Yes I'm way late here. I was busy.
Actually on Thanksgiving day itself I wasn't but shh
On Saturday I was at my friend Sarah's house, having a Thanksgiving dinner with a small (in comparison) group of the people who in September attended the xkcd flashmob in Cambridge. 25 people were expected, so some, myself included, went overboard with the cooking. A turducken was roasted, as was an additional turkey. I myself supplied a hell of a lot of mashed potatoes, stuffing (one of three that were made for the event), and a pumpkin cheesecake with a chocolate whiskey sauce. So yeah. A lot of the people were full before I managed to put the gravy together.
As for the gathering itself? Imagine a group of geeks ranging in age from 21 to 27 eating and boozing. Two people from outside the country joined in on webcam. A couple who are friends with the man ultimately responsible for all this craziness came up (and in fact brought the roast with them) from Virginia. They are two of at least half a dozen people who plan to move to the area as a result of what they experienced in September.
Good times.
--
For the second time, I was called upon to be a creepy whatever in a student film. This time the director seemed to know what he was doing at least. The asshole who covered me hair and all in fake blood made out of grenadine and chocolate sauce that took four showers to remove and never gave me a copy of the finished product had better hope he never sees me again.
Seeing people cringe as the director had me record brain-sucking noises for overdubbing was satisfying.
--
Saturday marked the last show before Hekseri went on indefinite hiatus, having achieved the pinaccle of their cult popularity on the Massachusetts metal scene. They'd appeared on multiple compilations, including a tribute album to genre founder Venom, and even But alas, their drummer was a douche. I'd missed what was previously going to be their final show. I'd called their bassist, who by what I assure you all is sheer coincidence is my cousin, as they were packing up.
"You didn't miss anything. We sucked."
"Ah shit. What happened?"
"The timing was all fucked. We can't go out like this."
And they didn't. They played a kickass set, including a rendition of Venom's Don't Burn The Witch for which they were assisted by the elderly metal band's former lead guitarist. Excellent.
And as it happened, I met someone there who I'd known in high school. He was there specifically to see my cousin's band play, which I thought was a pretty awesome coincidence.
On a completely unrelated note, I just found out that I still have all of the episodes of Bruce Timm's Batman animated series.
Fuck yes.
11.27.2007
11.18.2007
Sunday Morning Grab Bag
This weekend I've been trying to learn a song written by a guitarist who's said that he got so much action in his day that he doesn't even like sex anymore. He also did so much heroin that he had to have his teeth removed. That John Fruiscante is still playing guitar is astounding. That he's doing it as well as he is still is nothing short of a fucking miracle.
He's played far more complex guitar parts than Under The Bridge, but the little things he did on that album are just fucking cool. There's one point where he plays a C# power chord on the downstroke and a C#minor on the upstroke--Correct people on that bit and they might accuse you of nitpicking-- but what it adds to the feel of it...
Those of you reading this who don't play guitar may not be following. Those who do are probably wondering why I haven't noticed this before. Way to go, Pat.
Sort of an interesting whodunit as to some push polling in GOP primaries. Sounds to me like it was Guliani in Arizona, with the untraceable front company. They are, of course, all in the Accusing Parlor pointing fingers.
A friend of mine turned 27 the other day, and I took it upon myself to bake something. She and I are big fans of whiskey, so I thought I'd break out something that my grandmother makes; whiskey cake, which is essentially yellowcake (not the kind that Saddam wasn't looking for in Africa) with a whiskey sugar and butter glaze. It's delicious. A cousin of mine once tried to get drunk off of it. There were two problems with this. One, the alcohol content is boiled off when the glaze is made. Two, there's maybe a shot of whiskey spread out over the cake. you don't actually taste the whiskey
I didn't have the bundt cake pan so I was going to have to do something different. I made cupcakes. More surface area to cover meant the need for more glaze. The original recipe called for
1/4 cup whiskey
1/2 cup sugar
1 stick butter.
I quadrupled the whiskey, put in a 3/4 cup of sugar, and let the butter stay constant.
