Buffalo Exchange

Real notes for this entry were probably never taken.

          I spent the evening with Jennifer in Allston. She tried on my glasses and reaffirmed that they look stylish on almost anyone.

We Three Kings

          Alaric and I roused ourselves, bundled up against the chill in the morning air, and got on the Green Line. Our objective: Help his coworker and wife move all of their belongings from a full-size moving truck into their new home. We rode out to the end of the D Line and were picked up by the wife, and before long we arrived at their nice, domestic little house out in a forested suburb, which made me ache to get out of the city more often. (I love it here but a little green goes a long way. Interpret that in at least five ways.) We threw ourselves into the work, efficiently hustling box after box into the garage or the house, and by lunchtime the length of my arms were quietly smarting. Before long, I was thinking of the day as a paid workout. Alaric's coworker drove us to lunch at a charming farm/market/ice cream stand down the street; we sat, chatted about the ins and outs of college today, and enjoyed amazing sandwiches and refreshing drinks (made all the better by our work-hungry state.) After we ate it was back to work, and we were soon clearing larger furniture out of the truck. The only hitch came near the end, when we pulled out a king-size mattress to find it soaked and moldering; the truck had evidently leaked, and thankfully the mattress was the only item in contact with the stagnant puddle left behind. By day's end, we were bushed and up a few $20s -- not a bad way to spend an off day.

Allston Gentry

          Braving the rain, Julia and I walked to Pure Cold Press, a fancy and modern juice bar. They should have called it "Pure Gentrification Press." She purchased a many-ingredient salad at an exorbitant price -- the quantity was on par, though it wasn't Sebastians humongous status. I settled for a small bottle of citrus-based juice containing an improbable amount of ginger, along with traces of silver, which the girl at the counter advised me was "a system shock." I went ahead with the purchase and found that she had not lied. Sipping away, and pursing my lips every time, it took me all day to finish a bottle of juice hardly bigger than one of those mini water bottles. When Julia and I parted ways, I went home and sat in on House of Cards with Sean, Alaric, and (eventually) Johnny, and later got into "crunch mode" with my UPP final paper. Titled The Hydra, and focusing on the longstanding issue of violence in Cleveland, it was well written but half the proper length when I finally submitted it (ho ho ho.)
          Quote of the day:
"I wish somebody would hit me in the spot on my head where I become a different person." - Julia, wishing for a traumatic brain injury

Bye Friends / Third Planet

          I went to Chinatown in the morning for a farewell dim sum breakfast for Stephanie. We ate at a place called China Pearl, esoterically decorated and full of mirrors, with Cara, Jennifer, Ryan C, and his friend DJ. Once properly stuffed with bao and other goodies unidentifiable to these Western eyes, we wandered out into the street. Throngs of people were buying stuff at market stalls set up all over, and some kind of festival was going on; we stopped to watch dancers impersonating dragons.
I headed home to find a bunch of people in the apartment, painting glasses of the shot, wine and martini varieties. This gathering was Iris's baby, and she created a beautiful martini glass with a giraffe nibbling at a tree. Michelle did another martini glass in impressive fashion, a snake with its jaws distended. I carefully wielded a toothpick to paint three shot glasses with the Rangers, Flyers and Wild logos. Satisfied with my work, I allowed myself a much needed nap.

          I enjoyed an alcoholic milkshake and bailed for "one last drunken ramble" in Allston, another sort of going-away party for Stephanie. I sat on the stoop at 1254 Commonwealth with her and Jennifer for a time, smoking cigarettes and chatting. The evening was a lot of fun, and I particularly enjoyed a jaunt over to Inbound with Lucy and Ryan C, where we talked City of Boston politics. Back at the apartment: "I don't need fimemes because feminis want 2 replace all statues of men with life size potatos!!" After a few more drinks I found myself stuck beneath a drunken, sleepy Jennifer on the couch; while some of the others wandered to the park, I remained where I was, feeling drowsy.
          Quote of the day:
"You have Emma Watson eyebrows." - Julia

Let Freedom Ring.

          The Supreme Court handed down the long-awaited decision on gay marriage today: a 5-4 split, with Justice Anthony Kennedy siding with the four "liberal" justices and the forces of good. Gay marriage is now legal in 50 states, and a liberty that was a pipe dream just a few decades ago is a reality. Chief Justice Roberts' charge that the democratic process was skipped has no merit, because Constitutionally granted rights cannot be invalidated by a majority vote. Well, here we are -- part of history, now.
          I slept late, and changed my earlier plan of going to Howl with Sean before heading to Becky's, opting instead to see Jennifer and Alanna before they clear out of the city. Jennifer and I went grocery shopping, hunted for mulberries in the Fens -- I tried one for the first time, taking care not to get juice everywhere -- and then laid out a picnic at Ramler Park, a half-block of manicured green space on Peterborough Street that had escaped my attention. We ate a tremendous amount of fruit and other stuff, sipped lemonade and enjoyed one another's company. We went home, watched Daredevil -- "I can see why you like it," she groaned -- and hung out. Later, Alanna switched up and our plans fell through. Par for the course, I suppose.

