Hello Beantown, part 1

READER'S NOTE: In late March of 2003, my friend Kelly (introduced in the previous 3-part blog serial entitled "The Dress") and I visited our friend Lindsay in Boston, Massachusetts. We spent three days there and it made quite an impression on me. Such an impression, in fact, that I would find myself moving there a year-and-a-half later.
As I prepare for my exodus from my two-year stint as a resident of Beantown, I found it appropriate to revisit my original arrival into this wonderful town.
This is the ensuing travelogue I wrote several weeks after the trip.

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The farther along in life we get, the more complicated our articulation of love becomes.

Think back to when you were younger. Weren't we all better at articulating our true feelings? There was no fear of being hurt or manipulated. Everything seemed shaded in a perfect black or a perfect white.
We all had a best friend and well all had people we disliked, and no matter which side of that line you fell on, it was always clear why.
"Oh gee... George eats paste. I don't like him much."
Case closed. Paste-eater.
George knew where he stood with you.
Contrarily there was, "Yeah, Judy is pretty funny. I like her."
No question there either, right? Funny-girl.
As we get older, things start complicating themselves. It is no longer safe for me to compliment Judy on her humor. I now have to qualify it. Making the comment, "Yeah, Judy is pretty funny. I like her", triggers new and unforseen suspicions from surrounding peers.
"Yeah, you like her, but do you likeherlike her?"
There it is.
The old "likeherlikeher".
Back in sixth grade there was Scooby-Doo. I liked Scooby-Doo.
There was also my classmate, Sarah Fuller. I likedliked my classmate Sarah Fuller. We built diahramas together.
And then there was Michelle Pfieffer as Catwoman in the second 'Batman' movie. I likedlikedliked Michelle Pfieffer as Catwoman in the second 'Batman' movie.
Y'see the difference?
But of course, like all else, our budding sophistication ruined everything. We all stopped speaking the same code. How many times have I expressed to a girl how much I like them only to have them look back at me with unblinking eyes and reply, "Yeah dude. I like you too. Duh."
Nowadays we have to express exactly how we feel or accept the consequences of being misinterpreted. Gone are those glory days of the universal scoring system. I can no longer tell a girl that I likelikelike her and have her a) understand what I mean or b) understand what I mean and still respect the manner in which I told her.
And apparently, liking and loving someone are just different hues of the same pallet. I certainly couldn't get away with saying, "Suzie, I'm madly in-like with you!" No. Love is the intense form of like, but they both signify friendship. So if "in-love" is the intense form of total loyalty and companionship, what is the less intense form of "in-love"?
It ain't "in-like", I assure you. I once told a girl that I was "in-like" with her and we didn't talk to one another for almost two years afterwards.
I am hereby lobbying for the adult world to adopt the layering style of the word "like" as a recognized and respected form of expression.

All that was pretext to better illustrate just what I mean when I say that I likedlikedlikedlikedliked the city of Boston, Massachusetts and I'm gonna tell you a little bit about my recent trip.
Hang on tight.

* * * * *

It has been my experience that most travel essays alienate the reader by boring them. Travel is a personal experience that cannot often be accurately recounted to an outsider. Hopefully because I understand this, it will mean that you are in good hands. On the other hand, doesan't it seem as if most travelers feel their trip is the one special experience that begs for the public's attention?
I know it's just Boston and not the moon, but you clearly have no more important use of your time, or else you wouldn't be reading some dude's travelogue.

Boston's Logan Airport is situated directly along the bay. This was information I was unaware of until I gazed out of the airplane window and it appeared we were nose-diving directly into the water. I'm a fairly calm guy and assumed that the pilots knew what they were doing, perhaps they saw a dolphin and wanted a closer look. By the time I realized that dolphins were not indiginous to this area of water, we had already touched down on what was clearly hard runway blacktop. Having not crashed into the water, I had to say - Logan's airport runway was quite picturesque.
Cheers, Massachusetts.

Once Kelly and I got to our hotel in Cambridge (home of the Harvard Univeersity), we took a stroll down to Harvard Yard, walking first along the banks of the Charles River and then into the heart of Harvard. What struck me more than the historical beauty of this old university campus was that everyone walking past me on the streets and sidewalks were probably much, much smarter than I was. Has anyone else ever experienced this feeling? I kept worrying that some smart Harvard kid was going to sense my dumbtitude (which isn't even a word) and decide to pop-quiz me on something literary or perhaps scientific: "Stump the Art School Kid"! It was a fear that never fully subsided.
It doesn't help either that I was clearly not from around the area. I am never more aware of my own accent than when I find that I am the only one speaking with it. Everyone around me spoke with either a slightly effeminate, subtly British accent that the smart Harvard kids have adopted or the blue-collar brogue the gang from 'Good Will Hunting' utilized (that was the first of many references to 'Good Will Hunting', I assure you).
Whether it was the stuffy Harvard brogue or the Southie drawl, I presented neither, opting instead to continue on with my own Chicago "Does aaanyone waaaant a Polish saaaaausage"-accent. I guess everyone's native tongue sounds ugly to them.
There.
I quickly finished the section where I point out how goofy the New England accent is. Was that so bad?