The way I combined the ingredients involved putting as little direct heat under the whiskey as possible--melting the butter, dissolving the sugar in it (I did need to add some of the whiskey to the heat so that there would be enough liquid to dissolve it) and then adding the rest of the whiskey Obviously you may not want to do this if there are chilluns around, but everyone I was making these for was over 21.
The problem was, though, how do I go about applying the stuff to the cupcakes. I realized that this would be a problem as I was pulling them out. In bundt cake form, you just pour it all on top and it works. but that was a problem here. First I dipped them each in the mixture, but didn't manage to sop all of it up. I was running short on time at this point, and tried to hastily add powdered sugar and butter to it until it became frosting. This didn't quite work, but it did become something that could be applied to the top like it was a frosting and stay there (ish)
The result was tasty, but quite messy. I achieved my primary objective in creating a form of whiskey cake that actually tastes like whiskey, but as far as presentation and practicability this is still in beta.
The whiskey I used was Bushmills; which I find to have the most favorable taste/cost ratio (I wasn't going to get the bottle just to cook with it, after all). The handle only ran me forty bucks, and it's delicious... significantly smoother more subtle than Jameson. I've been meaning to give the ten year single malt a try, but haven't been able to hunt it down. Of course, to my knowledge, only one of you drinks whiskey, so, you know, whatever.
Two notes for high school theater directors
1: Do NOT cast people who can't sing in singing parts in a musical. If you don't have enough singers, then just don't fucking do a musical
2: Don't fucking use microphones. There's no god damned reason any actor, even in high school, shouldn't be able to fill a room with their voice. I have yet to see a mic'd high school show that didn't suffer for it.
It's a shame, because even though there was only one competent male singer in the play in question (my cousin's high school's rendition of Anything Goes, by Cole Porter), the females, my cousin included, were excellent. Actually this happens a lot with high school musicals, and it makes me wonder if I couldn't make a tidy sum in royalties if I were to write shows in which only the females had difficult singing parts.
It's possible that I'm an asshole here. My theater group in high school took the matter far more seriously and shied away from anything amateurish, despite the fact that we were amateurs by definition. I never sang a lead in my school's shows, and my voice didn't exactly suck.
I guess I just hate to see people throw in the towel where younglings are concerned, even if it's something as (admittedly) non-vital as a high school show.
Oh. I was going to say something about this. I don't pretend to have a hell of a lot of knowledge regarding the effect that subsidy has on agriculture as a whole, but as I see it we fucking pamper the corn farmers in this country and that shit has to stop. For one, high fructose corn syrup as an ingredient in so many god damned packaged foods has been demonstrably negative to our health. More importantly, corn ethanol is bullshit. Sugarcane ethanol is cheaper and eight times more efficient, but we don't grow sugarcane here. And there's a prohibitave tariff on imported ethanol, which means that getting it on the outside doesn't come with a financial advantage, which means it doesn't happen. As far as the rest of it? Subsidies have been increasingly going to the largest and wealthiest farms, but the average voter in the effected states doesn't seem to see it that way.
I as always make room for the possibility that I'm completely off-base. And room for the possibility that now is maybe the time to stop typing and get some sleep.
He's played far more complex guitar parts than Under The Bridge, but the little things he did on that album are just fucking cool. There's one point where he plays a C# power chord on the downstroke and a C#minor on the upstroke--Correct people on that bit and they might accuse you of nitpicking-- but what it adds to the feel of it...
Those of you reading this who don't play guitar may not be following. Those who do are probably wondering why I haven't noticed this before. Way to go, Pat.
Sort of an interesting whodunit as to some push polling in GOP primaries. Sounds to me like it was Guliani in Arizona, with the untraceable front company. They are, of course, all in the Accusing Parlor pointing fingers.
A friend of mine turned 27 the other day, and I took it upon myself to bake something. She and I are big fans of whiskey, so I thought I'd break out something that my grandmother makes; whiskey cake, which is essentially yellowcake (not the kind that Saddam wasn't looking for in Africa) with a whiskey sugar and butter glaze. It's delicious. A cousin of mine once tried to get drunk off of it. There were two problems with this. One, the alcohol content is boiled off when the glaze is made. Two, there's maybe a shot of whiskey spread out over the cake. you don't actually taste the whiskey
I didn't have the bundt cake pan so I was going to have to do something different. I made cupcakes. More surface area to cover meant the need for more glaze. The original recipe called for
1/4 cup whiskey
1/2 cup sugar
1 stick butter.
