I think we spoke about a total of 10 sentences to each other before we both crashed out; comfortably in a bed, I might add. It was the first thing I got assembled after the movers left. After that, I spent the rest of the evening slogging through all the kitchen stuff. What I thought was an amply cabinet'd kitchen became pretty damn tight by the time I got through all the boxes. I crapped out sometime around midnight after getting the stereo, tv and such put together. The couch and some music put me right out until Brooke called.

Today, amazingly, we got nearly the entire place unpacked. It's always a surprise to me how much more you can get done with more when there are two of you. We got just about everything done aside from hang paintings and such. In the process, we realized that we still have a bunch of stuff that we need to purge. I'm voting for more nick-nacks but I might have to give up some CDs...or electronic equipment. grr.

Ok, this is getting boring. We're going to the beach tomorrow with P&M. Perhaps we'll get lost and have a Scooby-Doo quality adventure that'll share tomorrow.

Cheers,
S.

Can't Sleep

I've been awake for an hour now. I woke up to the sound of the window A/C unit kicking on and I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. I've scanned the usual websites (fark, slashdot, nytimes, etc) for any interesting tidbits. Not much to report, other than Krugman's curiosity about what may happen now that China's unpegging the yuan from the dollar on the Times website. Could mean good things for manufacturing and textiles here in the US (but I doubt it) and it could mean the housing bubble will burst soon (which it should). I doubt we'll see a dramatic effect on our manufacturing sector because, though a stronger yuan might make China less competitive, there are more than a few poor developing countries that'd be happy to pick up some of their slack.

Speaking of US manufacturers, one of my favs is American Apparel (www.americanapparel.net). They pretty much just do shirts and undergarments but I hope they'll expand their line as they grow. They're based in LA, pay all they're workers a living wage and are moving toward using organic cotton exclusively. Plus, their shirts are cut like t-shirts are supposed to be (ie- like they did in the 70s before we became significantly heavier). I was introduced to them when I lived in Seattle and they've pretty much become my sole source of t-shirts and 'leisure shirts'. Man, I hope they start making dress shirts before I'm done with law school.

Alright, time to try sleep again.
S.

Tuna: A Question

Has anyone noticed a severe degradation in the quality of canned tuna lately? I generally buy the 'whole white albacore' tuna which not too many years ago used to be 1)whole and 2)white. I've noticed that the last few cans of said tuna I've purchased have been semi-whole but totally pink like your standard chunk tuna is. I know world fish populations have declined significantly but my expectation would be that the price of tuna would go up to compensate for this. Instead, they seem to packing all cans with chunks of some sort of non-white non-albacore fish and just mislabeling half of them. Any thoughts?

Boston Dispatch #9 - Cash Money and Thick Accents

So much for painting today. I just couldn't muster the will to do another room so I decided to go easy on myself. I had a few holes here and there that I patched and painted over to finish up the kitchen, living room, study and bedroom. As you can probably guess, that took all of an hour to do so I spent the rest of the day wandering and leaving successively meaner messages in Pat's vmail. Bastard doesn't like to return phone calls because he's 'studying'. What a monkey.

I wandered up to Harvard today and all around the back streets off of Mass Ave. There are almost no houses to be found around here. All you see are older apartment buildings like ours or massive old houses that have been split up into condos. The occasional semi-high-rise is thrown in for added populations density. If you consider all that living space coupled with 95% of the roads being barely two lanes, you'll see why mass transit is a major part of life here. It's not just some wasteful mockery of public transit funds (ie- MARTA in Atlanta), it's the real deal. It has to be.