Land of the Free

          For once, I woke up just before my alarm -- naturally, while suffering from a debilitating lack of sleep -- and zombie-walked to the Macro final review. I comprehended little of what went on in there, though some of the other students' presentations were tolerable. SCOTUS saved Obamacare again, 6-3 get fukt Scalia. I took some time to read through the emails about volunteering later and was bemused by the designation of some volunteers as "human arrows" to guide people to different activities. Aren't those normally called ushers? I filled in the middle of the day with The Wire (now in season 4) and was gripped by a strong desire for one of the in-show campaign placards ("Re-elect Royce"!)
          I went to the Reggie Lewis Center to volunteer for the BUILD Games, a kind of team-building athletic event with teams of attendees from various companies, split into pseudo-Olympic teams named after real countries. I was assigned to help on one of the two volleyball courts, and watched the spirited (and patriotically dressed) USA team sweep every team in our bracket on their way to defeating Germany for the win. One member of the losing team was Dave G, one of the younger attorneys at Rich May, and we exchanged brief hellos. Volunteers were provided with an appreciable quantity of UHOP and soda for their help, as well as yet another never-going-to-wear-this-again volunteer t-shirt. I also ran into Tyson, the lawyer that I chatted with at the  Dance for World Community Festival, as well as Clay on the way out. I picked up a ton of useless swag throughout the day, including various juices and energy drinks, some better t-shirts, stickers, temporary tattoos, packaged snacks, and a large pair of red-tinted, start-shaped sunglasses. When I got home, I went dumpster diving for clothes and found a peacoat, several shirts and pairs of pants, and a soccer ball in fine condition. Later on, I ventured back out for another sweep and came up with a shelf for all of our CD/DVD/unassigned trinket needs.

Champion of the Second Amendment

          I woke up on the bedroom floor early in the afternoon, finished my reading for UPP and took off. We had a guest speaker for our last class: Lawrence DiCara, former City Council President and one-time candidate for mayor, currently of Nixon Peabody. He looked like Robert Duvall and seemed to know something about everything, and with an awesome magnetism, he managed to make even discussion of voting behavior in Boston fascinating. He is also at that wonderful point in life where he doesn't owe it to anyone to pull punches -- see NRA comment below. Also: why do we not already have instant-primary voting in the Presidential election? Just like that you eliminate the need for a candidate to cater to the fringe, while still needing to account for coalitions of special interests. Make it happen, America!
          I took a nap at home, frustrated by the lack of power in half the apartment. It's now been 11 days, four phone calls, and two online requests for repair work and we haven't heard a peep from Alpha. I spent the night reading about space buckets and desperately trying to get to sleep in the sweltering heat; even after moving to the considerably better ventilated couch, it took me until 5 in the morning.
          Quotes of the day:
"I'm old enough to be your grandfather -- to the best of my knowledge I'm not." - L. DiCara
"The NRA, they're all fascists. If you have a gun feel free to disagree with me." - L. DiCara
"I offended the guy from North Carolina. That's what you get for being aligned with Jesse Helms." - L. DiCara

Mirakuru

          Nathan succumbed to our combined peer pressure and started House of Cards today. A broken-streamed, final radio show for the semester was enlivened by Jules and Emily, who managed to fit in a fuckword in the roughly five minutes that we talked, rambling about whatever came to mind.  This was the silliest talk segment thus far (I think Jules talked about her cats.) After the show, I dug into dense readings about voter turnout and preferences for the last session of UPP. This week will be a nightmare trying to make time for people before they go away.

"Sex is temporary, but glory is FOREVER!"

          I missed Macro, of course, though studying with Jules might have brightened my understanding by about five percent. I also didn't finish my UPP work because I was trying so hard to get Macro squared away... ugh. Iris and I shared plums and watched Daredevil; I convinced Jennifer to start it as well! Later, Alaric and I continued our mad dash through The Sopranos, nearing the end of Season 6. I can't wait for the final nine episodes -- every last one is fire.
          Quotes of the day:
"Keep drawing circles! We're getting there!" - dude in class, re: a pluralism flowchart
"Rangers come before sex." - me

Wack Diagram

          Jennifer came over to make dinner with me, but she seemed unhappy about something. I couldn't get an explanation out of her, but her mood seemed to improve later on. Still, I was uneasy. Much later, I smoked a keef puck and watched The Sopranos with Alaric, Jules and Nathan; only then could I rush some Macro work late into the night, go for a run, and then set a trillion alarms to cap my rest at three hours for the night.

Bachelorette Party Kit

          I woke up practically steaming and crashed into the living room to cool off. When I woke up again, Jennifer and I went to Rod Dee II for lunch. Next on the agenda: the Star Wars Christmas Special (hrrrk). In the evening we threw a party for Alaric's birthday, and it went quite well! Iris brought her boyfriend Mike over; he was pleasant if quiet. I can't blame him for not speaking, since Michelle, Alaric, Maddie and I were engaged in fashioning carrots and croissants into smoking devices. (The carrots went well; the croissant was functional, but less so.) We finally deployed the bachelorette party kit! Later, Kofi and I smoked at the war memorials, where we had some company; I came home to keep my room to myself, working on projects. The light in there is better now; a candle in the bathroom was equally pleasing. Clearly this apartment was not built to house four.

"Sandy... I... need... wutter"

An earlier version of this entry and associated notes were lost to computer stupidity.

