"But a thug changes, and love changes, and best friends become strangers, word up."

          Most of the apartment stuff was packed in a feverish frenzy over the course of today, though I lagged behind with my own personal effects. I'm going to miss having a single, living so close to the Orange Line, being a real Tremont Street Raider, even the morons with the music. Some items were done away with, but we didn't even come close to the level of trash left behind by the previous tenants. In the evening, we commenced what Nathan aptly referred to as "an operation", though that term also carries connotations of warfare and surgery. It took a team of six people -- Sara, Iris, Nathan, Alaric, Sean and me -- about five hours to remove everything from my walls, including de-taping each object. Nathan and I were the most skilled at removing stubborn tape, and through everyone's extraordinary patience and consideration, we lost far fewer items than expected. We logged everything that had to be destroyed in the end, including a few from other rooms -- sixty-one worthless scraps of paper, all told. Pamela J. Dodd wrote that a eulogy is different from a funeral sermon "in that it is a remembering rather than a message for the audience." With that in mind, I present a eulogy for those lost objects. Unless you spent a lot of time in my room, you will not understand. If you did spend a lot of time in my room, you still won't understand. Thanks for reading; don't bother reading.

          Was the question ever answered: how far can you fall? The new drug epidemic is over. I no longer see the side effects -- unusual changes in thinking and behavior. Children are no longer poisoned in the womb, leaving empty cribs in bare rooms. Never again will Martin Yan set off fireworks in our kitchen. The odds are lower of your burger-induced moans of pleasure waking the neighbors. BC is still BasiC, but there is no longer a handy placard to say so. I will have to Forgive Them without assistance. Somewhere, Stephen Colbert is probably still making fun of French troops, or should I say French prisoners? He was Wonderfilled, and it would have been Wonderful if not for all the HATE. Even that was beautiful in a nails-for-breakfast sort of way, elegant like movie star Maeno before his kamikaze flight. I, too have something to do in Setagaya: obtain poorly translated instructions for my new VCR, or maybe attend the traditional Indian wedding of a beautiful young couple with Down's syndrome. So, the pleasure is still back, but we no longer trust in white coats. From sea to shining sea: the watering holes are all dried up, and the time to jump has passed; I will have to find CHEAP THRILLS elsewhere. The Northeastern women's hockey team roster for game seven vs. Providence is no longer of any importance; it has been a long, long time since Washington vetoed the Buffalo Bills. Only ashes are left of the sports jerseys near Symphony, though the Crime Log never forgets. No one is left to ask, "What is justice?" (though the answer was found elsewhere, and I never realized.) C'est Batman? Will I forget Larry Potts, the soul singer murdered in his own home? Or the stand-up racism of Michael Richards? What if we live to see the day when there are NO SECOND CLASS CITIZENS thanks to what one governor we know so well is doing? The tribal canoer with skin in blue, black and white could ply his trade; ALASKA would matter again; a burning flag need not be a cause for alarm. But these are all past concerns, under the slab. We were so there, but the protein enriched tofu burgers were all consumed. (Is it any surprise?) Alanna's cranapple jam finally bit the dust after two years in my company. Was it given to me in a hundred empty film canisters? Could a kilo of Swiss gold have tasted any better? I may accidentally eat food that smells bad or has fuzzy green spots (mold). It may just be for my mouth, but perhaps I should think bigger, after all. BIGGER can be BETTER, though it was never size that mattered but how you park it. You would have died and gone to heaven if someone let you sit in a car like that, and speeding is believing. The woman in the golden field of wheat has gone home and taken a tiny sunset with her. Come Rain was an incantation that worked at last, darkening the glaring skylight in the white hallway. The Penis of the Week's time has passed, though the Doctor is obviously still in -- and Every Day at that -- but now I go unannounced. Perhaps all these were Dreams. All the King's Horses and All the King's Men could never put my walls back together again.
"The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope." - Samuel Johnson
"Remembering is a dream that comes in waves." - Helga Sandburg
"Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering." - Saint Augustine
"The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which to burn." - David Russell
"Talking about music is like talking about sex. Can you describe it? Are you supposed to?" - Bruce Springsteen
"People surprise you. Sometimes the person you expect to kick you when you're down will be the one to help you get back up." - Anonymous, age 32

          In the dead of night, Iris and I had a conversation that culminated in our breakup. I don't want to dwell too long on it here, but suffice to say that I initiated the breakup, it was painful, and Iris is one of the strongest people I have ever met. We dated for a long time and shared a lot of good times (Carmela Soprano haunts me here: "The difference between us is that you're going to Hell when you die!") After all this time, I felt more content than really happy, and though we did well together, it seemed like it was time to move on. I think this was the right decision; naturally, I felt like absolute shit anyway, and there was nothing to do but keep going. In a way, it's better that it happened like this. I have a lot of tasks to accomplish that will keep me distracted, and the move will wipe the slate clean. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will be a new man.