Speaking of transportation, I've gotten a couple of calls in the last two days about my car. It's sitting on a lot down in Atlanta right now trying to get itself sold. The asking price for the Naughty Vic is 3200, which is the high blue book value in Atlanta. Considering how much I paid for it and how much work I've done on it in the last two years, it's probably worth it. But I think we'd go as low as 2800 in a pinch. Anyway, the two people that have called me were guys with very thick accents. The first guy sounded like he spoke Spanish natively; the guy today had a very gravelly slavic accent. Being difficult to understand wasn't the only thing they had in common. Neither were interested in knowing anything about the car or the maintenance that's been done on it. More importantly, both of them offered me '2000 dollars, cash money' for the blasted thing, as though the fact that they were offering legal tender should be enough to entice me into dropping the price by more than 1/3rd the asking price. Hell, I've got the title...it's not like I'm trying to fence the damn thing.

So, I told them both that the lowest I'd go was 3k and they both got off the phone rather quickly after that. Seriously, who would accept such an offer? These guys were both swindling bastards, I'm sure of it. I'm positive they were looking for a rock bottom price so that they could flip it and make some coin. They didn't even ask anything about the car...bastards.

Finally, tomorrow the movers are coming and I'm not very happy about the circumstances. I told the driver of the 18-wheeler that there was no way in Hell that he'd be able to maneuver our street, let alone park when he picked up our stuff in Atlanta. So, dude calls me tonight around 6, after the 'office' has closed, to tell me that no shuttle (ie- smaller moving van) has been scheduled and he's just going to try to come by between 7 and 8 am tomorrow. I'm not sure what part of 'not physically possible' he doesn't understand but lemme explain how tomorrow is going to play out. I know this because it's exactly how it worked out when he picked up our stuff in Atlanta. First, he'll show up, park his g-damned Semi out in front and effectively block traffic on our street until he's threatened by the police. Since we're two blocks from city hall, this will take less than fifteen minutes. Then, he'll call in to the 'dispatch' where they'll inform him that he can get a shuttle, but not until Noon. He'll go park somewhere and a shuttle will finally arrive with our stuff some time around 2 and they'll take 4 hours to unload it. Brilliant! I've already left messages for the dispatch and the corporate moving person that's been our contact all this time. I can only hope that someone gets in early, checks the messages and gets it sorted out before dude tries to drive his golfball semi through Cambridge's gardenhose streets.

Cheers,
S.

Boston Dispatch #8 - grrr. grrr, I say!

So I just found out that the movers aren't coming until Friday now. I just finished up painting the living room and had cleaned all the painting stuff in anticipation of putting it all away for a bit. I've only got the hallway and the bathroom left and I figured I'd do them sometime next week while Brooke was at work. Instead, I've got to bust it all out again tomorrow and paint the bathroom. That, and I've got one more night of sleeping on the floor like a squatter. Brilliant.

Instead, perhaps I'll just hang out on Mass Ave all day drinking an adult bevvie from a paper bag in front of a paper cup. Who knows, my winnings might even cover tuition. There are several dozen (I'm serious) 'regulars' that frequent the nearest 4 blocks of Mass Ave. Some of them hawk Spare Change, some argue with people that aren't there and others just sit quietly on a city bench and stare off into the distance. There is this one guy that is always outside the B of A hawking Spare Change. At some point, I'll probably give in and buy one from him just out of exhaustion. His conviction and consistency deserve at least a dollar, to say the least.

A few observations. First, my own ignorance. The day I arrived, I hit the local CVS for some necessary supplies. Dig this ratio: I bought three rolls of toilet paper and one roll of paper towels for a week. Mind you, this made total sense at the time. I've been married going on four months now and Brooke and I have been 'living without the benefit of clergy' for over a year and a half. This ratio made total sense...were she here. I've since discovered that there are not, in fact, toilet paper gnomes that come out at night and eat your TP. In fact, it'll be a week tomorrow and I haven't even broken the halfway mark on the first roll of tissue. And I'm regular. And I've been eating Indian food. This begs the question: what the hell does Brooke do with 2.5 rolls of TP a week? Anyone care to get me up to speed on that one?