          I walked Jennifer to work at Kupel's, and then painfully home to find an actual cut on my foot from the beach. It had managed to pack itself full of sand in the interim, so I went into surgeon mode to clean it out, then compulsively cleaned everything else in the apartment. Nathan appeared in time, as did Jennifer when she was finished with work for the day. I picked up a variety of alcohol with an eye toward Alaric's party tomorrow, including his present(!), pineapple vodka, NYF root beer (suspiciously close to NYR... coincidence?) and a fine pilsner. The three of us, joined by Alaric and Mack, then played the usual drinking game to Star Wars. (Waterfall while C-3PO is talking...)

"Let us vorry about Vaxy...."

An earlier, far better version of this entry was lost to computer stupidity. Probably some specifics also.

          After sleeping in the yellow chair for four hours or so, I woke to Jules playing Advance Wars and joined in the fun. The lot of us never tire of talking AW strategy, and I've been feeling especially proficient lately.  Later on, I went to Park Street to meet Jennifer, and we took the Red Line to JFK/ZooMass. From the station, it was only a ten or fifteen minute walk to the beach. The Atlantic is cold, but this was a fortuitously warm day, and we were soon swimming and having fun. I collected a pile of sea glass, walked through broken shells that cut the hell out of my feet, sat with Jennifer under the pier, and walked through gross mud that did not feel inclined to let go. After a couple of hours in and out of the water, we got chilly and decided to find something to eat. We moved to a bench along the outer rim of the beach, smoked and watched the closest of a score of rec league volleyball teams fighting it out on the sand. Leaving the beach, we wandered through a park where people were playing with their kids and an old, quiet suburb that looked quite unlike Boston, and all I kept thinking was how peaceful it would be to raise a family there. Our destination, a Polish restaurant called Cafe Polonia, featured a tiny dining room with a rustic, wood-paneled interior. It looked somewhat spare but inviting as well; we were attended to by a large, friendly Pole with an impenetrable accent and a passing resemblance to Manny Horvitz (sans the butcher routine.)

          We were seated at a sturdy wooden table directly in the center of the room, where I felt that everyone in the room could hear our conversation, and served with bread and schmaltz. Eating schmaltz makes me feel disgusting at points, but it was a welcome departure from tired old bread and butter; for the main dish, I ordered pierogi (having somehow never tried them) and was ultimately pleased with the decision. After dinner we returned to Allston, tired but happy.
          Quotes of the day:
"Why would I pay $2 for something I could make in my house? They makin' millions off coffee!" - Dude on the train
"Badasses wear shoes." - Jennifer

Buzzed Lightyard

          Emily and I went to Sweet Cheeks BBQ on a relaxing date tonight. I was overwhelmed by their BBQ options and settled for a pulled-pork sandwich and the legendary biscuits with honey butter. The drank section of the menu is extensive, and the beers are amusingly categorized: "hometown heroes", "you crafty", "yeah brah". I went for something called Not Your Father's Root Beer and was blown away -- the alcohol content of beer, and the wonderful flavor of root beer. It's unhabeebably good -- a perfect drink, if heavy. The pork sandwich was excellent, but the biscuits were to die for. You could eat two of them and be full. Emily had the mac 'n cheese, which was solid if not distinguished. After dinner, the two of us were in a mood to get out and do something; this turned into a fun rendezvous with Jules, Alaric, Sean, Griffin and Geordie at Yard House. Alaric and Sean got birthday desserts with cocoa powder that we shaped into amusing messages, and I ended up disappointed. The waiter served me a beer which I suspected to be something other than what I ordered, and when I asked he said it was the right one, but it turned out not to be in the end. I was disappointed, considering that it was a half-yard of drink I paid for...
          Quote of the day:
"Look at that mom on the go!" - Emily, re: Jules' aesthetic

Don't Be Scared

          When I was done feeling embarrassed about things I said on the internet in junior high, I switched over to the tortuous "Fallout 3 / computer crash and restart / Fallout 3" cycle out of pure craving for post-apocalyptic adventure and VATS slow-mo headsploding. Mouse in hand, I was laid out on the floor in the living room for some time before slipping into a colorless sleep.
          As it turned out, WRBB's internet stream was still broken, so Alanna and I took advantage. Our guestless, essentially broadcastless back-to-back was a relaxing affair, drinking Franzia, smoking and occasionally commenting on the music. Neither of us was into going home immediately afterward, so we broke into Forsyth via a basement-level door with a deformed jamb -- Alanna just threw her shoulder into it and we were in. Apparently this is a common practice, as there were some grad students working in a few of the labs. We crept up into the classroom where my Macro section meets, turned off all the lights, opened the windows, and played Beach House out of Alanna's tablet. This was the corner room by Forsyth and Cabot, and we were able to look out over the deserted street as we smoked and talked about the future. The brick facade of Nightingale Hall, the modernity of Dockser, the blue-white glow of the streetlight, and the massive, beautiful tree in bloom on that corner created a surreal scene. Our typical periods of silence passed easily. "Are you still doing that lab report tonight?" "No."
          Quote of the day:
"Mechanical engineers are the taste testers of engineers." - Alanna

