The End Of Boston

Most of my first, and only, full day was the kind of event that would only be interesting for me. I wandered the city, I browsed bookshops, I sat by the harbor and wondered if the smell was from the restuarant on the jellyfish.



Later, I me back up with Laura and she toured me through Harvard, where I learned many disturbing things about the stories institution. Namely, that undergrads are organized and housed in large groups that they stay with for the duration of their studies. That thought terrified me. It also didn't do much to squelch the rumors of Harvard being a place to go for the connections you make.

But I digress. Dear cousin Laura is the product of their divinity school, so clearly it is a capable institution. Also, some of their architecture is stunning.





On the way over to a coffee shop, Laura asked me if I wanted to stop by the Lampoon. As in, The Harvard Lampoon. Despite having only read a handful of issues from at least 20 years ago, I knew a thing or two about the Lampoon. They were famous, they were successful, they were at least partly responsible for some of my favorite movies, they had their own building, they were secure, I was jealous.

In the end I ds opt to stop by, and I'm glad I did because sitting on the stoop of the iconic Lampoon offices was a dude in Wayfarer sunglasses, listening to Wings and drinking Coors Light. I wasn't sure what to do, and my first instinct was to simply take a picture and leave.



But I had come too far, and this trip is not about timidity. It's not about getting from point A to point B, it's about assaulting America's senses. So I assaulted in the only way I know how: through cheerful banter.

I asked him if he worked for the Lampoon. He said he did. I told him that I was formally of the Gargoyle Humor Magazine at U of M and, and this is true, that some time ago my friend Zack Beauvais (also of Gargoyle, class of 2010) emailed the Lampoon and challenge them to a wrestling match. The Wings listener seemed confused.

Once he had regained his composure and the grip on his Coors, he said that he'd never heard of such a challenge, but that he was relatively young. It may have been before his time. Well, I wanted to see this through and asked if I could give him some contact info to try and make the match a reality. He agreed.

I whippe out my pen and a notecard and started scribbling down names, emails, and other pertenant info. To cover the awkward silence, he asked: "What did you say the name of Dartmouth's humor magazine is?"

I didn't miss a beat, but in my mind I halted and realized that they didn't care about the Gargoyle, or any other humor rag. Maybe the East coast ones, but the Midwest was probably an alien landscape to him, and Michigan: something from Robocop.

"Dartmouth's humor mag is the Jack' O Lantern, but I went to te University of Michigan and worked on the Gargoyle," I said.

We chatted a bit more and he seemed as awkward and confused as any undergrad in the presence of an alum does. When we parted, he took the card and I left him sitting bemused on the steps of that famous building.

Later that night, before Laura took me to see band I'd never heard called The National, she and I chatted over fish and chips at her favorite local pub. The mood was quiet, the wood paneling was dark, and the beer was quite delicious. We talked about her work and the church, and how life on your own can be utterly befuddling. It seemed apt.

I'm currently in New York, trying to get my plan for the evening worked out. I'm staying with Lindsey B., my oldest friend, but I'm also trying to see my buddy Hyatt from the College Years. This town is intense, but I keep coming back.

Location:W 152nd St,New York,United States