Second, I've just discovered that there are three liquor stores within five blocks of our place (suddenly, dozens of street urchins makes sense). I went into Supreme Liquor tonight and, truth be told, it was supreme. It was huge, for one. For another, the woman that rang me up was turbo friendly. I asked about Yeungling Lager, a beer from PA (fun fact: it's the oldest brewery in the US) that ex-girlfriend Beth introduced me to. It's phenomenal beer, trust me, but I can't seem to find it anywhere. The cashier'd never heard of it but she promised to keep an eye out for it the next time they order stock. Awesome! Now, if they'll only start stocking it prior to school starting perhaps I'll get a chance to enjoy some.

Finally, I can't praise Aqua Teen Hunger Force enough. I've been recording Adult Swim for the last few nights and enjoying ATHF a great deal. Brooke doesn't get it and I can't blame her. It's total geek humor, by and large. But I find it hilarious and I highly recommend you check it out (except you, Mom...you definitely won't find it funny). It's done a great job of getting me through the evenings these last few days.

Cheers,
S.

ps- The new Danger-Doom album is coming out in October (thank you, Adult Swim, for reminding me). You should all purchase it. A collaboration between Danger Mouse (who brilliantly remix Jay-Z's Black Album with samples from the Beatles White Album last year) and MF Doom (who is, as far as I can tell, the cleverist lyricist alive)...what's not to like? In fact, I'll be a poor college student at that point so you should buy the album twice and mail me a copy. Vinyl, plz. S.

pps- Whoever signed their comment to the 'stache picture as 'god' needs their head examined. Anymore like that and I'll make you all register to comment.

ppps- Strike that last sentence. What I should have written is 'please keep your comments relevant and rated PG-13'. Remember, my Mom reads this. I really don't feel comfortable deleting comments but if it's really offensive, I will. I won't, however, turn on the registration requirement to post since I think that allowing you to post anonymously is beneficial.

Awesome Foreign Signage #7

These were all over Capri. I think they're akin to the 'Obey' tags you see all over the place (ie - guerilla art). Or they're laser-show protest stickers. You decide.

Awesome Foreign Signage #6

This one was on all the train doors on the train to Pompeii. I think that 'non appoggiarsi' means 'this door will friggin eat you'. What sucks is that there was actually a better one that I didn't get a photo of that has the little black dude straddling the doors, one leg in, one leg out. That one said 'this door will eat your nuts', I think.

Awesome Foreign Signage #5

It is my belief that this sign translates as 'Talk to the Hand!'

Awesome Foreign Signage #4

The way of propaganda. Need I say more?

Awesome Foreign Signage #3

Ok, this isn't a sign but it's funny. Everywhere you walked in Rome, there were street vendors selling guidebooks in any language you could think of (except Esperanto). I think the third one down in this photo is Polish. But every time I saw it, all I could think was 'Nice to see they've translated the guidebook into Wu Tang Clannish'. This joke is probably not funny to anyone who is over 30...sorry.

Awesome Foreign Signage #2

This was a sign we found while wandering the Cinque Terre with Tido and Baton Rouge. It's funny because it's point at me. Get it?

Awesome Foreign Signage #1

I've been meaning to send out a few photos of awesome Italian signage. Instead, I think I'll just post them in the blog.

This particular sticker was posted, appropriately, at the entrance to the hotel bar in our first hotel in Santa Margherita Ligure. There was a slight step down as you exited. Plus, you'd be drunk.

Dispatch #7 - All your rugs are belong to us!

I was Capitan Productive today. I got the bedroom completely painted (two coats), started around the trim in the living room (a tasteful grey with the naughty name 'Satin Sheets') and bought a rug! That's right, kids, no more caveman living for this fellow. I've got me a rug to sleep on tonight! I found it at Economy Hardward which, strangely enough, is neither economical nor do they have much in the way of hardware. It's this furry shag rug, very simple and so much more comfortable that polished birch. After the last few days on the floor, it'll be like sleeping on a bed of Charmin' toilet paper.