Bad End

          The only thought my brain could muster when I woke up for UPP: "Why is it so cold?!" We had a debate in class, complete with a section of judges; I honestly thought our team made the more compelling point, but we were handed a unanimous loss. What irked me far more than the defeat was how one student on the other team was laughing while I spoke, as well as during one of my teammates' comments. How is that behavior in any way acceptable or remotely close to polite? I was still fuming after our brief lunch break, when a speaker from No Boston 2024 came to rail about the evils of the Olympics. (Boston 2024 declined to send their own speaker to counter -- a missed opportunity for them, if you ask me.) While some of the lady's various criticisms might have been based more in emotion than fact, several of them were completely valid; I was disappointed when, in a review after she left, all of my fellow students tore her apart without acknowledging the truth of some of the claims. When I got out of class, I went to the Snell quad to join Justin and Matt T at another student activities fair. We had an excellent spot in the circle (it really shouldn't be called a quad) and set up shop quickly I have to wonder whether prospective joiners could have been turned off by the sight of Justin and Matt, two big&tall bouncer-type dudes in matching hockey jerseys, flanking little old me in my Rangers hat -- and no charming band-girl-geeks in sight! (I jest at least in part; we've had a relatively steady stream of interested freshmen, if not at last year's volume.)
          Alaric and I watched Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final between the Lightning and the Blackhawks -- mistake. The Lightning were shut out 2-0 and Chicago took home their third championship in (I think?) five years, giving that bandwagon fanbase even more reason to gloat. They're some of the biggest motherfuckers on the NHL forums, too. We took a shot to close out the season. For the rest of the night, I busied myself with distracting technical tasks, uninstalling a ton of crap from my computer -- random bloatware, superfluous Canon camera software, old games and some assorted other programs -- and enduring/enjoying my old AIM message logs, circa 8th-9th grade. If tonight was a dark time, those days were the Middle Ages...

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 4 - 2         2-0 shutout and Chicago wins the Stanley Cup. Bad end. At least Timonen got
                                      to lift the Cup before he hangs up the skates.

"All over the ship, dancing through the wreckage of the Pfhor computer core, DURANDAL WAS LAUGHING"

          I was bone tired from the festival yesterday and slept in at Jennifer's place. I made my way over to Kupel's to visit her at work, and was treated with a hot, delicious tomato/chive/onion bagel for my time. When I got home, I found that our power had still not been restored, and it's been a few days now. (Technically the apartment does have power, but one fuse that controls the bathroom, living room and hallway blew and put half our apartment in the dark.) Alaric and I, starving for more Advance Wars, settled by playing it on the small TV in his room.
          We settled in to watch the Game of Thrones finale. Emily showed up half an hour late or so, and I overreacted due to 1) being a cranky old man and 2) my desire to watch the episode ASAP instead of waiting around. After the episode, I walked to Snell with Iris accompanying me partway, and found some metal "Kahlua Midnight" shot glasses in the Fens. I also noticed a port-a-potty there, which could come in handy for an achievement that Alaric and I have had on the to-do list. At the library, I found out that I missed a Macro test on Thursday (whooooops), did some reading and took notes, then went home to smoke a bit and go to sleep.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 3 - 2

Seven Year Itch

          I forced myself out of bed around 6:30 in the morning to get over to Harvard Square, where I'd be volunteering at the Mateo Theater again. The screening where I tended bar was a part of the Dance for World Community Festival Week, culminating in today's festival proper. We were put to work early, zip-tying colorful flags to fence posts up and down the streets around the theater. The block would be closed to traffic so dance stages, food stands and organization tables could be erected on the pavement. We volunteers spent a couple of hours fashioning tall, rickety stands out of PVC which would hold the festival signage; gusts of wind blew a couple of these over before we rustled up some sandbags to weight them at the base, which felt like liability waiting to happen. On our lunch break, I made a new friend -- a girl named Devin who's also friends with Nick S. Over poorly seasoned pad thai from a cart and an amazing $5 fairground-style lemonade, we talked about politics, Northeastern, and how dogs > cats any day. I chatted with a young lawyer as we worked, and he advised me to take a gap year or at least carefully evaluate the worth of law school. It's been in and out of my consciousness lately, but I'm feeling inclined against becoming an attorney, at least at this juncture. Later in the afternoon, I was put on welcoming duty, handing a program to everyone who passed by (or at least attempting.) I was partnered with an awkward, younger student who parked himself across the street, and I prided myself on convincing a better proportion of folks to take our programs, not to mention going through more of them overall. I refined my shtick as the hours scraped by, realizing that leading off with the word "free" made people at least 25%* more likely to accept the flyer, and that less verbosity is preferable. "Hi, free program for the dance festival?" I saw all kinds of fascinating Cantabrigians; the best was an old woman with a "Don't Tread on Me" flag flying proudly from her motorized cart. At one point, a middle-aged woman with a gracefully weathered look was "Marilyn Monroe'd" by an MBTA exhaust vent on the sidewalk, and shook it off with demure embarrassment; not too much later, the same thing happened to one of three Buddhist monks passing by, and his two companions did a poor job of concealing their snickering. Once I'd finally finished for the day -- and this felt like an eternity later -- I went to Allston for a fun evening with Jennifer. She's a sweetheart.
          Aside: I discovered today that we left Jared's party at an opportune time last night -- the police were drawn to partygoers loitering out in front of the house, cleared the place out, and put the residents on a watchlist. Fortunately, they didn't get in trouble aside from that, but it was a lot less stressful leaving under my own power rather than with John Q. Law in my face.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 3 - 2            Another stupid 2-1 game and Chicago's in the lead.

*Not a peer reviewed figure.