I quadrupled the whiskey, put in a 3/4 cup of sugar, and let the butter stay constant.
The way I combined the ingredients involved putting as little direct heat under the whiskey as possible--melting the butter, dissolving the sugar in it (I did need to add some of the whiskey to the heat so that there would be enough liquid to dissolve it) and then adding the rest of the whiskey Obviously you may not want to do this if there are chilluns around, but everyone I was making these for was over 21.
The problem was, though, how do I go about applying the stuff to the cupcakes. I realized that this would be a problem as I was pulling them out. In bundt cake form, you just pour it all on top and it works. but that was a problem here. First I dipped them each in the mixture, but didn't manage to sop all of it up. I was running short on time at this point, and tried to hastily add powdered sugar and butter to it until it became frosting. This didn't quite work, but it did become something that could be applied to the top like it was a frosting and stay there (ish)
The result was tasty, but quite messy. I achieved my primary objective in creating a form of whiskey cake that actually tastes like whiskey, but as far as presentation and practicability this is still in beta.
The whiskey I used was Bushmills; which I find to have the most favorable taste/cost ratio (I wasn't going to get the bottle just to cook with it, after all). The handle only ran me forty bucks, and it's delicious... significantly smoother more subtle than Jameson. I've been meaning to give the ten year single malt a try, but haven't been able to hunt it down. Of course, to my knowledge, only one of you drinks whiskey, so, you know, whatever.
Two notes for high school theater directors
1: Do NOT cast people who can't sing in singing parts in a musical. If you don't have enough singers, then just don't fucking do a musical
2: Don't fucking use microphones. There's no god damned reason any actor, even in high school, shouldn't be able to fill a room with their voice. I have yet to see a mic'd high school show that didn't suffer for it.
It's a shame, because even though there was only one competent male singer in the play in question (my cousin's high school's rendition of Anything Goes, by Cole Porter), the females, my cousin included, were excellent. Actually this happens a lot with high school musicals, and it makes me wonder if I couldn't make a tidy sum in royalties if I were to write shows in which only the females had difficult singing parts.
It's possible that I'm an asshole here. My theater group in high school took the matter far more seriously and shied away from anything amateurish, despite the fact that we were amateurs by definition. I never sang a lead in my school's shows, and my voice didn't exactly suck.
I guess I just hate to see people throw in the towel where younglings are concerned, even if it's something as (admittedly) non-vital as a high school show.
Oh. I was going to say something about this. I don't pretend to have a hell of a lot of knowledge regarding the effect that subsidy has on agriculture as a whole, but as I see it we fucking pamper the corn farmers in this country and that shit has to stop. For one, high fructose corn syrup as an ingredient in so many god damned packaged foods has been demonstrably negative to our health. More importantly, corn ethanol is bullshit. Sugarcane ethanol is cheaper and eight times more efficient, but we don't grow sugarcane here. And there's a prohibitave tariff on imported ethanol, which means that getting it on the outside doesn't come with a financial advantage, which means it doesn't happen. As far as the rest of it? Subsidies have been increasingly going to the largest and wealthiest farms, but the average voter in the effected states doesn't seem to see it that way.
I as always make room for the possibility that I'm completely off-base. And room for the possibility that now is maybe the time to stop typing and get some sleep.
11.15.2007
FUCK THIS SHIT
Let's take this blow by blow, shall we?
Proclaiming a sense of new energy and empowerment, the nation's Roman Catholic bishops on Wednesday issued instructions to Catholic voters that their eternal salvation could be at stake when they cast ballots.
TRANSLATION: You've forgotten about the whole hiding pedophile priests thing by now, right?
Bishops emphasized that voters must consider the church's teachings on abortion and other moral issues when they select a candidate for the White House or any other office. If they don't, bishops said, it's not clergy who will judge them but God.