I think that all this painting is starting to catch up to me, though. I noticed some unfamiliar stiffness and soreness today. Not that 'I've been working out' soreness I'm occassionally accustom to...it's more of a workin' man's ache. I'll be honest, it feels good. There is something to be said for vigorous physical activity that is productive (ie - not performed at a gym). It's satisfying in a truly visceral way. Perhaps I got a little of my Dad's 'frustrated farmer' gene...

Pat and I grabbed a drink at this awesome local tavern called 'The Peoples' Pub'. The outside is painted Soviet red and gold and one side has a painting of Elvis in one of those furry ear-flap hats. The inside is plastered with Soviet-era propaganda posters. (Clint, this is YOUR bar.) The place has a totally local feel to it and they only take cash. I felt like a VIP there because one of my best buddies is a Commie who lived in Cuba for a spell. When Brooke gets here with our camera, I'll post photos of this place.

Finally, I'd like to add some commentary regarding liquor stores in Boston. First off, I'm glad to be living in a state that doesn't let booze take Sunday off anymore. Especially since I usually do my weekly cooking on Sunday and I can't tell you how many times in the last few years I've had to pass on a recipe because it required sherry or a dry white wine. They don't open until noon on Sundays but at least they friggin' open! Second, they're all about the value when it comes to wine here. You'll walk into a liquor store and they'll have bins of wine that are labeled '2 for 10' or any variant therein. I walked by one tonight that listed '3 for 12'. Obviously, I'll need to stop by there tomorrow. Hurray for value!

It seems like I'm forgetting something but I'm done racking my brain. I'm headed for the fluffy goodness of a newly purchased rug, if you'll excuse me...

my stache rules, Richie,
S.

Boston Dispatch #6 - Humidity and the Hard Sell

Holy crap was it muggy today! It rained a bit in the early afternoon which pushed the water vapor to saturation. Then the friggin' Sun came out and wrenched the temperature up to the mid-80s. Not, I might add, as bad as Honduras in June but still pretty miserable when you're stuck painting in a house with little air circulation. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm not genetically predisposed to this sort of climate. I'm custom built for cool northern climates. Like the Artic or a Fridgeair.

I know this because of science...and my own personal observations. I remember reading a few years back about a study done on mitochondrial DNA (which, as I'm sure you all remember from biology, is passed down from your mother untouched by dad's genetic material. I think there are only 24 different types that have been identified, but I'm not 100% on that). The study found that people whose ancestors lived primarily in northern climates had a mitochondrial 'defect' built in that made the powerhouse of the cell less efficient than the mitochondria found in those whose predecessors kicked it near the Equator. Lack of efficiency means it requires more fuel to perform the same actions but also means more heat is generated in the process. As my wife will attest, I'm one very warm running dude. I can sit completely still and generate enough heat to warm a 8'x10' room from 60 degrees F to near-body temperature in a very short time. That said, you can imagine how freakin' hot and nasty-sweaty I was this afternoon in the kitchen when it was already an ambient temperature of 85 degrees with nearly 100% humidity. Now you see why I chose Denmark over Togo for my study abroad...

Enough science. I have two bits of weirdness to report today. First was a fairly ugly accident that occured on my corner this afternoon. I was working on putting up my second coat in the kitchen when I hearded this squeal and crash out the window. My first thought was 'awh, shit, I bet that was the electric motor in the A/C unit' since the bedroom is right next to the kitchen and that was the closest mechanical thing to me. Also, because that's just my freakin' luck. This thought was fleeting though, since I could still here the A/C unit plugging away (bless it's freon heart) so I ventured down from the ladder and to the living room window to see the carnage. It wasn't too bad, from what I could see, and there were a ton of folks on the street so I didn't feel obliged to run down to check pulses or call the police. Within minutes, every public service that cares to put lights and sirens in their vehicles was represented on the scene and the whole thing was mopped up in under 45 minutes. Tre impressive. In Atlanta, it would have taken at least an hour to get a tow truck...or a police officer, for that matter.