Let's Be Clear

          Awake until around noon, I slept through most of the afternoon and early evening. Jared threw another rager at his place; this time, it was a "White Trash Trailer Bash", and for once the the theme made me uncomfortable. I ultimately decided that I didn't want to feed into that stereotype and went in normal clothes, and it felt better that way. This one was particularly messy; bros in redneck gear were everywhere and the country music was blasting. Justin drank champagne straight out of the bottle with a penis Sharpied on his other hand. Ultimately, I left early with Alaric, Kofi and Emily to settle at Kofi's place for a little while, and we luxuriated in his dorm room air conditioning. After smoking for a while and listening to the Django Unchained soundtrack, Emily and I headed home, exhausted.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 2 - 2

Grave of the Fireflies

          I got up after missing Macro and cleaned the kitchen much more thoroughly. I may need to make peace with not going to that class because right now, you could hardly pay me to do it. Struggling with the dead, flat heat in my room (and somewhat less in the rest of the apartment), but feeling semi-useful, I did a variety of little chores and found a place for one of the old "The Shop" stickers that my dad passed along to me, placing it on a jar designated for the dead lighter hall of fame. In that listless middle part of the day, I continued season 3 of The Wire, in which Petyr Baelish Tommy Carcetti continues to bring the heat. I would at least do something for the day, and traveled to Harvard Square for a volunteer opportunity. From there, I walked to the Jose Mateo Ballet Theatre, which is a rather Cambridge-esque venue set inside a majestic former church. I sat at the front door for a brief time and showed folks the way in, then set up and manned a bar with wine & beer prior to the event. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Mateo himself, a graceful, genial older man with penetrating blue eyes. Maybe fifteen or twenty people showed up to watch a series of musical short films by an artist in our company, some incorporating dance and others not; the best were an insanely complex Rube Goldberg machine set up inside his house, and a piece where dancers toyed with the fog shifting around their legs. Two or three hours and two tired feet later, I was home to finally S-rank "Sole Harbor" in Advance Wars, using Grit to scrape out those last few points and move from A to S status. I watched The Wire for the rest of the night, occasionally taking a break to smoke or chop up more paper.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 2 - 2

.     .     .     .     . 

"Life, Jimmy! You know what that is? It's the shit that happens while you're waiting for moments that never come."

- Lester Freamon, The Wire

Full Court Press

          Instead of meeting as usual, my UPP class convened downtown at midday to sit in on a city council meeting. Like the rest of City Hall, the council chamber is rendered in imposing concrete shapes, though softened here by old hardwood furniture and paneling. As always, I grated at the opening prayer, which due to some extensive legal gymnastics in decades past is not considered a First Amendment issue. (Unreasonable? Maybe.) This was immediately followed by a special recognition of the new director of the Catholic archdiocese's recovery services, and then the West Roxbury high school baseball champs, who did not seem thrilled to be dragged in front of this stuffy assembly. The main order of business would be a lengthy discussion of the FY16 operating budget. Some highlights: an argument over the privatization of Boston Housing Authority facilities at Franklin Hill and Whittier Street, possible reclassification of high school truant officers, and a relatively vicious dispute over proposed school closures, which lead to Councillor Jackson throwing shade at Councillor O'Malley and posing the question of top-down cuts versus bottom-up. The operating budget for the Boston school system was unanimously rejected in this session. Other points of debate: the bizarre lack of general BPD jurisdiction in the Seaport (which has its own dedicated officers); the unclear path forward for the city's homeless services following the condemnation of the Long Island bridge; and a proposal for defibrillators on all public safety vehicles.
          After most of the meeting had passed, Prof. Sutherland motioned us out. We took the elevator up to the offices of the Boston Redevelopment Authority, where we were shown the Model Room, which contained an incredible, massive and meticulously detailed diorama of a great portion of the city. I found our apartment at the very edge of a table to the side, locating it via the track in the Fens. After a few minutes spent marveling at this and various other Boston paraphernalia (ancient maps, books and records) we went back downstairs and were shown back into the Curley Room, where we'd stopped briefly to drop off our belongings. Councillor Pressley came to meet with us, and we enjoyed an off-the-record discussion and Q&A. I learned that the entire city of Boston has four truant offices in total, and that Councillor Jackson's base is in Roxbury and his earlier positions were not only ethically sound but also comported well with the interests of his constituents. Councillor Pressley discussed her work with youth summer jobs before the general segue into the topic on everyone's mind: the Boston 2024 Olympic bid. I greatly appreciated her take: "I'm not a 'no,' but I am a 'yes, if'," with an emphasis on making sure the less privileged would benefit as much as those who could afford tickets. She continued to impress me throughout the Q&A: describing good politics as "thoughtful intervention," distinguishing between a "pol" and an advocate (who has a symbiotic relationship with their constituents), and saying that "you run before you run" (as in: a platform is, or should be, an actualization of the values you already hold dear.) I was left with a very positive impression of Ms. Pressley, who must have run a killer campaign to win an at-large seat as a woman of color.
          I went home to meet Johnny and Kofi, smoke and watch Greater Boston. Later on, Jennifer came over to the apartment and we cooked up a lasagna like my mother's, with spinach/without meat. So satisfied, we moved on to baking chocolate drop cookies, which also came out perfectly after their dusting of powdered sugar. In time we elected to take a walk and headed over to the Fens, where we found some kind of intramural or rec-league baseball going on. We sat and soaked in the game for a while, occasionally cheering a bit and just rooting for whoever was hitting. We got chilly, went home and watched The Truman Show before going to bed.
          Quote of the day:
"I heard Councillor O'Malley say words like 'loyalty' and 'accountability'. Well, we need to be loyal to our young people, and we need to be accountable to them." - Councillor Jackson
"At City Hall, they like to name rooms after politicians. This one happens to be named after a very corrupt one." - Prof. Sutherland

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 2 - 2              Chicago grinds out a win, despite Vasilevskiy's excellent play in goal.