The Dirty Thirty

          Over the last few days, I got a few things ready to go to the new apartment, but today was the day I started packing in earnest. Before I could box anything up, I put it all away and photographed my room with Stephanie's camera. My plan had been to photograph it in small portions, but time was too much of a constraint. In the afternoon, the pep band threw an ice cream social for incoming freshmen at the Snell quad (no idea why it's called a quad -- it's circular and there is no grass.) We quickly doled out a cooler full of ice cream and talked with the freshmen, who were encouragingly willing to speak with other packs of their kind. If even half of the people who signed the interest form actually join up, the pep band is going to be huge this year, Upperclassmen present included Lizandro, Malcolm (and his dad), Rachelle, Katie E, Sara, Chelsea, Alaric, Brendan, Nathan, Matt T, Skylar and Sam B. To my eyes, the social was a roaring success.
          There was a crazy evening to follow. I smoked with Alaric and shared a sealed craft beer that I found among a bunch of open ones with Malcolm, Iris, Lizandro, Nathan, and Sara in my now-very-messy room. Nathan and I then hit the road to make it to Sin City: A Dame To Kill For at the Regal, but first I had to drop off Stephanie's camera at IV. She was doing rounds when we got there; by the time we left, there were 15 minutes to go. We hustled across the Fens and took a roundabout route past Fenway Park, where we could hear music playing. Tom Petty was performing in the park that night, so we took our time passing by and sang along with "Refugee". We were already running late, and when we finally got into the theater. a long line awaited us at the ticket counter. We waited patiently, obtained our tickets for a doable $14 with student ID (keep in mind, this is the 3D showing) and were directed to the deepest possible screen into the theater, #1 -- the last on the left. We rushed in to find the very last preview a few moments from ending. Our timing could not have been more perfect.
          The theater was more or less empty, so we had our run of the seats. We picked out a spot about 1/3 of the seats from the front and directly in the middle. To the point: Sin City: A Dame To Kill For is (a) PERFECT for 3D, and (b) a great sequel. If the first movie is a 10 out of 10 -- which it is, in my estimation -- this one is about an 8.5. It provides a lot of backstory on some favorite characters, and the cast is as ridiculously overpowered as that of the first movie. See: Christopher Meloni as an obsessed cop, Eva Green as an übertemptress, and Josh Brolin as [redacted]. Oh, and Ray Liotta. And Christopher Lloyd. And Lady Gaga. And Joseph Gordon-Levitt. With a couple of exceptions, nearly all of the major players return from the first film, though the dynamic duo of Elijah Wood and Rutger Hauer is sadly lacking. An uncanny lookalike was found to play the late Michael Clarke Duncan's Manute; meanwhile, Brittany Murphy's absence stuck out like a sore thumb. I was very pleased with the development of Senator Roark, but less so with JGL's character. Extra points for creepy Jessica Alba fanservice. A+ all around.
          Post-movie, Nathan and I headed back to Tasty Burger. On the way, we found a nearly actual-size Red Sox "batting helmet" that once held popcorn, a worthy new decoration for our hopefully worthy new apartment. We decided to get our burgers to go and got in line. A group of five or six freshmen was in front of us, which we deduced after 1) they discussed the Freshman Day of Service (lol) and 2) at least one of them, in her first visit to Tasty Burger, decided to just get fries. We were in the company of blasphemers, then. At the counter, I was faced by a mega-cute girl-next-door-type cashier and was thus forced to tip well. The order numbers had just maxed out when we got to the front of the line, so I was order #0 and Nathan was #1. Having acquired our food at last, we walked back home, and it was all I could do to avoid ripping into the burger on the way.
          Passing West Village H, we saw an OSCCR incident unfolding. Three cops were standing around two girls; one was sitting on a bench, tilted forward and looking both defeated and very sick, while the other was standing and conversing with one of the officers. The student will be reported to OSCCR. We were on Columbus when the next strange thing happened: we noticed some signs or posters among the garbage on the street. Upon examination, they proved to be a few of the N-Zone's old game posters -- a couple of tweets from Delaware(?) players, such as "I would eat beyonce butt", and the picture of Jafar. This raised some unsettling questions. Why were they thrown out? Perhaps more importantly, why were they in the trash of those misogynistic bros that live on Columbus and have the stupid flashing lights? Are (were) those guys the N-Zone? Mysteries abound. Once safely in my room, I opened the wrapper to find a perfectly rare mushroom burger, devoured it in fewer bites than is really practical, and crashed on top of my covers.