The second oddity occurred while I was out hunting for a rug and a liquor store (found the latter...not the former, though). I got stopped by a young Irish girl who was tried to get me to sign up to sponsor a child through Plan USA (http://www.planusa.org/index.php). To say she was persistent would be like saying it was slightly humid today. It took me the better part of ten minutes to get away from her (yes, without signing up to sponsor a kid). I felt really badly for her because this is her 'job' and, though I asked for the website for more information, she doesn't get any credit if I decide to sponsor a child via the site (which is bull-hocky, if you ask me). She spends 9 hours a day hawking kids on the streets of Boston, so she tells me. Her quota for a day's work: 6 kids. That's one kid for every 1.5 hours. I told her I appreciated her passion but I'm not in the habit of supporting organizations that I'm introduced to on the street. I was honest about wanting to know more about Plan USA and I figured that the website would be a great start in finding out about it. But the fact that she doesn't get any credit for it if I decide to sign up online totally stinks. Now that I've come home and actually taken a good look at their bio, I probably would sponsor a kid. I encourage you all to consider it. Me, I'm waiting until I see her again so she can get credit.

Finally (I know!), I went to the same Indian restaurant tonight. P&M came over tonight and we had a lovely dinner (hurrah for Taj Mahals!). I didn't get the option of Nineth-Circle-of-Hell hot tonight but it was tasty nonetheless. I tryed the Chicken Mushroom dish because Brooke loves mushrooms and I'm desparately trying to find an Indian dish that she can't live without so that I can justify going more often. Sadly, I don't think she'd care for it, though it was friggin' awesome. I'll try again tomorrow, I guess.

Cheers,
S.

Is that a sweet mustache or what?!?

Boston Dispatch #5 – I might need a chiropractor

I do believe I’ll be getting to bed at a more reasonable hour tonight. I slept in until 9 this morning and shuffled around, fiddling with my damnable homemade Tivo until around 2. Mel, Pat and I had talked about getting a car and heading to Brookline to Costco/Home Depot today but the car fell through. I ran out of patience with the computer so I decided that it was time to get cracking on some painting. I walked to my neighborhood hardware store (where I’m a nigh-celebrity nowadays) and got a couple of gallons of paint, color ‘Sun Mist’ or some such. It’s a pale yellow for the study, kitchen and probably the hallway. I came home and set to task painting the study.

It took me the better part of four hours to get the room paint with a first coat. Not exactly record breaking, that. But, I did it the right way…and I didn’t tape off anything so I had to be precise. In the silence and movement, I got to thinking about my Dad. I remember doing a lot of painting with him and I’m really glad that he taught me how to do it right. Of course, were he alive and here today, I’m sure he would have found a ton of flaws in my work. All the same, I had my Dad-approved Purdy paint brushes and though I wasn’t ‘cutting in’ perfectly around the trim like he could, I’m sure he would have given me an ‘E’ for effort. Man, I miss that old codger.

I wrapped up the paint around 7. I’ll need to put a second coat on tomorrow but that should go fast. My goal is to finish the study and the hallway tomorrow. Tuesday, I’d like to get the kitchen and bathroom done. Wednesday will be a long day since I’ll need to get the living room and the bedroom done and they’re by far the biggest two rooms we have here. Thursday, the movers are slated to arrive and then, gloriously, I’ll be able to sleep and sit comfortably once again.

Since Brooke isn’t here yet, I got too eat Indian food at one of the dozen Indian restaurants near by. Sooooo tasty! And reasonable, too. For $11.50, I got appetizer, soup, chicken korma (officially, the world’s tastiest dish), dessert and tea. Plus, when I said ‘I like my korma hot as Hades’ they actually listened and put a little bit of the devil in the dish. It’s been my experience recently at Thai and Indian restaurants they completely disregard my requests and instead make spiciness decisions based on my ethnicity. The ‘5 stars’ I’ve been getting lately have been ‘white-man spicy’ (2 or 3 stars, generally). Well, I’m happy to report that the fine folks at Gandhi Restaurant are color blind. My nose is still running.