Decay Rate Algorithm

          I called my mother today and did little else before evening fell. Johnny, Jules and I prepared for our radio show (which was to feature music and political discussion) or in other words, smoked a copious amount. We showed up at the end of Alanna's show and persuaded her to stick around as well, and proceeded to smoke in the studio after weighing the risk (0% chance of anyone knowing or caring.) That had the pleasant side effect of masking the musty smell that's enveloped the studio since construction began in Curry. Our policy summit, mainly featuring Johnny's reasoned opinions on public health, went well and was really quite enjoyable. At home, we watched The Amazing Spider-Man and I hit the sack immediately after.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 2

Comic Book Guy

          I missed Macro again -- I really need to get acclimated to this schedule. Then, to UPP for lots of work and a discussion of #blacklivesmatter. After class, I saw Mad Max at Fenway for the second time, and it was 100% as brilliant as the first time. And at long last, I managed to schedule a pickup with my guy! He never makes it easy on me -- this time, I had to go to Gainsborough and he gave me the wrong apartment number. It's high time for a change in that department.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 2           The Bolts pull ahead in a 3-2 game, featuring a Callahan snipe on Crawford.
                                        Bishop looks seriously injured and had trouble getting up; in this game Saad
                                        grabbed him by the head and pulled him down. I fucking hate the Blackhawks.

Hang Glider

          We scooped up all our belongings and I squeezed into the back seat of Grace's car with David and Lucy, with Jennifer riding shotgun. The girls in front had a singalong to a basic road trip playlist while we squirmed for space in the back, particularly with David's legs thrown wide in the middle. We got a few miles, and then it became apparent that he'd left his phone at the campground, so we turned around to get it. The ride home was uneventful -- I was much more fatigued than I realized -- and the walk home, carrying all my gear from near Roxbury Crossing, was a real slog. Once I got to the apartment, I melted into an Advance Wars-playing, grilled cheese-eating puddle of nothingness with Emily, Jules, Nathan, and Alaric. I also cleaned Hattori Hanzo, leading to the incredulous response from Nathan: "That's clear?!" I went for a run later on, but I wore out quickly and headed home, dispirited. I tried to stay up and work for a time, then said "screw it" and slept in my actual bed for once.

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 1

City Rugged

          As morning approached, I moved up to the foot of the bed and slept a few hours longer. I dreamed that someone ordered me to murder a man in International Village -- when this was done, they told me to get rid of it "the usual way," meaning via the garbage. I had dragged the body out of the basement, hauled it into a trash can and covered it with dirty newspapers when I had the feeling of being watched, and woke up.
          Jules and Alaric arrived in the morning, followed by Jennifer's friends Grace, Sawwon, Dave and Daniel. Jules immediately curled into a ball in the cabin and refused to come out; some of us opted to doze around the fire (Alaric, me) while others messed around down by the lake. A caterpillar stalked us for some time, evidently attracted to something on the camp chair, and was not deterred when we switched seats or moved the chair around. Julia and I tried to join a billiards tournament (I think?) that was allegedly going on in the afternoon, but no one else arrived and we quickly vacated the lodge. Afterward, I went swimming in the lake and climbed up on Turtle Island to sunbathe with Alaric, Jennifer, Lucy and Max. Some folks went boating, and some of us played Ultimate for a while (with Lucy and I rolling the field.) Following consumption of grapefruit/vanilla vodka/pineapple sangria in the sun, we went into Plymouth for dinner and crammed the horde into a large Italian place called Bella Piazza. I was soon pizza drunk from the sheer amount of food being fooded in the vicinity, and walked it off with Julia, with whom I wandered for a few minutes. We coordinated Alie's return home, and some of the residents of the cabin left as well, which meant that I only had to share that big, comfortable bed in front with Jennifer. Blessings large and small on one of the best days in recent memory.
          Quotes of the day:
"You're city rugged. Or country scrawny." - Jennifer
"I could knock Stephanie to the ground. Just armbar her." - Lucy re: bear escape tactics
"I can't believe the Wuttergate scandal came up twice in a day." - me

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 1                3 goalie changes later, the Lightning win 4-3. Phew...