Gween Gubbin

          Work was very quiet and I got off early. Nathan returned to the States, and we discussed life in Japan and comic books before sleep carried me off.
          Quotes of the day:
"Vegas, baby!" - Jodi
...
Allen: "Where's [Frank]?"
Tom: "Resting."
Catherine: "Yeah, he's sleeping."
Tom: "You know. They have one day of trial and he goes into hibernation."

Client File Dundee

          I had a wonderful experience while trying to contact Thomson Reuters (a publisher of legal materials) about problems with logging into our account. I was put on hold and remained there for about thirty minutes; during this time, I was treated to gorgeous piano hold music that reminded me of waterfalls. The catch: a robotic voice interrupting in jarring fashion every 60 seconds or so, droning about how My Account is a great feature that will let me do everything I need to do without calling and bothering the company. Of course, that's why I was fucking calling, but no one ever said corporations act logically. Later on, I went hunting for discarded treasures -- college students that are moving are the real MVPs -- and found a variety of interesting items.

And All the Nights To Come

          I was absurdly productive at work today, despite having to walk all over creation to do numerous tasks. I spent some time on break reading about the federal Immigrant Investor Program, which is just more evidence that money can get you anywhere. Also, I finally finished decorating my room! We'll be out of here in five days, but it had to be done. It had to be.
          Quotes of the day:
"I'm gonna keep this one, it has the whole kit. With the ssst ssst, eek eek." - Dave W, re: dry erase markers
"Is this... the secret of Rich May?" - Dave W, re: a backup tape

Knight In White Satin Armor

          Iris brought me some Asian bread in the morning, and this was excellent as always. Work was very normal today. Someone named Heatley called and spelled it out slowly for me, and I wanted to yell, "50 IN 07! HEATERRRRRR" but refrained. In my free time, I scrambled to clip out more pictures and hopefully find some that will fit in the remaining 9 spaces on my wall. Typically, I don't love it when people are playing music in the T station because they're often really bad and/or quite loud, either of which interferes with whatever I'm trying to listen to. Today, two guys were playing acoustic guitar and violin while one sang "Take the Money and Run", and I stopped to listen and just enjoy it for once.
          After work, I picked up a TV from Stephanie and she came back to our place. With Alaric's timely assistance, we were able to vanquish four dragons, not to mention a pack of the hookah and some spliffs (I can't call myself a fan.) We sat on the stoop and talked for a while; Stephanie compared eating a lot of food to childbirth. I fell asleep before I could force myself to complete this year's decoration.

Heater going top cheese

Kittenfish

          After I came home from work, I plopped down in the camp chair outside to read for a little while and fell asleep. I then moved inside to nap on the brown couch, and finally transferred to the blue couch for a few more hours. There are 16 unfilled spots left on my wall, and I need to have them done by the day I take everything down.

Shower Beer

          I didn't leave my room at all today, and limited myself to the house for the evening's mild festivities. I killed a shandy in the shower (better idea than you might think -- it seems colder and you're not afraid to spill a little whilst chugging) and played Spoons with the boys. Also, we invented a drink called the Sophomost, following in the footsteps of the Sophomore; the final iteration is set to be named the Sophocles.