Seeing as I’ll be painting pretty steadily over the next few days, I’ll try not to bore you with too many painting-related stories. I fully intend to take daily excursions to places other than the hardware store so, hopefully, that’ll make for some good copy. Perhaps I’ll get mugged? Perhaps I’ll drink booze from a paper sack with a few other bums on Mass Ave? Who knows…stay tuned.

Cheers,

Shaun.

Boston Dispatch #4 – Another Short One

Fenway. I went there tonight; not for a game, mind you. For a charity concert. Besides being a wicked conversationalist and a lovely woman, Mel also has what the kids call the ‘Hook Up’. She got us ticket to see a concert called ‘Hot Stove, Cool Music’ at Fenway Park. Before arriving, I’ll be honest, I was more excited about being at Fenway that I was to be at the show. Buffalo Tom was headlining, for godsake! But the opening acts made it totally worth it. The opener was Ben Kweller, who, I’m sure we’ll all agree, rocks like a force-five hurricane. Then came Julianna Hatfield…then Dennis ‘friggin’ Leary! It was awesome.

It was honestly down hill after that. A band comprised of several Red Sox played a bunch of country-billy covers and Buffalo Tom was mediocre, as they’ve always been. The highlights were really the insane bids being made by members of the audience for jerseys, shoes and boxes seats autographed or occupied by Red Sox. I’m not kidding…I saw a man bid sixteen thousand dollars for four seats sitting in the general manager’s box with the man himself. Yes, yes, yes it was for charity and we were all drinking but what kind of mofo is rolling around with that sort of excess capital just waiting to throw it down at such an event. It was humbling while at the same time sick and wrong. Perhaps that’s just the Marxist in me…

Ok, it’s time for bed. Did I mention I’m kicking it solo on a hardwood floor…and I miss my wife? I know I should be thankful for having a floor (and a roof) as well as a lovely, understanding wife…I just wish she was here right now…along with our bed. Man, that would rock…

Night…

S.

Boston Dispatch #3 – Deaf Cyber Punks on the T

Ok, this one I promise will be short because it’s already 1am. Nothing too exciting to report today, truth be told. I finished all the doors in the apartment (they’re all sparkly bronze now) and did my first load of laundry in the basement. Mundane, yes, but first nonetheless. I wandered around the ‘hood for a bit this morning as well, walking west on Mass Ave until I reached Harvard square. Much to Brooke’s dismay, there is either an Indian restaurant or a record store on every block for a good ten blocks. I have a feeling I’ll be spending what little spare time and money I have over the next few years either stinking like curry or filling out my collection of sweet rare vinyl.

Two observations from today, then I’m done. First, I’ve spent the last two nights in the Beacon Hill neighborhood and as such have walked home via Boston Commons and the Public Gardens. Let me just say that if you’re trying to be inconspicuous and nonchalant about rocking the ganja after hours, Beacon Hill is not the place to do it. It’s sparsely populated, quite and dark…not exactly the Pink Floyd reunion tour, kids. Besides, winners don’t do drugs…

Second, I saw this young deaf couple on the train tonight that really got the hamsters running. They couldn’t have been older than 21 or so and both were pretty attractive. They both had the big, over-the-ear hearing aids and I was mesmerized by their communication. It was half signing, half lip reading. What was disturbing was that when the boy turned his head, attached to one of the large hearing aids was what looked like a speaker implanted in his skull directly behind his ear. Has anyone seen this sort of thing before? If so, is it possible to get laser and/or x-ray eye implants?

It’s bedtime. I hope all of you are well. Tell me if you want me to stop sending you these missives.

S.