She Took Him To The Lake

          This weekend would hold a trip to the Pinewood Lodge campground in Plymouth, a twins-one-year-apart birthday party for Julia and Jennifer. Per the event page: "get away from the stressors in your sad human life, physically and chemically!" Also: they rented a log cabin! My preparation for the trip, including an ill-advised run at cleaning the hookah, ran long and I was late in getting to Allston to meet the others. Jennifer was rightly pissed at me for taking so much more time than expected, but it would still be a while waiting for Julia at the girls' apartment. In the meantime, I watched Max trying to solder his computer into working order and Lucy trying to find a way to pack as many beers into the luggage as possible.
          We Ubered to South Station with all of our gear rather than dick around on the Green Line (and probably would not have made it in time otherwise.) We jumped on the commuter rail without tickets and were never asked for them, so that was one free ride. The next came when we called a taxi service to get from the station to the campground; the driver was training another guy in the passenger seat who clicked his pen for the entirety of the ride, and somehow the two of them managed to get us to the wrong campground, several minutes out of the way. To make up for it, they comped the ride, meaning it only took the cost of an Uber split three ways to get us to Plymouth.
          When we arrived at the campground, I found that our cabin was about fifty feet from the main building, which meant glamping of the highest order. Stephanie and Ryan C had shown up earlier in the day to check us in, and had a pleasant campfire going already. Ryan displayed his mastery of the grill with a bounty of steak, chicken and corn on the cob. Drinks were quickly broken out; I enjoyed some Woodchuck cider and "enjoyed" some vanilla vodka from Stephanie's amazing travel shot glasses. The cabin itself was quite comfy: a roofed front porch led into a "master bedroom" with a queen-size bed, sink, fridge and mirror; behind that was a smaller bedroom with bunk beds and a bathroom with shower and toilet. We would be living in style for the next day or so.
          In time, we went down the trail to the lake. The water was cold, but most of us went in anyway, splashing, swimming and smoking. I had to remove some seaweed from my hair. Someone from the campsite came to drive us off (swimming after dusk + being noisy idiots) but though we were acting like college students in a family environment, he wasn't mean about it. We went to bed before long, and because Julia wanted one of the bunks, we split them up this way: Julia in her bunk, Lucy in the other, with Steph, Ryan, Jennifer and me sharing the big bed in front. In theory this would work, but after a while I was hanging off the side and eventually committed to sleeping on the floor with a corner of the blanket. I can pass out most anywhere but it was too damn cold down there, and the night passed fitfully.
          Quotes of the day:
"If I was corn, I would satisfy in one bite." - Jennifer
"Too bad for aspiring cab drivers looking to join the evil empire." - Guy on the cab radio
"I need to be a woman until I'm 60, then get a sex change and be a grandpa." - Julia
"My marshmallow's so rugged." - Julia

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 0

In the Desert

          I'm mostly over the Rangers already, somehow. Last year there was a serious mourning period; this year I feel like we dodged a bullet, knowing now that our captain was playing on a broken foot and several others had broken bones as well. We could (and probably would) have been swept by Chicago if we moved up in that condition. I shared lunch with Stephanie and her friend Kim at Rebecca's, where I enjoyed a notably on-point Rebecca Roll. Steph and I walked to IV, then home to smoke and discuss the ramifications of an open relationship. We decided to play Oregon Trail and went with a party of Steph, Andy, Julia, Jennifer and Cara (originally Barack.) Cara and Julia were drowned when we attempted to ford a river -- of course, we should have caulked the wagon.
           I burned out and fell asleep eventually, and Stephanie took off like a real person with responsibilities etc. Emily came over and we chatted with Nathan for a while; when Alaric, Sean, and Iris came home to watch Bill Nye the Science Guy, we skedaddled for her place. There, we drank a bit and watched Equilibrium. This movie is definitely full of itself, but it's solidly built. The cathedral scene near the beginning is my favorite, and oddly enough, involves the poem that I read on Hail Hydra just recently: "Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven."

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 0

Sorrow Foundation

          I rose late and did my UPP homework in short order, finishing a half hour ahead of schedule. In class, we broke into small groups to try and tackle Boston's talent retention issues. Among other recommendations like housing price fixes and allowing the nightlife to run later, we came up with these suggestions: 1) accelerate global warming and encourage other cities in Massachusetts to do the same, so the Boston winter isn't so forbidding; 2) build giant battle robots and pit them against droids from New York to enhance Boston's unique brand; and 3) annex Cambridge. We also had another guest presentation, this time from a high school history teacher and friend to our professor. (I can't find his name anywhere!) He gave an engaging talk on the history of Boston, ranging over such topics as the shifts in its geography, its growth via annexation, the way different sections of the city developed, and its storied sports history. For example, did you know that Copley Square, originally called Art Square, was the cultural capital of the U.S. for some time? The original Museum of Fine Arts, a grotesque building that just had to go if Boston was to retain any dignity, was built there. Another fact: Tremont Street draws its name from "Tri-mountain," an appellation from when Beacon Hill was the tallest of three "mountains" (more like bumps.) Trimountain >> Tramount >> Tremont, capiche? Mr. Guest filled us in on the origin of Storrow Drive -- the Storrows donated a bunch of money to renovate the waterfront amenities with the stipulation that no road be built there, and the city was graceful enough to wait until Mrs. Storrow passed before immediately building a road with the endowment. Also, fun fact: social inequality is currently worse in the U.S. than it was in pre-Revolution France!
          The cherry on top of a great class was getting out of it early. An essay flowed out of me after a few hours of writer's block, and then I could relax. Nathan ate a brownie(!) while Alaric and Kofi joined me on a flight to Fiji; joined by Sean, we then watched the timelessly good The Princess Bride. After giving up at last on finding my iPod and putting music on my phone, I went for my first nighttime run in a while. The Wire was my agenda for the rest of the night; during this time, thanks to HBO's propensity for sex scenes, I discovered that Littlefinger's ass is hella flat.
          Quotes of the day:
"They built it in this really terrible style and were like, 'This is awesome!' And then 30 years later, they were like, 'We gotta tear this down. It's nasty.'" - Mr. Guest, re: the original MFA
"The interesting thing about Braves Field is it was originally called the Wigwam. We were very
culturally sensitive at the time." - Mr. Guest

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 1 - 0          Hawks win 2-1 after the Lightning turtled with a 1-0 lead. Why...