Do the Devil's Work

          I slept for 15 hours on my own floor and had a series of sinister dreams. In the first, I was shipped to some strange compound out in the middle of nowhere. Low, hazy mountains could be seen on the horizon, but I had no other clue as to where I was. There was a low-slung, dated-looking roadside inn that I was presumably staying at, but it was extremely unwelcoming for no good reason. There were several other small, prefabricated buildings with no distinguishing features, all of them a uniform light grey. Aside from some scattered chain-link fences, there was nothing keeping me from just walking away, but I knew I wouldn't be alive very long if I tried to leave. I became aware that I was here at the behest of some atrocious, totalitarian regime for unknown purposes; in the dream, my first instinct was "political rehabilitation," but that was just a guess. At this point, I decided to trace the boundaries of the compound to see what I could learn. Far to the rear, I came to a tall fence trimmed with barbed wire; behind this was a dusty field with sparse patches of grass, and beyond that, a seemingly abandoned power plant. After staring for a few moments, I continued and came across a hulking factory surrounded by tall, thin trees. Outside, men in hazmat suits of various colors were rolling steel barrels around, pumping fluids into empty ones, and in at least one case, controlling a leaky, spraying barrel. I considered asking someone what was going on, but understood that no answers would be forthcoming, except perhaps as to what happens to people who ask too many uncomfortable questions. The rest of the facility was surrounded by low, rolling hills and patches of desert, so I returned to the central area. I soon got into a conversation with two or three government spooks, who grilled me about an "Uncle Jim" that I had no knowledge of. Withdrawing, I made some offhand comment that made all of them raise their heads. A wide-eyed agent asked whether I was carrying "the Hope Context," and all of them were visibly anxious. In this reality, the government was so oppressive that dissidents genetically engineered huge, sentient and parasitic tapeworms to infiltrate and destabilize it. These were dubbed the Hope Context; in shorthand, one "had Hope." I shivered, and the scene changed to the interior of a dimly lit but entirely wood-paneled trailer. It was entirely empty save for me, but I knew it was a remodel of the old one my troop used to cart stuff around when I was in the Scouts. Brian's older brother, Sean G, entered the trailer through the back doors and laughed. The scene shifted again, this time to my family's minivan. In real life, I live in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains, and in the dream we were inching down Platte Clove, the more direct but much scarier route down the mountain. (In my junior year, a recent transfer fell to her death while hiking in a nearby area called Devil's Kitchen; she was not the first.) The dream-road was slick with packed snow, and the overcast sky made it nearly impossible to differentiate safe patches from ice. We stopped at a small parking area to talk with the other "family" members driving with us. My dream-cousin brought up an Uncle Jim, and I froze, listening. My dream-uncle changed the subject, and when the cousin inquired again, and my uncle again changed the subject. I kicked at a tiny clump of snow and watched a huge mass fall off the ledge I was sitting near. Thoughts about the butterfly effect kept racing through my head before I woke up.
          Daniel, a friend of Alaric's (and my acquaintance from College Writing) came to stay for the night. We had a good time chatting, drinking, and being far less awkward than the last few times we spoke.

The Clove.

Geneva Convention

The entry for 5/4/14 has been corrected to give Nathan due credit for the Death Star cookie cake. All apologies and may the fourth be with you.

          Work was quiet again. Going through the recent Mass. SJC cases, I found that one where Jeremy had represented a party (and I had done some minor work on the case) had been decided against his client. When I was done for the day, I walked to Chinatown to meet Matt and his friend Amanda. We had a huge dinner at a restaurant called New Golden Gate and caught up on each other's lives. Matt's living with a friend in Quincy, hunting for a job and playing guitar. We went home for drinks and conversation, crafting a bright green UV Blue concoction that tasted like a freeze pop. I honestly don't remember much of the evening, but it was a lot of fun both getting to know Amanda and seeing Matt for a change.
          Quotes of the day:
"It should be a violation of the Geneva Convention. It fulfills utterly no purpose." - Tom, re: decaf
"I see you're stylish today. Cover of GQ soon, huh?" - Chris C, re: my lavender shirt and purple tie

Password Protected

          Of course, the day I wake up before my alarm is also the day that I'm late for work. I was left hanging on reception again, which is only irritating when it cuts into my lunch hour. For a slow day, and one where I managed to pump out seven backlogged entries in my spare time, I felt mediocre. Iris and I shared lunch at Sebastian's, where I obtained a salad the size of my head. Besides being quite tasty (they even toss it for you -- bonus points), that's like a pound of roughage. A reviewer on Yelp or something described Sebastian's as a "Jekyll and Hyde" restaurant -- the Jekyll side is the sandwiches and the undistinguished selection of hot foods, basically a glorified cafeteria; the Hyde part is the line of people ordering salads the size of a goddamn cannonball. They're like two meals in one. After work, I turned up slightly with Iris, Molly, Ryan, and Eunice (at least, I think she was there.)

Chair-Man of the Hoard

          I spent most of my time at work moving boxes of files upstairs, downstairs and all around the file rooms in an on-and-off kind of day. I have also scored a leather office chair that, aside from a bit of frayed piping along the edges, is quite fancy and in great condition. (It was taking up space in the basement and Dru was going to throw it out, so I offered to pick it up instead.) This has not been a bad work week at all so far. I also learned that a lot of people's mothers never taught them not to stare, because I took the chair home on the T and some were straight-up staring at me. Like hey, I get it, it's out of the ordinary to see a guy with a large desk chair on the Orange Line. But don't stare me in the face like I'm a carnival attraction, because it's not that weird. Walking the chair around took forever, and I had to get creative when I first arrived at Downtown Crossing (read: handicapped entrance.) Once I had it in my room, though, potential swag was transformed into kinetic swag. I love my new chair.

My apologies for the Snapchat overlay.