The word "consider" implies that they're not saying that their word is the be all and the end all. Thing is, while the Vatican always says that one should keep one's own conscience, they won't hesitate to emphatically declare all who disagree to be of faulty conscience.
There's talk about Iraq too, and they take up a position I agree with there, but that's not the point. This is over the line even as far as religious interference in politics goes. Jerry Falwell may have been into some far more serious bullshit than the Catholic Church, but even he never put out a document saying that a vote for a candidate who disagrees with him would send you to hell. That being said, the breadth of transgressions that damned you in his eyes may have implicated all people who voted against the GOP anyways, but he never made a one to one correlation between dissent and damnation.
No one, not even Mahatma Ghandi in his day, has any business proclaiming themselves to be a moral authority. I don't give a shit what organization gave you a hat. If you go around saying that people's souls are in danger if they don't vote your way, you've earned yourself a spot against the wall, come the revolution.
Speaking of which, a spy tells us that we need to rethink what "privacy" means.
Sounds a bit like a rapist saying that we need to redefine "consent."
Privacy no longer can mean anonymity, says Donald Kerr, the principal deputy director of national intelligence. Instead, it should mean that government and businesses properly safeguard people's private communications and financial information.
Who here is as excited as I am? Remember how much fun it was redefining the right to a fair trial, freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, and separation of church and state?
the very concept of a Constitutional protection of privacy, as implied by the third, fourth, and ninth amendments, refers specifically to protection from government agents intruding upon one's home and effects. It's based on a healthy distrust of government that the framers all had. Saying that privacy means that government and business interests have the key and you can trust them is fundamentally bullshit.
In the words of my friend Anna, I'll be on the battlements with a bottle of scotch and a vat of boiling oil. Feel free to join me.
Proclaiming a sense of new energy and empowerment, the nation's Roman Catholic bishops on Wednesday issued instructions to Catholic voters that their eternal salvation could be at stake when they cast ballots.
TRANSLATION: You've forgotten about the whole hiding pedophile priests thing by now, right?
Bishops emphasized that voters must consider the church's teachings on abortion and other moral issues when they select a candidate for the White House or any other office. If they don't, bishops said, it's not clergy who will judge them but God.
The word "consider" implies that they're not saying that their word is the be all and the end all. Thing is, while the Vatican always says that one should keep one's own conscience, they won't hesitate to emphatically declare all who disagree to be of faulty conscience.
There's talk about Iraq too, and they take up a position I agree with there, but that's not the point. This is over the line even as far as religious interference in politics goes. Jerry Falwell may have been into some far more serious bullshit than the Catholic Church, but even he never put out a document saying that a vote for a candidate who disagrees with him would send you to hell. That being said, the breadth of transgressions that damned you in his eyes may have implicated all people who voted against the GOP anyways, but he never made a one to one correlation between dissent and damnation.
No one, not even Mahatma Ghandi in his day, has any business proclaiming themselves to be a moral authority. I don't give a shit what organization gave you a hat. If you go around saying that people's souls are in danger if they don't vote your way, you've earned yourself a spot against the wall, come the revolution.
Speaking of which, a spy tells us that we need to rethink what "privacy" means.
Sounds a bit like a rapist saying that we need to redefine "consent."
Privacy no longer can mean anonymity, says Donald Kerr, the principal deputy director of national intelligence. Instead, it should mean that government and businesses properly safeguard people's private communications and financial information.
Who here is as excited as I am? Remember how much fun it was redefining the right to a fair trial, freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, and separation of church and state?
the very concept of a Constitutional protection of privacy, as implied by the third, fourth, and ninth amendments, refers specifically to protection from government agents intruding upon one's home and effects. It's based on a healthy distrust of government that the framers all had. Saying that privacy means that government and business interests have the key and you can trust them is fundamentally bullshit.
In the words of my friend Anna, I'll be on the battlements with a bottle of scotch and a vat of boiling oil. Feel free to join me.
11.11.2007
Dropping the needle: Nerdcore!
My absence has not, in fact, been laziness. It's been a show of support for the striking writers guild. I, on the other hand, have recently secured a 40% cut of all revenue generated by my online writings.
Yeah, that sounded funnier in my head.
