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Merry Christmas, from the past.
Dec. 24th, 2008 10:08 pmThe bus to Boston was driven by a jolly black man with pale blue eyes who stood outside the bus and greeted each passenger individually as they boarded, willing a smile out of each of them. I sat across the table from a young american woman and her french lover. When she spoke english she had a NY drawl, but her french pronounciation seemed perfect. I didn't say much to them during the trip because I thought it would be rude to start a conversation that he wasn't included in (he spoke no english), but I did share a moment with him over our mutual opinion on US cuisine – the one stop on the 5 ½ hour trip was Burger King. Some things don't take language to communicate.
I saw a house on the way, huge, abandoned and filling with snow, on an empty block amongst empty blocks, with only factories in sight.
When I arrived in Boston S and O took me right out to see “The Slutcracker”, a burlesque show done entirely to the score of “The Nutcracker prince”. It follows a somewhat similar plot , but with a dildo instead of a little nutcracker soldier being what magically comes to life. I now feel somewhat differently about the Sugar Plum Fairy than I may have previously. In my pants.
There was snow.
Food here all costs twice as much, and is half as good. We have found a couple of places in the whole town that vend what may, at a stretch, be described as semi-drinkable coffee. Beer here is better than I had been lead to believe, provided you buy the right stuff.
And there was snow.
If snow in Boston was a soft-rock artist it would probably release an album called “The Many Moods of Snow,” with track titles like “fluffy love” and “hardened by the cold” and “perfect for snowpeople” and “BLIZZARDY SHARDS OF ICE IN YOUR FACE”. Shops closed early and everything.
Boston may not have a comparable total amount of cool with New York (I'm told), but it seems to have higher concentrations in particular areas, which is better when the temperature is minus ten. Tuesday night, the nearest major street to Owen's place in Cambridge was abuzz with live music and clubs. We went out to see some bluegrass, it was fantastic, old-man fantastic. The bar was very Irish-American, their were bar stools and dinge, and all of the staff were roughly the same roundish shape and I think they may have all been related to each other.
Owen, Sophie, Lon and I have done an imperial fuckton of shopping today. We have been attempting to obtain ingredients for authentic US Christmas cuisine, to aid us in our quest to eat the american dream. I don't know if tofurkey counts, but we'll give it a shot.
It is the night before Christmas. Owen's student digs are now strung with Christmas lights, and we have obtained 4 giant plastic candy canes and a Darth Vader mask from the local thrift store. Let the festivities begin!
I saw a house on the way, huge, abandoned and filling with snow, on an empty block amongst empty blocks, with only factories in sight.
When I arrived in Boston S and O took me right out to see “The Slutcracker”, a burlesque show done entirely to the score of “The Nutcracker prince”. It follows a somewhat similar plot , but with a dildo instead of a little nutcracker soldier being what magically comes to life. I now feel somewhat differently about the Sugar Plum Fairy than I may have previously. In my pants.
There was snow.
Food here all costs twice as much, and is half as good. We have found a couple of places in the whole town that vend what may, at a stretch, be described as semi-drinkable coffee. Beer here is better than I had been lead to believe, provided you buy the right stuff.
And there was snow.
If snow in Boston was a soft-rock artist it would probably release an album called “The Many Moods of Snow,” with track titles like “fluffy love” and “hardened by the cold” and “perfect for snowpeople” and “BLIZZARDY SHARDS OF ICE IN YOUR FACE”. Shops closed early and everything.
Boston may not have a comparable total amount of cool with New York (I'm told), but it seems to have higher concentrations in particular areas, which is better when the temperature is minus ten. Tuesday night, the nearest major street to Owen's place in Cambridge was abuzz with live music and clubs. We went out to see some bluegrass, it was fantastic, old-man fantastic. The bar was very Irish-American, their were bar stools and dinge, and all of the staff were roughly the same roundish shape and I think they may have all been related to each other.
Owen, Sophie, Lon and I have done an imperial fuckton of shopping today. We have been attempting to obtain ingredients for authentic US Christmas cuisine, to aid us in our quest to eat the american dream. I don't know if tofurkey counts, but we'll give it a shot.
It is the night before Christmas. Owen's student digs are now strung with Christmas lights, and we have obtained 4 giant plastic candy canes and a Darth Vader mask from the local thrift store. Let the festivities begin!