Old Man Greig

          I woke up early in the morning and smoked, decorated, and played Borderlands 2. I left for work with plenty of time to spare. The morning was beautiful and crisp, invigorating in that unexpected way that autumn can be. Think of apple picking, cross country, going back to school, those last glorious days of not dressing up to go outside. I felt positive at work even though I had to walk around on errands rather more than usual. My train was at Back Bay, a stop away from home on the Orange Line, when I realized that I'd left my phone on my desk. I was momentarily torn over what to do, then decided that I had no pressing engagements and that an evening without it would do me good. I smoked a bit of hookah and drank with Alaric, Eve (surprise!), Shandana, Iris, and a visiting Eunice. Eunice is Iris's younger sister and is almost a nonperson; she is permanently glued to her tablet or phone or whatever, and speaks only when spoken to. She is so quiet that it transcends awkwardness and you simply forget that she is present. For me, it only highlighted how free I felt without my phone. Later on, I played Borderlands 2 and suffered through some Bandit Circle of Slaugher bullcrap, and I kept catching myself reaching for the phone, as if someone was going to text me at 3 a.m. on a normal day. It felt good to cut ties for a little while. It felt great to drop accountability to everyone for a night.

Ser Loras

          Unsurprisingly, I was exhausted at work, and kept on my feet to stay productive. I worked through most of my lunch hour as well. Iris, Shandana and Alaric were home when I got back, but I was too worn out to chill and went immediately to bed. A very happy 19th birthday to my little brother Ian, the one and only butt boy.

Gutter Zombies

          Alaric and I smoked hookah in the company of Molly and Sean, trying out the white grape and jasmine flavors. I think the guava one is the best so far, but time will tell. I pulled an all nighter, and the most specificity my notes had from this point on: "People are drunk!" Molly is a blast when she's inebriated.
          Quote of the day:
Alaric: "Are you gonna zombify it?"
Molly: "Fuck no, I'm gonna slut-ify it."

Here Kitty Kitty

          My Saturday was thoroughly wasted playing Borderlands 2, then a few anticlimactic rounds of Up and Down the River and the post-it game with Laura, Lauren, Iris and Sean. We also watched Alien and Aliens, as if to prove just how good we are at doing nothing useful. We debated it for some time, but I stand by the argument that Alien is more thematically a horror film than a work of science fiction. How much do we know about the xenomorph, compared to any other scary-movie critter? Last-girl syndrome. People getting grabbed and dragged off screen. People splitting up like morons. Gruesome deaths. Dark corridors. Jump scares. A hidden threat within the good guys (both literally and figuratively, ho ho ho.) The science officers in both the first and second films are easily my favorite characters (Bishop: "Not bad, for a human.") I also appreciate Sigourney Weaver's almost entirely nonsexualized Ripley (if we can ignore the fanservice right at the end of the first film); her performance was a groundbreaker in terms of female heroes.

Bread Man Walkin'

          This Friday couldn't come soon enough. For the first time since I changed it on my birthday, my text tone (click) went off at full volume at work, but luckily no one was around to hear it. I was sent on a delivery to 101 Huntington, and actually entered the mysterious "101" that Alanna and I pondered many moons ago. Unfortunately, that street-level door is a staff-only access point, and I was forced to enter through the plebeian entrance. That one is located INSIDE THE ARCADE of the Pru, meaning that I had to battle my way through idiotic throngs of tourists. It's as if some of these people haven't ever walked before. The general format is that people are walking in one direction on one side and in the opposite direction on the other, correct? Then we have Slappy McGee, who decides to stop abruptly to look at his or her phone, or gather 5 of their closest friends and walk in an unbreakable row that occupies the entire lane of traffic. Slow walkers are insufferable. And whoever thought to situate the business entrance of an office building inside a nightmare of tourism and retail deserves a swift kick to the cojones.
          A.T., the summer attorney at Rich May, finished out today and there was a large ice cream party in his honor. There were several pints of J.P. Licks of various flavors, whipped cream, chopped peanut butter cups, M&Ms, peanut butter, strawberry sauce, butterscotch, Rolos, cherries, sprinkles, and chocolate syrup; the firm must have gained a collective 20 pounds. In the evening, I went up on the Hill to share pizza and beer with Laura, Lauren, Lauren B, their friends Kate and JT, Shannon, and Sean. We played (and gave up on Imaginiff), moved to Cards Against Humanity, and finally went out on the deck to tell stories, smoke hookah, and have a fine evening.
          Quote of the day:
"This is like a ghost town." - Diane