But HOLY SHIT SHAYNA'S BACK
An IM popped up the other night at around 8
Pat.
Come to Allston
the Front is playing Harper's Ferry
When?
Now!
On went the not-quite-suitable-for-cold-weather-indie-looking hoodie. Over the shoulder went the laptop bag filled with notebooks, pens, party favors and deodorant. It's only a coincidence that it's a pretty accurate portmonteau of scenester wear for both the indie and nerdcore scenes.
MC Frontalot is the George Washington of Nerdcore hip-hop. Which isn't to say that he's the first, but he coined the phrase and leads the fucking charge. He's also the unofficial rapper of webcomics, and the official rapper of Penny Arcade in particular. But I'll get to him later. As I rolled in to Harper's Ferry, legendary local group Jim's Big Ego was rocking out on the stage. Not nerdcore per se, but certainly sharing common influences
couldn't really find a good live clip.
The double bass player was playing one of those new electric standup basses that I find do be quite the awesome.
Joining MC Frontalot on the tour is Schaffer the Darklord, who I hadn't heard of previously. He came on stage with a black box and a black robe, which he shed soon after the first song. I think this clip best captures him
There was also a proper music video that he put out that's ok. Obviously he sounds better live. He finished out his (awesome) set, and then on came MC Frontalot, the self-proclaimed world's 579th-greatest rapper.
What I love about the genre is that while it puts its tongue firmly in its cheek, it doesn't diminish itself by doing so. In many ways it is to hip-hop what Venture Brothers is to cartoons.
Frontalot's popularity skyrocketed to the point where he could make a living selling his cds and merch online and at his shows when he was made the official rapper of Penny Arcade, which is now a business that supports six people, two of whom have families. All because those two guys make funny comic strips on the internet. Stories like his, coupled with Radiohead's ballsy move with its latest album and those who will follow it, may be the death knell for the RIAA and its thightass torch and pitchfork brigade.
The night concluded with some craziness at a friend and fellow xkcd-er's apartment before we all crashed after some mild debauchery. The dividends of that meetup in September continue to come in.
Yeah, that sounded funnier in my head.
But HOLY SHIT SHAYNA'S BACK
An IM popped up the other night at around 8
Pat.
Come to Allston
the Front is playing Harper's Ferry
When?
Now!
On went the not-quite-suitable-for-cold-weather-indie-looking hoodie. Over the shoulder went the laptop bag filled with notebooks, pens, party favors and deodorant. It's only a coincidence that it's a pretty accurate portmonteau of scenester wear for both the indie and nerdcore scenes.
MC Frontalot is the George Washington of Nerdcore hip-hop. Which isn't to say that he's the first, but he coined the phrase and leads the fucking charge. He's also the unofficial rapper of webcomics, and the official rapper of Penny Arcade in particular. But I'll get to him later. As I rolled in to Harper's Ferry, legendary local group Jim's Big Ego was rocking out on the stage. Not nerdcore per se, but certainly sharing common influences
couldn't really find a good live clip.
The double bass player was playing one of those new electric standup basses that I find do be quite the awesome.
Joining MC Frontalot on the tour is Schaffer the Darklord, who I hadn't heard of previously. He came on stage with a black box and a black robe, which he shed soon after the first song. I think this clip best captures him
There was also a proper music video that he put out that's ok. Obviously he sounds better live. He finished out his (awesome) set, and then on came MC Frontalot, the self-proclaimed world's 579th-greatest rapper.
What I love about the genre is that while it puts its tongue firmly in its cheek, it doesn't diminish itself by doing so. In many ways it is to hip-hop what Venture Brothers is to cartoons.
Frontalot's popularity skyrocketed to the point where he could make a living selling his cds and merch online and at his shows when he was made the official rapper of Penny Arcade, which is now a business that supports six people, two of whom have families. All because those two guys make funny comic strips on the internet. Stories like his, coupled with Radiohead's ballsy move with its latest album and those who will follow it, may be the death knell for the RIAA and its thightass torch and pitchfork brigade.
The night concluded with some craziness at a friend and fellow xkcd-er's apartment before we all crashed after some mild debauchery. The dividends of that meetup in September continue to come in.