Boston Dispatch #2 - How to Be Mistaken for Homeless

Easy. Just don’t shave for two weeks, then carry a sleeping bag and a lawn chair on the ‘T’. Insta-transient! I got some interesting looks on my way home tonight…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

First, I need to address some of the emails I’ve received from you all in response to last night’s tirade. It’s glaringly obvious that I forgot to inform some of you, my close friends, what the hell I’ve been up to for the last year. So, let me first apologize for sucking (I’m sorry) and then give you abridged version of my shenanigans: I got laid off in March, married in April and start law school at Suffolk here in Boston in August. I knew that the hammer was coming down at work about a year ago and I also knew that IT and corporate living, with its fat paychecks and hot flight attendants, just wasn’t for me. I crave a simpler life with dense reading and lot’s of crazy liberals that make me look like a moderate. Obviously, the only thing that fit the bill was law school in New England. So here I am, all by my lonesome until my lovely wife of three months arrives next week to join me in the Peoples’ Republic of Cambridge.

So, now that you’ve been apologized to and gotten the back story, back to today’s interesting tales of moving to the Big Beanie. It started at 4am when I realized that no amount of wine would turn my hardwood floor into a Sleep Number bed. I tried for a few hours to get back to sleep but it was nothing doing. I finally got up around seven, got my first of three showers of the day (did I mention that it’s humid here?) and wander down the block in search of coffee. Around the corner on Mass Ave, I discovered a nice local coffee shop that was not prepared for me. I asked for a large Americano, a drink that always does you right and is quite simple. I was greeted with ‘umm, how many shots of espresso do you want in it?’ Huh? ‘Umm, as many as are supposed to go into it?’ Isn’t there some divine law that dictates how many angels can dance on the head of a pin and the correct espresso/water ratio in a large Americano? I guessed four and, for future reference, that is the recommended dosage. Armed with coffee and a cheddar/scallion scone, I headed home to start my mini-remodeling project.

A note on remodeling: if at all possible, live within a block of a hardware store. I do and, trust me, it saved me hours of time. I went there no fewer than three times today. Of course, if I had a pen and could write down what I need before making the trek, I probably would have only gone once but that’s beside the point. Notes are for professionals and I’m decidedly amateur.

My first project was to remove all the doors and ancient hinged cabinets in order to remove the paint from the great Deco hinges and fixtures. Man, what a pain in the ass! First off, I’d like to point out that Brass is similar to Bronze…and there’s a reason that the Bronze Age was succeeded by the Iron Age. I spent a pretty penny buying screws to replace the ones I was committing genocide upon. I got the kitchen today before I threw in the towel. I know, I’m a wimp.

At some point during the day, I also bought groceries and a Vornado™ floor fan. I felt weird buying frozen dinners at Whole Foods but I don’t have any pots or utensils as of yet. I even committed the cardinal sin of purchasing plastic forks there. What else was I to do? I don’t own a Swiss Army knife and I’ll be damned if I’ll subject myself to a strict fruit and granola bar regime until the movers get here. Anyway, I hugged several trees on my way home so that was my penance.

The fan, on the other hand, is a little rock star. I’m currently using it in my ‘can a small window A/C unit cool 625sf of apartment’ experiment. So far, it’s doing pretty well. Plus, it looks tough. It’s no sissy floor fan…it’s the Vornado™!

After giving up on my restoration project, I headed to Beacon Hill and the promise of an easy chair. I went over to P&M’s, drank some wine (duh) and chilled with Mel until Pat got back home. It was nice to just kick it with the big M for a bit. We talked of much important stuff like how the difference between dating and marriage is akin to Columbus’ discovery of the New World. He landed on Hispaniola and thought it was Japan (dating). Later, Vespucci sailed along the cost of South America, after the Trans-Atlantic trek had been vetted, and suddenly, dauntingly there was so much more (marriage). See what wine leads to?

Anyway, Pat finally showed up, we ate leftover pizza and watched mind-numbing TV for a bit. Did you know that Hugh Grant knocked over some photographer with his car? I didn’t. Luckily, they kept replaying the same three second clip of it so I’ll be counting paparazzi road kill tonight as I try to fall asleep. Also, there is cleavage ALL OVER PRIME TIME TV! You may not notice it but I have an eye for it so, trust me, it’s there. Crazy.