.     .     .     .     .

"Beer needs baseball -- baseball needs beer -- it has always been thus."

- Cincinnati Red Reporter

.     .     .     .     .

"You're not even worth the skin off my knuckles, Junior."
- Lester Freamon

Bronze Stars

          I had two and a half dreams. I was in a hotel room, alone save for a black cat and searching for my phone. The sun was low in the sky and a sickly light streamed through the window, illuminating all the dust in the air. The cat prowled ceaselessly. A few moments later, I was out in the hall with maybe twenty people from the band (I remember seeing Justin and Jules.) We were going to Heath Street to catch a shuttle for another, unknown destination. I went inside the MBTA building at the stop, found my phone, and when I came out everyone was gone. Justin didn't answer when I rang his cell and I took off.
//// I was an American infantryman, evidently a non-commissioned officer of some kind, fighting off a Nazi German invasion of the United States. This was happening in the present day, but we were equipped with 1940s technology -- I clutched an M1 Garand rifle. In the street-to-street fighting, I was separated from the rest of my squad. The concrete husks of shelled-out buildings and fire-stripped trees drew dark cobwebs against a silky grey-black sky, no moon in sight. Ducking around behind the rough German lines, set up amid the piles of rubble and the walls left standing, I was careful to avoid the light from their watch fires. Still gathering courage for the ambush, I saw a sniper and grenadier preparing to attack the remainder of my squad, caught on open ground on the other side of the ruin. When I called out to warn my men, the Germans turned and immediately opened fire. I hit the dirt behind a massive block of concrete; a grenade dropped on the other side and shook the earth when it went off. I figured that for a cue and got going, leaping up and booking it to cover behind another building. My men were safe for the time being, and I felt a bit like a hero.
//// The sky brightened to an austere cadet grey, but everything was bathed in sunlight. I needed to cross back through a contested neighborhood to rescue a person of interest, a young and beautiful German-American woman named Ethel. I could picture her face, long and graceful with brown hair falling over her shoulders. I also knew she was dead, but for some reason I had to go. Grief had festered into hatred in hers and other German-American neighborhoods, targeted both by the invading force and by renegade G.I.s looking for someone to blame or to rape. As I passed through this enclave, I understood that hair-triggered residents or even enemy collaborators might be present, and felt watched. Nervous, I started to lope along, passing two little kids playing on a scooter and a tricycle. I was moving up a hill when someone opened their garage door and pushed out a barbecue grill, outfitted with wheels and some kind of pump system. It rolled downhill and sprayed me with petroleum. I hauled ass to get away as the grill exploded in a wreath of flame. It was poor dead Ethel's grandmother that tried to murder me; I could hear the old woman's hysterical laughter.
//// Back in the hotel room, I wondered irritably: where did all these cats come from? A calico and a grey cat had joined the black, and they jaunted around the room, always within my sight.

          I skipped Macro to get more sleep and played Advance Wars all day, now struggling through the hellishly difficult Last Mission. (Frustratingly, since this was the actual last mission in the first game and all the new maps were added to the end of the list, it's only like 2/3 of the way down despite remaining the hardest by far.) Alaric got home early and we shared brownies before continuing with AW. Much later, after losing track of time, I went to the studio for Alanna's show and listened to her broadcast works by Prokofiev. My own show was marred by issues with the microphones, but wasn't bad nonetheless. Boxed wine and weed tend to throw me off while attempting anything with precision, so...

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 0 - 0

The Methadone Mile

          In UPP, we had an involved discussion on the hypothetical zoning issues around a medical marijuana dispensary in downtown Boston. Some people took the approach of considering a dispensary like a bar or strip club with a possible boost to criminal activity in the area, but I prefer to think of it as a pharmacy. Not only because that's what a purely medical dispensary is by its nature, but also because no one who just dropped a bunch of money on MMJ is going to walk out the door and immediately toke up. Frankly, I think the discretion that many dispensaries are known for makes all this a non-issue anyway.
          After class, I continued Daredevil with Iris, then Game of Thrones with Emily and Nathan; we were soon joined by David, who missed his train and felt like a chat, and Alaric and Sean as well. I got frustrated when it became difficult to pay attention, but that's how I am always. Later on, I went full grind mode on Advance Wars, specifically in a mega-frustrating map called Terra Maw. The AI in Advance Wars is not overly smart, so this, like many other maps is vastly in the computer's favor from the beginning to balance the game. That means that every engagement has to be carefully structured to negate the AI's numbers and money advantage, and one careless move can lead to destruction. I love this game but I'm not a fan of Nintendo Hard gameplay.
          Quote of the day:
Guy in class: "I just see so many... hobos. You can see the heroin coursing through their veins..."
Prof. Sutherland: "The methadone mile?"

Playoff section:
Stanley Cup Final:
CHI v. TBL: 0 - 0