11.04.2007
Vignettes
"What's next after gambling, Patrick? Prostitution? Drug dealing?"
The phrase "free society" is lost on some people. But that's the least of this guy's problems.
"What's next, governor?"
Ah he wasn't talking to me. That made since. I turned around. Massachusetts governor Deval Patrick was conspicuously absent. We were, in fact, outside the State House, so it was worth another look. But no. No politicians within earshot. It took me a second to remember who he was.
It was the Skitzophrenic Subway Pundit. The reason it took me a while to recognize him is I hadn't seen him since around the time gay marriage had been legalized here. Well, aside from the fact that I'd never seen him above ground before. When I had to take the T to school every day I'd run in to him a few times a month, always with his small canvas bag and his opinions. And every time muttering under his breath to no one (or sometimes an absent someone) in particular about everything that had in his gone to hell in this state. The Big Dig, impending teachers strikes, insurance regulation, the lottery, healthcare... I couldn't seem to come up with any ideology he seemed to subscribe to other than that he was a complainer. I wasn't sure where legalization of casino gambling fit in with all of this. And I didn't really feel like asking.
Casino gambling seems to have more detractors than dog racing, which troubles me.
The detritus from the Red Sox parade had yet to be cleared up. I'd been there, of course. Standing outside Government center as the repurposed World War 2 era amphibious vehicles rolled down a corridor of hundreds of thousands of fans. From where I stood it looked like they were afloat on the crowd, which roared as the Dropkick Murphys broke into "I'm Shipping up to Boston" and Jonathan Papelbon did his now famous stepdance, wearing a kilt. Later he rocked out on broomstick air guitar as they played "For Boston"
Manny Ramirez was on the mike, chiding the jackholes who were making more of a story about Alex Rodriguez, who he was once almost traded for, than the Series. "Hey forgettabout A-Rod," he shouted. "We've got Mike Lowell! MVP! MVP!"
Manny was, as he is wont to be, being Manny.
The boat that owners John Henry, Larry Luchinno, Tom Werner and company were riding stopped in front of us for a while. A chant of "Re-sign Lowell" broke out. He smiled, and pointed to his right, where Theo Epstein was seated, mouthing "that's his job" or something like that. So we moved down. We also saw Jason Veritek with a Re-sign Lowell sign.
Three hours to kill around the Commons.
A guy maybe a bit older than me who looked like some Bizarro world non-douchebag version of Axl Rose was playing a 1958 reissue Epiphone Flying V trying to get to Florida. He was a bit frustrated because his shredding didn't come through on the portable fuzzbox he had at his disposal. I didn't have cash for him so I made him a couple of bucks playing a few things I knew while he searched his memory for songs he couldn't play that weren't eighties metal. Cool guy. We hung out for a while, trading licks. He showed me a Cream-style riff he'd written that I had to forget about to make sure I didn't end up stealing it.
The college bookstore my buddy from high school works was locked at the exterior exit. You could only get at it through the college proper, which was checking IDs. Which meant, he explained to me as he let me in discreetly, they were pretty much vacant. He took a pull from a Dunkin Donuts cup with a healthy layer of white foam at the top.
"you don't drink lattes."
"got me. want one?"
He went into the back room and emerged with an identical cup.
I approve of this man.
I grabbed some gum before going to meet some friends I was introduced to at the xkcd meetup in Cambridge for a chocolate tasting at the Harvard Club. I felt thoroughly underdressed in my Red Sox fleece as I passed by the doorman.
I sat down and was handed a catalog. The headline: Bacon and Chocolate
Oh fuck yes.
The shuttle bus home from Haymarket station (in lieu of an ailing Orange Line train) can, on occasion, be a bit surreal. Standing in the back section, my vantage point was such that I couldn't actually see which street we were on, or which station we were headed toward. Only that it was night and it was raining and we were moving.
I guess it mostly felt surreal because I was reading Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, which is a trip on its own. For some reason this is the first work of his that I've picked up and it comes with my full recommendation.
Speaking of recommendations, if there's a chance that you're reading this and haven't already voted for Cooper in the weblog awards, go on and do it.