P&M were kind enough to loan me a lawn chair and a sleeping bag until the movers arrive. Man, talk about the simple pleasures. I’m looking forward to sleeping past 4am tonight. One paparazzo, two paparazzo…

On that note, I’m off to bed. I hope you all are doing well and have something better that a hardwood floor to sleep on tonight.

Cheers,
Shaun.

P.S. – For those of you that really really want to read the Italian Dispatches (all 24 pages of them), just ask and I’ll send them in Word. S.

Boston Dispatch #1

Today was my first official day in Boston as a resident. I flew in this afternoon to little fanfare and exceptionally late-arriving luggage at baggage claim. My friend Patrick met me there, as he always has on my visits to Beantown, and we were off to the new place in Cambridge. Since no one in their right mind drives in this town, we took the ‘T’ (subway). Mostly uneventful but it did provide enough time for us to catch up and for me to tell him about my recent adventures in terrible customer service. Good times.

Arrival at #22 was where things got a little ugly. The door was unlocked and there were cleaning supplies and piles of grit and grime everywhere. I called the broker that showed us this place since I didn’t have the number to our new landlord, Paul. She called me back a few minutes later to tell me that Paul was on his way over and that the cleaning crew had just stepped out to get additional supplies. Pat and I had left just moments early to get something to eat since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, though, so I asked her to have him call me. Here is an abridged transcript of our conversation:

Paul: ‘Hey Shaun, how are you?’

Shaun: ‘Well, I’d be better if my place wasn’t such a mess.’

P: ‘Yeah, about that, the broker told me you weren’t coming in until the 13^th’

S: ‘Yeah, well, my lease started on the 1^st so regardless of what the broker told you, I’d sort of expect this sort of clean up to be done prior to that date.’

P: ‘Wait, wait, wait…that’s not how it works. I’m in constant touch with my brokers and they tell me when my tenants are moving in.’

S: ‘My lease started July one, Paul, which means I could be in there anytime from that day forward. The broker has nothing to do with it. If you had pre-move in stuff you needed to get done, it should have been done prior to that date.’

P: ‘Well, somebody’s not on the same page here. I don’t know who…well, I have a good idea. I have a good relationship with all my tenants and this one doesn’t seem to be starting on the right foot. If you want to move to another apartment, that’s up to you.’

S: ‘I didn’t say I wanted to move to another apartment. I said that my expectation is that this work you’re doing today should have been done before the lease started, regardless of the actual day I got here.’

P: ‘Listen, I’d be happy to argue this with you. I like to argue. But it’s not going to change anything.’

At this point, had I been in the same room with him, I most likely would have committed a felony. He quickly changed the subject, mentioning that the oven door would be fixed tomorrow and asking me how many sets of keys I had. I let it slide. I was tired, hungry and in no mood to either kill or look for another apartment. Truth be told, he struck me was a fast-talking little weasel of a man when we met him a month ago but we like the apartment and the neighborhood. At least I know where I stand with him now. I will say, though, that this marks yet another time in my life that I wish I was a lawyer, specifically with a solid knowledge of landlord/tenant law. Guess it’s proof positive that I’m heading the right direction…

After that debacle, Pat and I met up with his wife Melissa for dinner. It was good to see them both again but I was anxious to get home afterwards and be alone. I’ve got the moving blues. The first few days of a move to a new place, I wander around a lot by myself. I don’t miss the familiar so much as I feel depressed, really. It’s starting over, really, and though that brings with it a lot of possibilities, it also means a lot of redundancies. I’ve met people that have lived the same place their entire life. On the outside, I’ve wondered aloud how they could live forever knowing only their little sphere. On the inside, though, I’ve often envied them for their resolve and, in a way that I’d like to think isn’t condescending, their complex ignorance. They’re like specialists in Stone Mountain, Georgia or Ephrata, Washington. They may only know 10 square miles but they know them like nothing I could know.

So, anyway, I’m a little down but it’s standard issue at this point. Luckily, I’ve got a couple of good friends to keep me from getting too sad. That, and wine. I’m in good hands.

Shaun.