Here's a story from a couple years ago before we had a blog or lived in Cambridge. My, we've come a long way (or have we?)
8/29/2002
Found a stray parakeet the other day and became friends with him. I risked my life for him, protecting him from a neighbor that was trying to catch the bird with a crow bar. The bird is alive and well, and has been adopted by some of our nice neighbors. It seemed that the bird really liked the grass in front of our house and stayed there for a few hours. This has got to be some really cool grass.
Otherwise my life has been pretty unexciting except for being trapped in a car with a psychotic real estate agent for 4 hours ("It has air conditioning, you buy this place now or it will be gone in -3.14 minutes"), who proceeded to show us an apartment near the Kendall Cafe in Cambridge that was okay except that it was missing a stove, sink, toilet, and parts of the ceiling and floor. The walls were a lovely collage of exposed wires and plaster.
"I guarantee the place will be ready by September First, " said the psychotic real estate agent, "They're working on it day and night." I looked at my watch and it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon on a weekday, and there were no work men to be seen within a 5 mile radius of the place. "You'll be in Kendall Square, next to the movie theatre and the Kendall Café! Only $1300/month !!! Don't I show you guys the best places??"
I wanted to inform this woman that large parts of the floor were missing, but then decided that some things are just best left unsaid. "Airconditioning," she quipped.
Luckily, we found a cheaper (and better) apartment in Winter Hill without the help of a real estate agent, but that's another blog entry. . .
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Monday, January 17, 2005
Frog Pond, Fajitas & Ritas, & Other Capades
Yesterday we went to Frog Pond in the Boston Common to go Ice skating with our great friends Robert and Alice. I learned a lesson that when you go off ice to cement on skates it is good to maintain a speed of 0 miles per hour or you are sure to fall flat on your face.
Rental Ice skates I think were originally an ancient torture device that some entrepreneur decided he could make a buck off of. They have nothing in common with the comfortable skates that you buy in a store. I'm sorry, but what is so comfortable about putting all your weight on your ankles while the top of your foot is lifted unnaturally at a 20 degree angle up from your heel. This seems like something the mafia would make you wear if you owed them money.
Otherwise, I really enjoyed the ice skating. It is not everyday that I get to combine four of my five top neuroses:
1) Fear of sharp objects
2) Fear of losing control while moving fast and falling onto a hard surface
3) Fear of other people running you over with sharp objects
4) Fear of death (see fears 1-3)
All you need is the fear of heights thrown in there, and we've run the entire gamut. How about ice skating on top of a cliff with no protective guard rail. Or how about ice skating on top of a tall building like the Prudential or the Empire State Building with lots of people and no guard rail. Why not play Hockey on top of the Empire State Building while you are at it. (I'm just venting, I love ice skating... or do I?)
We later went to Fajitas and Ritas which had a great goth atmosphere of free world graffiti and killer watered down Sangria. Who ever came up with the idea for this place is a genius. It's hard to find and that makes it exta special. Also, they took the charm of the graffiti written all over the bathroom stalls at the Middle East and made it a centerpiece of the restaurant. What other restaurant could you go to where you would find the name of someone's mother written on the wall next to you and a phone number saying, "For a good time call this number."
We started covering our table with graffiti immediately. They should really do this with more restaurants. It was hidden off of West Street, near the Park Street T spot. Robert and I braved the scallop quaesadillas which were very interesting to say the least. You can't go wrong with free all you can eat tortillas and salsa.
We saw Michael Sullivan on the way home, performing at the Park St. T station, so we talked to him for a bit, and listened to his beautiful music.
Michael Sullivan has a lot of great songs. Our favorite is "Becky's Tune" which we heard on a tape made by David White (a musician friend of Lisa's who tragically committed suicide), and a new love song that he played for us. Michael does great renditions of old folk tunes as well, like "Streets of London" and "Shady Grove". When he's not playing in the subways of Boston, sometimes you can find him on tour with his old friend Michelle Shocked. We loved listening to Michael play, and it was the perfect end to our Taco Ice-Capades day.
Rental Ice skates I think were originally an ancient torture device that some entrepreneur decided he could make a buck off of. They have nothing in common with the comfortable skates that you buy in a store. I'm sorry, but what is so comfortable about putting all your weight on your ankles while the top of your foot is lifted unnaturally at a 20 degree angle up from your heel. This seems like something the mafia would make you wear if you owed them money.
Otherwise, I really enjoyed the ice skating. It is not everyday that I get to combine four of my five top neuroses:
1) Fear of sharp objects
2) Fear of losing control while moving fast and falling onto a hard surface
3) Fear of other people running you over with sharp objects
4) Fear of death (see fears 1-3)
All you need is the fear of heights thrown in there, and we've run the entire gamut. How about ice skating on top of a cliff with no protective guard rail. Or how about ice skating on top of a tall building like the Prudential or the Empire State Building with lots of people and no guard rail. Why not play Hockey on top of the Empire State Building while you are at it. (I'm just venting, I love ice skating... or do I?)