Seriously. There isn't enough I can say about her that I haven't already. She deserves an award.
The phrase "free society" is lost on some people. But that's the least of this guy's problems.
"What's next, governor?"
Ah he wasn't talking to me. That made since. I turned around. Massachusetts governor Deval Patrick was conspicuously absent. We were, in fact, outside the State House, so it was worth another look. But no. No politicians within earshot. It took me a second to remember who he was.
It was the Skitzophrenic Subway Pundit. The reason it took me a while to recognize him is I hadn't seen him since around the time gay marriage had been legalized here. Well, aside from the fact that I'd never seen him above ground before. When I had to take the T to school every day I'd run in to him a few times a month, always with his small canvas bag and his opinions. And every time muttering under his breath to no one (or sometimes an absent someone) in particular about everything that had in his gone to hell in this state. The Big Dig, impending teachers strikes, insurance regulation, the lottery, healthcare... I couldn't seem to come up with any ideology he seemed to subscribe to other than that he was a complainer. I wasn't sure where legalization of casino gambling fit in with all of this. And I didn't really feel like asking.
Casino gambling seems to have more detractors than dog racing, which troubles me.
The detritus from the Red Sox parade had yet to be cleared up. I'd been there, of course. Standing outside Government center as the repurposed World War 2 era amphibious vehicles rolled down a corridor of hundreds of thousands of fans. From where I stood it looked like they were afloat on the crowd, which roared as the Dropkick Murphys broke into "I'm Shipping up to Boston" and Jonathan Papelbon did his now famous stepdance, wearing a kilt. Later he rocked out on broomstick air guitar as they played "For Boston"
Manny Ramirez was on the mike, chiding the jackholes who were making more of a story about Alex Rodriguez, who he was once almost traded for, than the Series. "Hey forgettabout A-Rod," he shouted. "We've got Mike Lowell! MVP! MVP!"
Manny was, as he is wont to be, being Manny.
The boat that owners John Henry, Larry Luchinno, Tom Werner and company were riding stopped in front of us for a while. A chant of "Re-sign Lowell" broke out. He smiled, and pointed to his right, where Theo Epstein was seated, mouthing "that's his job" or something like that. So we moved down. We also saw Jason Veritek with a Re-sign Lowell sign.
Three hours to kill around the Commons.
A guy maybe a bit older than me who looked like some Bizarro world non-douchebag version of Axl Rose was playing a 1958 reissue Epiphone Flying V trying to get to Florida. He was a bit frustrated because his shredding didn't come through on the portable fuzzbox he had at his disposal. I didn't have cash for him so I made him a couple of bucks playing a few things I knew while he searched his memory for songs he couldn't play that weren't eighties metal. Cool guy. We hung out for a while, trading licks. He showed me a Cream-style riff he'd written that I had to forget about to make sure I didn't end up stealing it.
The college bookstore my buddy from high school works was locked at the exterior exit. You could only get at it through the college proper, which was checking IDs. Which meant, he explained to me as he let me in discreetly, they were pretty much vacant. He took a pull from a Dunkin Donuts cup with a healthy layer of white foam at the top.
"you don't drink lattes."
"got me. want one?"
He went into the back room and emerged with an identical cup.
I approve of this man.
I grabbed some gum before going to meet some friends I was introduced to at the xkcd meetup in Cambridge for a chocolate tasting at the Harvard Club. I felt thoroughly underdressed in my Red Sox fleece as I passed by the doorman.
I sat down and was handed a catalog. The headline: Bacon and Chocolate
Oh fuck yes.
The shuttle bus home from Haymarket station (in lieu of an ailing Orange Line train) can, on occasion, be a bit surreal. Standing in the back section, my vantage point was such that I couldn't actually see which street we were on, or which station we were headed toward. Only that it was night and it was raining and we were moving.
I guess it mostly felt surreal because I was reading Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, which is a trip on its own. For some reason this is the first work of his that I've picked up and it comes with my full recommendation.
Speaking of recommendations, if there's a chance that you're reading this and haven't already voted for Cooper in the weblog awards, go on and do it.
Seriously. There isn't enough I can say about her that I haven't already. She deserves an award.
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