Stay Noided

          It came time for another attorney/paralegal lunch, and this month's guest would be Dave W, a spiky, younger attorney who walks long circuits through the office. No one submitted any suggestions for food, so Ashley settled on a little place called Conor Larkin's. That's right -- our meeting was catered by a college-level pub. I choked back laughter when she put out the word, and only revealed my knowledge of it after lunch. As it happened, my sandwich was decent, and the meeting was lots of fun. Kara and the other paralegals like to needle this guy in particular, and his advice on socializing in law school was very informative. (Example, slightly paraphrased: "Don't do that high school clique shit.") Harold actually wrote an email to Dru full of effusive praise for my transcription skills, which I again felt was somewhat undeserved, but it was a nice thing to do at any rate.
          At the end of my shift, I walked to Beacon Street to meet up with Iris. The frat she's living in for the summer is right next to a Church of Scientology outfit; they're apparently moving, so I scavenged a large children's dictionary and some other random items. We met Alaric, Eve and Sean at Red Mango, where it finally struck me how tired I was. After we plodded home, the five of us shared whiskey sours. I played Borderlands 2 before bed, as per usual for this week.
          Quotes of the day:
"I'm just so fucking charismatic." - Dave W
"I beat you, Harold!" - Walter, in walker race mode
...
Julia: "You're not trying to reclaim your youth?"
Dave W: "I'm not trying to reclaim anything."

My Buddy Haiyan

          Robin Williams died two days ago. In Game of Thrones, they would say that his light has gone out of this world. It rained today, but it was not a powerful or cleansing rain; instead, it was erratic and pestilent, whipping into your face with the wind. Maybe the heavens are sobbing. Maybe this is a mark that nothing can scrub away. Rest in peace.
          We had a casual-dress day at work in anticipation of the weather, and the firm ordered pizza for everyone. This amounted to 13 pizzas for about 25 people, most of whom would only eat a slice or two, and there were leftover sandwiches and salad from a catered meeting as well. I'm going to eat like a king for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the upcoming week. I was extremely productive today, perhaps because of the cloistered environment, and dispensed with much of the backlog of Harold's case abstracts. After work, I played Borderlands 2 with Sean. We struggled to figure out the in-game chat function while trying to trade weapons. Of course, we were sitting about 20 feet apart and were only separated only by a door; we ended up throwing it open and just calling to each other out loud. Sometimes the low-tech solution is the best kind of solution.

Exploding Head

          I enjoy having Harold as my charge for a few minutes at the end of the day. I walk close by at his turtle's pace, in case he needs to grab my arm for support; a strong gust of wind could easily knock him down. I give people menacing looks when they come too close; the suits coming off work can be real assholes about other people's space and will practically trample you if you're in the way. After work was squared away, I headed to Iris's summer place with a tremendous load of free food, including a full Panera Bread baguette. After a brief rest there, including a foot massage and some conversation with Cristina, I went to help Stephanie move. Her friend Andrew was on the case as well, and the three of us made relatively quick work of it, though there is no easy way to drag a full grey cart from the Huntington dorms to International Village. We were subjected to a terrible proctor who kept forgetting to open the door after signing us in. Like, seriously: You have one job. ONE. When everything was moved into the room, Stephanie and I vaped and chilled out for a couple hours. I hit the trash room on my way out and scored four fancy chopsticks, a cool mug, black sesame cereal (Azn alert), an unopened carton of like 40 Lipton tea bags, a textbook, and unopened toothpaste. At home, I played more Borderlands 2 and finally ate the Union Square donuts I'd been carrying around since the afternoon.
          Quotes of the day:
"What?! I got mail?!" - A.T.
...
Attorney: "I came in to haunt Harold [redacted]."
Dru: "That's good. He needs a good haunting."

Distant Early Warning

          I took off the latter half of the day to prepare for the Boston March for Gaza. The stated purpose of the rally was to protest: a) the United States government for its support for Israel's criminal acts against Gaza, including diplomatic support, the provision of weapons, and so on; and b) Hewlett-Packard, for their development and maintenance of the biometric tracking software used to monitor Gazans. I've been thinking about this all the time, and am starting to feel like it's affecting my work, so I needed to do something. I went home, ate, and played Borderlands 2 to try and decompress. I'd never been in a protest before, and I was very anxious on the way to State. After some milling around, the crowd was directed by a sound truck and marched toward the JFK Federal Building, chanting various slogans. ("Not another nickel, not another dime/No more money for Israel's crimes.") I had been worried about a serious counterprotest, but there was just one bald guy on a bike shouting things like "Gaza yes! Hamas no!" and "I stand with Israel!" As I expected, the actual mission of the march was ineffective because no one was in the federal building when we got there; probably the best part of the rally was immediately after that, when the entire crowd moved down Congress Street. People honked, waved, and took pictures, giving us the exposure that is the lifeblood of any such movement. We then marched all the way to the Seaport to protest HP, but either the conference was done for the day or they had advance notice of our arrival, because the only spectators were some cops and three or four guys in suits. I left when they began to do street theater and guest speeches, walking all the way back to Downtown Crossing and picking up food along the way. I hate eating on the T -- especially the Orange Line -- but I was ravenous.
          Quote of the day:
"I used to dream about not being able to fix computers. I'd wake up in a cold sweat." - Dru