We later went to Fajitas and Ritas which had a great goth atmosphere of free world graffiti and killer watered down Sangria. Who ever came up with the idea for this place is a genius. It's hard to find and that makes it exta special. Also, they took the charm of the graffiti written all over the bathroom stalls at the Middle East and made it a centerpiece of the restaurant. What other restaurant could you go to where you would find the name of someone's mother written on the wall next to you and a phone number saying, "For a good time call this number."
We started covering our table with graffiti immediately. They should really do this with more restaurants. It was hidden off of West Street, near the Park Street T spot. Robert and I braved the scallop quaesadillas which were very interesting to say the least. You can't go wrong with free all you can eat tortillas and salsa.
We saw Michael Sullivan on the way home, performing at the Park St. T station, so we talked to him for a bit, and listened to his beautiful music.
Michael Sullivan has a lot of great songs. Our favorite is "Becky's Tune" which we heard on a tape made by David White (a musician friend of Lisa's who tragically committed suicide), and a new love song that he played for us. Michael does great renditions of old folk tunes as well, like "Streets of London" and "Shady Grove". When he's not playing in the subways of Boston, sometimes you can find him on tour with his old friend Michelle Shocked. We loved listening to Michael play, and it was the perfect end to our Taco Ice-Capades day.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
The Entrepreneurial Spirit (by Lisa)
It seems like every time we go down to play in the subways, we see people selling unusual stuff. If you look closely at the wares of the "Magazine Man" at Harvard, you will find, amongst his ancient porn and "Better Homes & Gardens", ten year old copies of "PC World". I have no idea who would be interested in buying ten year old copies of a computer trade magazine, but perhaps I am the fool for not snatching them up quicker, as they may be valuable collector's items waiting to happen.
We also won't soon forget the woman at Park Street who we saw selling buttons that say "This is the Only Bush I Like" with a picture of a woman's you-know-what. She seemed to be doing quite well in the pre-election season.
The most unusual sales people we have seen down in the subway, however, were two women selling perfume. The two women, who were wearing long cotton dresses and hijabs, decided to try their luck one day selling perfume near where we were playing. They greeted us with a smile, then proceeded to set up a display of their perfume bottles on top of a nearby trash can. When a promising looking man or woman came into range, they would lead him or her over to the trash can to smell some samples of their fine perfumes.
At one point, the subway cleanup guy came to empty out the trash can, and waited patiently while the women lifted their bottles, one by one, and put them away so he could empty the trash. When he was gone, they neatly set up their bottles again, and resumed business as usual.
They seemed to be having a hard day, and Dave & I considered mentioning to them that a trash can might not be the most appetizing way to display perfume and that they might perhaps want to consider investing in a folding card table, but they must have sold some bottles while we weren't looking, because after about two hours they waved goodbye to us, smiled, and tipped us sweetly before boarding the train to head to their next location.
We also won't soon forget the woman at Park Street who we saw selling buttons that say "This is the Only Bush I Like" with a picture of a woman's you-know-what. She seemed to be doing quite well in the pre-election season.
The most unusual sales people we have seen down in the subway, however, were two women selling perfume. The two women, who were wearing long cotton dresses and hijabs, decided to try their luck one day selling perfume near where we were playing. They greeted us with a smile, then proceeded to set up a display of their perfume bottles on top of a nearby trash can. When a promising looking man or woman came into range, they would lead him or her over to the trash can to smell some samples of their fine perfumes.
At one point, the subway cleanup guy came to empty out the trash can, and waited patiently while the women lifted their bottles, one by one, and put them away so he could empty the trash. When he was gone, they neatly set up their bottles again, and resumed business as usual.
They seemed to be having a hard day, and Dave & I considered mentioning to them that a trash can might not be the most appetizing way to display perfume and that they might perhaps want to consider investing in a folding card table, but they must have sold some bottles while we weren't looking, because after about two hours they waved goodbye to us, smiled, and tipped us sweetly before boarding the train to head to their next location.
Monday, January 03, 2005
A 90 Foot Sausage or a Dance with Your Eldest Daughter
Lisa and I both came down with the flu this past week. Despite our maladies, our awesome friend, Robert, insisted we come to his New Year's extravaganza. Apparently, we were going to perform a New Brunswick New Years tradition of going from house to house and singing a Cajun/French song asking for a 90 foot sausage, or, if they don't have that, a dance with their eldest daughter. When Lisa and I got to Robert's apartment, we were welcomed by a surly violin player and Robert's friends from New Brunswick, Mark and his girlfriend Tania, and the scrumptious aromas of food from "Bob the Chef's".