I was quite impressed with my first hour in Boston. Less than sixty minutes off the plane, Kelly and I had walked past a looming war commencement protest, bought a Harvard tee-shirt and ate at a genuine Irish restaurant. In less than two hours I had seen more cobblestones cobbled together and more bicycles U-locked together than the entirety of my life before that point. We spent several hours exploring Harvard when it dawned on me: not only have we not actually ventured into the city, but we haven't met up with Lindsay yet.

So we finally get into Boston and I'll be honest with you, I have no idea what order anything was accomplished. A trip this fantastically filled to the brim can only be recited as events come to me. I realize that this is unorthodox when compred with other travelogues. Then again, most travelogues are haughty.
I'm trying to break that pattern, it behooves you to ride the wave with me.
Also unorthodox to most travelogues, I'd like to first discuss all the things I never actually experienced.
We didn't visit Fenway Park. It was the one thing I was positive I would end up seeing before I left Boston. Nothing makes the Gods laugh harder than telling them of your plans. We didn't make it out to Cape Cod, or take the whaling tour near the aquarium, we missed the art district and "Southie" (rumored to be the ghetto and the stomping grounds of the 'Good Will Hunting' characters - which I believe is my second reference to that film).
There were plenty of things not experienced in Boston, and this seemed like a good thing; a reason to come back.

The first full day in the city was easily the best, best because it was one of the more jam-packed days I can remember ever having. We walked a large portion of the Freedom Trail, which for those of you who haven't been to Boston, is a line of either red brick or red paint extending along the walkways throughout historical portions of the city. Considering Boston's historical significance to our country, you can imagine how expansive the Freedom Trail must have been.
Having finally found Lindsay the night before, the three of us set out along the Freedom Trail the following morning. The trail itself, it should be noted, starts in front of the biggest Borders bookstore in existence. It was so big, in fact, that I assumed the trail started in front of it because the establishment had reached landmark status. I know that sounds ridiculous, but they've got a gas station sign in the city having reached the same status, so who am I to judge?
It seemed to work out several different times that something would grab our attention and we'd find ourselves suddenly off the trail. Twenty minutes later, without trying to find our way back, we'd be right back to following the red line.
Boston is the most walkable city I've ever visited. It seems as if it would be impossible to stay lost there.
Stemming from the Freedom Trail were the Commons, which are a bit like Central Park in New York (only smaller) or Grant Park in Chicago (only bigger) but more beautiful than both. It was also the location of the scene in 'Good Will Hunting' where Williams and Damon are sitting on a park bench together.
Hopefully that will be my last reference to 'Good Will Hunting', I just don't know that many Boston-based movies. 'Cheers' is the only other program that I can name and ironically enough, directly across the street from the Common was the Bulfinch Pub, the building that the 'Cheers' bar supposedly takes place in. And although the entrance is exactly the same as it appears in the television show, the interior is nothing like the Hollywood set. The bar itself is tiny and filled from wall to wall with sports memorabilia.
During this same afternoon jaunt, our little trio ventured up and down Newberry Street; a seemingly posh, snooty portion of Boston. Everyone wore nicer shoes than me, tighter fitting pants than me, and sunglasses that cost more than my car.
This was Boston's Magnificent Mile, 5th Avenue, Rodeo Drive.
That being said, the truth of Newberry Street was that it was more mom'n'pop than any of those other famous metropolis shopping areas. For every Burberry boutique, there was also an independent ice cream joint or Tibetan headshop just trying to make a little scratch for themselves.
We ended up stopping in an Eastern-influenced store with masks and zithers and beaded trinkets and what-have-you. Looking up at the springtime sale on all the wall masks, I began thinking, "I should bring a souvenir of Boston home with me. These are pretty neat masks, maybe one of these would do."
That's me in a nutshell.
I travel from the ethnic diversity of Chicago to the, er...um, ahem... paleness of Boston, head into a random Eatern-influenced head shop, buy a mask (on sale) and use that as the representative piece from my trip. Most people buy a Red Sox hat or a shot glass with Paul Revere on it. I'm a doofus.
But not too much of a doofus, because I didn't end up buying any masks.

Instead I almost killed myself at Bunker Hill.

...to be continued.