Paralysis and You

          Iris, Jared and I went to Symphony Sushi, where I opted for the Philadelphia (my new favorite), Crazy Maki, and spicy tuna rolls. Jared had never been and seemed happy with his selection; Iris bought a huge fish combo, which always turns into a guessing game of which is which. When we got home, Jared showed us pictures of his new crib in Mission Hill. I completed both the Cold Water Challenge and the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge in one go; the pot of ice water over the head turned out to be kid stuff compared to a full tub. Jared left, Sean came home, and Wollaston's sandwiches and an awesome Borderlands 2 session soon followed. I was up very late reading hockey tumblrs, and the night got so hazy that I'm not certain whether I stayed awake or not.

Blind Guardian

          I had a stunning dream in which I was part of a young, capable samurai lord's armed escort. We faced many trials and fights in fields, forests, seedy bars and snowy mountain passes; the prince was more like a Hercules or Odysseus than a simple military commander. Near the end of the dream, we were matching blades with a gang of mercenaries in a wooden longhouse, dimly lit and full of smoke. In the middle of the struggle, a soldier that had been with us all the way paused. This man was a grizzled adviser maybe 60 years of age, but clever and strong; he rounded on our leader and stabbed at him with a long, wicked dagger. The traitor may have slipped, or perhaps the prince melted away from the first strike, but it gave me enough time to cover the distance between us and cut him down. The lord was safe, and we had prevailed; tomorrow, we would stay on the move, and fight and win again.
          I went to Tasty Burger with Jared Jaruto, Alaric and Sean. Anti-highlight: Staggering home from Boylston feeling drunk without having consumed any alcohol; I'm pretty sure it was the onion rings.  Soon, we gathered the forces of darkness for the hookah's party debut. It has been named, but we've sworn each other to silence (and that in itself is a clue.) Regina and her friend Elizabeth met us at the back door and tragically dropped a jar of salsa immediately outside. Michelle and Niki brought along some new friends, Naomi, Kat, and Ryan; Clay appeared as well. There were lots of get-to-know-yous and plenty of hookah experimentation. (So far, we've tried the watermelon mint and guava shishas; I prefer the latter for its soft, sweet flavor.) Some of us climbed to the top of the Columbus parking garage to see the "supermoon", which was not harvest moon-status in size but was ultra-bright. Regina and I caught up and chatted about home life and the Mexican school system.
          Quote of the day:
"Your mom is a rounding error!" - Kat
...
Sean: "I would never drink during the week."
Alaric: "You have. Several times."
Sean: "I would never regularly."

Potvin Sucks

          I use a series of cycling wallpapers at work, and one is a huge Rangers logo (it's harder to find decent 2560 x 1024 double wallpapers than you might think.) Jim F, one of the attorneys, came up behind the desk and asked, "Rangers fan, huh?" I warily responded that I was, and asked if he rooted for the Bruins. He replied that he owned Rangers season tickets for 4 or 5 years when he was living in New Jersey (props for not being a Devils fan), talked about how great this year's finals were, and reminisced about the 1979 playoffs. To sum up: NY defeated the Kings in 2 games to win the preliminaries, Philadelphia in 5 in the quarters, and the Islanders (who would be ascendant for the next decade) in 6 to take the semis. Of course, we dropped the finals in 5 to the Habs, but who cares about this stuff anyway? When I got home, I went to sleep early and missed a big chill session with Niki, Sean, Iris, Alaric, Eve, and Cristina.

Waiting Room

          The paralegals invited me out for drinks after work, but I was forced to decline because "lol no ID". I feel like I'm in the waiting room of being 21. Also, Harold was walking around with a memo he'd written for himself stuck to his back, and it was the cutest old-man thing I've ever seen.