Robert had this really nice oriental rug in the middle of the floor which I did not see when I first walked in with my snow covered shoes. Then Lisa, heaping her plate with vegetarian greens, collards, rice and potatoe salad, sits down at the table and accidentally drops her food on the floor onto the expensive Oriental rug. When we sit at the table and replace the food, Lisa keeps leaning on the table and I look underneath the table and become aware that it is in fact not a table, but a piece of wood balanced on a small box. So every time Lisa leans on the table, I watch it go up 15 degrees and am nervous that my jambolaya, beer, and other acoutrements will go flying onto the rug.
We start learning the song in French, and I'm having a little trouble getting the words right. But it works out pretty well. Robert and Mark would say the part first while Lisa, Tania and me would repeat each verse in call and response. Each of us knew about a third of the lyrics, and it seemed that one of us would know the lyrics that the other one didn't know.
After practicing a few times we added in the violin and soon we were ready to hit the streets. We first hit the brownstones on Comm. Ave. It appeared that at 10 PM, alot of people were either out at parties, sleeping, watching Dick Clark's New Year's special, or at First Night. We knocked at a few doors and rang a few bells, but did not get much of a response at first. So, after getting turned away from a building by a disgruntled security guard, we hit the streets for a bit and sang to lots of Boston fans who enjoyed the violinist's Christmas carols as well as our French song and usually responded with the usual, Happy New Years, and go Red Sox. We sang the song to some people in a limo.
I had to go to the bathroom and I find as a rule, the nicer the place you choose to go to the bathroom in Boston, the more chance they will let you use it. You could stop at a small bar or pizza parlor or a convenience store or fast food place, and they will turn you away unless you are a customer. If you go to the Ritz Carleton or Eliot House, you will have the most enjoyable bathroom experience unhassled.
At the Eliot House, we had groupies calling to us from their rooms begging for our French carol. We even got our first tip on the streets of Boston singing our song for a couple waiting for a taxi in front of the hotel. The Doorman loved our carol so much, he was sad when we left. It should be said that no one gave us a 60 foot sausage or a dance with their eldest daughter.
At about 10 minutes to New Year's we passed a party where they were celebrating the new year with some hip hop dance music from their balcony. They invited us to their party, but we decided to sing to them from the street. When we told them we were going to do a Cajun carol, they said "Sure! What ever!!". They turned down the rap music and danced to our song.
It was 3 minutes to New Years and we were right near the Prudential. Mark opened up the champagne and we danced around the streets and toasted in the New Year. We got a lot of the night on film, which which I will stream from this blog as soon as it is ready.
Robert had this really nice oriental rug in the middle of the floor which I did not see when I first walked in with my snow covered shoes. Then Lisa, heaping her plate with vegetarian greens, collards, rice and potatoe salad, sits down at the table and accidentally drops her food on the floor onto the expensive Oriental rug. When we sit at the table and replace the food, Lisa keeps leaning on the table and I look underneath the table and become aware that it is in fact not a table, but a piece of wood balanced on a small box. So every time Lisa leans on the table, I watch it go up 15 degrees and am nervous that my jambolaya, beer, and other acoutrements will go flying onto the rug.
We start learning the song in French, and I'm having a little trouble getting the words right. But it works out pretty well. Robert and Mark would say the part first while Lisa, Tania and me would repeat each verse in call and response. Each of us knew about a third of the lyrics, and it seemed that one of us would know the lyrics that the other one didn't know.
After practicing a few times we added in the violin and soon we were ready to hit the streets. We first hit the brownstones on Comm. Ave. It appeared that at 10 PM, alot of people were either out at parties, sleeping, watching Dick Clark's New Year's special, or at First Night. We knocked at a few doors and rang a few bells, but did not get much of a response at first. So, after getting turned away from a building by a disgruntled security guard, we hit the streets for a bit and sang to lots of Boston fans who enjoyed the violinist's Christmas carols as well as our French song and usually responded with the usual, Happy New Years, and go Red Sox. We sang the song to some people in a limo.
I had to go to the bathroom and I find as a rule, the nicer the place you choose to go to the bathroom in Boston, the more chance they will let you use it. You could stop at a small bar or pizza parlor or a convenience store or fast food place, and they will turn you away unless you are a customer. If you go to the Ritz Carleton or Eliot House, you will have the most enjoyable bathroom experience unhassled.
At the Eliot House, we had groupies calling to us from their rooms begging for our French carol. We even got our first tip on the streets of Boston singing our song for a couple waiting for a taxi in front of the hotel. The Doorman loved our carol so much, he was sad when we left. It should be said that no one gave us a 60 foot sausage or a dance with their eldest daughter.
At about 10 minutes to New Year's we passed a party where they were celebrating the new year with some hip hop dance music from their balcony. They invited us to their party, but we decided to sing to them from the street. When we told them we were going to do a Cajun carol, they said "Sure! What ever!!". They turned down the rap music and danced to our song.
It was 3 minutes to New Years and we were right near the Prudential. Mark opened up the champagne and we danced around the streets and toasted in the New Year. We got a lot of the night on film, which which I will stream from this blog as soon as it is ready.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)