Wednesday, January 21, 2009
When I first started hatching my crazy Brain-esque plot for cross-country surprise, I was in my element. I really enjoy lists, itineraries, schedules, and reservations. Don't get me wrong, I am also a sucker for last-minute hoo-rahs, but when the occasion calls for it I am your planner. I used to organized outings at Magic Mountain by mapping out what order of rides I would go on, for crying out loud. I was probably 10 at the time.
So I had plenty of things to occupy me before we left for Boston. Tons of places where I wanted to eat, historical sites I wanted to see, and events I wanted to attend. Because I am way more optimistic and out-of-touch with reality than my friends (who may, in this example, be referred to collectively as "Pinky"*), though, I got to do very little of that. Let's explore this notion further with another edition of Boston: DAY THREE.
*love you guys!
Seeing as how this was a little over four months ago and I have the memory of a goldfish, we (royal) will try to reassemble the picture. The day began with a foray into downtown Boston.
This is what Lily and I look like most of the time. Minus the weird expressions. Also minus the dinosaur bandage, which was covering a sikk burn I got from cooking a week or two before.
The lovely Boston Common
We picnicked with some foods we'd picked up from Lambert's across the street. Note to self: Don't pay a lot of money for "fresh" "Californian" fruit in "Boston". It's not as good.
"I tried to tell you," says Ashley.
"Silly Christine," says Lily.
I tried to recreate my regular sandwich from Bay Cities Deli in Santa Monica: prosciutto, tomato, basil, mozzarella. It wasn't nearly as good. Sorry, Lambert's. I'm even sorrier, Bay Cities. I won't leave you again.
That's me up at the top.
What's that? You don't believe me?
(insert photoshopped photo of my head on that, which I'm too lazy to do)
I was a little obsessed with these.
"Hey guys, we're all going this way for a revolution. Wanna come?"
"No! You don't get it! What--why am I even talking to you. You don't have a head. Where's William??"
"Which camera are you guys looking at? Are we all looking at Geoff?"
"So help me--don't make me strike you in front of the lads, Wilhelmina!"
But back to the story at hand, if there ever was one. During my research for Boston goings-on during our trip, I happened across something involving colonials, Redcoats and drums: the Redcoat Encampment. That, along with the Freedom Trail and the Dorchester Beach Festival, were all hazy inconceivable wishes.
Until I heard some cannons.
Noticed some people gathering down over there.
And yes, we happened to be traversing the Common just as it was being INVADED BY REDCOATS.
I think my face was this lit up the whole time.
Ha. NICE HATS, JERKS.
I'm pretty sure this is historically accurate.
So that was fun for about 10 minutes. Then we left the cloaks and quills behind for greener pastures.
Saw some bridges and shit.
I like to imagine this "woman" here "sitting" and minding her own "business"
Saw a WEDDING in progress. Naturally, we had to go lurk it.
This way, guys!
I hate to be that guy, but "by the willow tree" might not be the most helpful phrase.
This may or may not have been Theresa and Kevin. With the "official" photographer. Hey, if you two lovebirds want this baby, I invite you to take it! I'm here all week!
Later we trekked to Newbury St., which I guess is like 3rd St. for Boston but with more stairs going down.
Now, I think this was from that night. This picture hardly does justice to the sardinian atmosphere of this train jammed with Red Sox fans just leaving the field. I had to stifle an urge to comment mildly to one of them, "Red Sox? Is that a new play?"
Later Kim insisted we go to The Other Side, which seemed to me like a pie bar. Lauren and I split some molten chocolate something-or-other. Forgive the flash...like it said, a bar.
We ended the evening with another foray into Cambridge to attend a "Moulin Rouge" singalong at the Brattle Theatre, made famous by Lois Lowry's hilarious Anastasia Krupnik. I haven't been to a "Moulin Rouge" singalong probably since that one theatre in Santa Monica stopped doing it years ago. It was a lot of fun. This time we even got a lyric book, like any of us needed it. Got some good duets in with a few gay men nearby.
I'm sure more happened that evening but I have the memory of an ox...or a goldfish...so let's leave it at that.