Cloud Factory

          Today, I amused myself at the post office by observing people's waiting habits. The system is simple: walk in, hit the button and receive a number, go up when your number is called. Beyond that, it's different every day. Sometimes people wait in line, and sometimes they fan out across the room. There is some seating available; at times people will occupy it, but at others there will be twenty people standing and no one sitting, even though they're going to be there for a while. I enjoyed a few conversations at work: I talked with Jeff about Boston and Cleveland sports, and Abner, the Citizens Bank teller I work with almost every day, told me that I'm basically an omen of the end of his shift. Harold also said that I'm "amazing" at transcribing his notes; he writes short abstracts of each new U.S. Supreme Court and Mass. Supreme Judicial Court decision, and I do my best to decipher them. Any words that I can't make out, I leave a blank line and he fills in the missing material so I can get the whole thing in order. I'll grant that Harold's handwriting is what you might expect of a nonagenarian, but it's not difficult to look up a case and try to find context for words, something the co-ops before me apparently never thought to do. Example from an old transcript I found: If you find yourself writing that the topic of an SJC case is cartilage, stop and think about it. A two-second search by case name will tell you it's "curtilage".
          After work, I sat on the couch with Alaric and decided that it was now or never with the hookah we've been talking about buying since last year. First, we visited the hookah shop next door, where the clerk was being harassed by three young and rambunctious children. We found nothing suitable there, though I did pick up some charcoal. Next, we took a walk to Kang's, a hole in the wall off Huntington, and purchased a dark green hookah with two hoses, a butane torch, a bottle of gas, and four types of shisha: guava, watermelon mint, white grape (my choice) and jasmine (Alaric's choice.) For any purchase over $6, Kang is known to hand out free lighters, and he gave us two. We broke the hookah in with the watermelon mint and had a ball with smoke rings, a dish of ice and our imaginations. Also, I received a signed 8x11 photo of Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel in the mail today.
          Quote of the day:
Me: "Scallops? More like Skill Ops."
Alaric: "Want to play Counterskill Ops Force?"

Question the First:

Riddle: Who has two thumbs and just finished his 1000th post?

          Though coming in off a practical all nighter, I felt unusually energized at work and got a solid amount of work done. Afterward, I shared a donut with Iris and went to sleep. On waking, I sorted hockey pictures for the tribute collages on my closets and danced around to the Hotline Miami soundtrack.

Focus Energy

          I got to work twenty minutes early and accomplished my typical post-reception duties at a leisurely pace. Lots of small, pleasant things happened today, like Mark saying I did a terrific job yesterday, along with a couple of the paralegals. It was quiet for a Monday; I learned that I was responsible for a file project that's just been sitting in the hallway, but that should clear up soon enough. Stephanie bailed on our plans, so I took a nap and then smoked with Brian F, Alaric, and Eve. Later, Sean and I talked about everything from telecom to politics to human rights, all of it very interesting and very gloomy; David and Alaric joined in eventually. I stayed up to work as quickly as possible on my room. I need to fill the two "focused" walls to the ceiling, and we're in the final stretch before the big move. Highlight: Deleting Sean Paul's "Temperature" and Sean Kingston's "Beautiful Girls" from my library in one go.

"Look at my eyes, Shlomo. Look at my smile. Your son is dead."

          Sooner than anticipated, I returned to Wings Over with a visiting Sara, Alaric, and Sean. We drank, played the post-it game for a while (apparently Hades is difficult to guess?), and watched Lucky Number Slevin with all of its glorious star power. Though I must admit that I laughed at a recent review: "Josh Hartnett was put on earth to make Jared Leto look deep."

          Quote of the day:
"Glorious deregulated bootstraps." - Sean

ZIMBABWE

          I spent some time with Iris at home, taking a midday nap along the way, then walked to her place to pick up some alcohol. It happened to be her friend Melissa's 21st birthday, and we spoke briefly and awkwardly before it was time to go. We went to Shaw's Star Market for mixers and the like, cognizant of how jarring this rebranding has been. Of course, it was time to party. David brought a likable friend named Allie, Sean invited Michelle, and Alaric, Iris and Shandana were all present. I don't really remember anything that happened, other than talking to Allie about The Big Bang Theory and discussing the merits of "Sheldor".

Breakfast of Champions

          Somewhere in between the witching hour and "late for work," my mind and body decided, "You're going to wake up, whether you like it or not." For this I am grateful. My first monthly pass kicked in this morning and I feel like I'm one of the big boys now. Less enjoyable: being grilled about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict by a crazy dude at the Mass Ave T stop. He started drawing comparisons to slavery, and apt as one or two such observations might be in more capable hands, this man was raving. Work was fun; I bonded a little bit with the paralegals over angry attorney woes. I went to the Superior Court again, and all at once, I remembered the nausea-inducing elevators and the equally sickening, decrepit Art Deco design. I slept for a few hours after work before festivities began; David stayed over, the animals masks came back into play, Alaric drank and insisted on ripsticking, and so on.
          Quotes of the day:
"That is the breakfast of champions." - Jodi, re: my Klondike bar
"This is the worst day of Rich May history, ever." - Ashley, re: copier issues