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

The Perfect Drink

I've got some thoughts on the state of the American bus transit system, but I'll be tossing that up on wmeddy.com. For the purposes of this blog, I think it's best to say that I had a pretty good time on the busses. I was comfortable, for the most part, and just sat back to watch the beauty of urban decay whizz past.

I started my morning by going to bed at 2:30am, and then waking up at 5am. I arrived at the DC Greyhound station at 6:40am and after some wrangling, eventually got on a bus. It was a fairly uneventful trip, the only truly unerving part of it was the time spent in the NYC PA Bus Satation.








Behold, the horror of the New York Port Authority bus terminal. Your bus pulls in and you are discharged into a dark labyrinth, left to fend or yourself.


















New York terrifies my feeble, Midwestern mind, but I still kind of love it.








I arrived in Boston without much fuss and met up with my dear cousin Laura and took me straight to a restuarant to satiate my hunger pangs. By this point, I had not eaten in nearly 24 hrs.

The place where we stoppe had big picnic tables and a relaxed plastic-cup attitude. In keeping with my personal theme of being Aggressively Awesome, I ordered the salmon hotdogs:









The jury's still out on these, guys.

Afterward, Laura took me to a bar called Drink, which is something of a mixologist's dream. The place is dark with a very spare, clean decor of unadorned wood. The kind of place with low ceilings and bare lightbulbs that look more like vaccuum tubes. Behind the bar is all sorts of specialized drink mixing equipment, and the very best ingredients.









The warmth of the bar is offset by the almost clinical level of precision applied to drink mixing. The bitters are kept in dropper bottles, live herbs dot the counter, and the sinks looked suspiciously like those in a highschool chemistry lab.

Talking with Sam, our amazing bartender, he confirmed that this is a sort of cocktail laboratory, where you can not only experiment but also accurately make an excellent cocktail everytime. Bartenders are encouraged to take their time mixing drinks, and to strive for something truly experiential.

Interestingly, Drink has no menu. Obviously, you can order something off the top of your head, but the preferred method is to tell your bartender how your feeling, or your likes and dislikes. Like a mystic aura reader, the bartender will appraise you and assign you a drink.

"Ok," I said. "I'm taking a month long bus trip across America. I've quit my job and my future is uncertain. I have no health insurance."

"And he loves gin," added Laura.

Sam pondered and eventually crafted this:









"The Fortress Of Solitude."

Sam explained that te bar staff was wondering what kind of drink Superman had. They chose to shirk the obvious blue and red tie-in, and instead drew inspiration from the Man of Steel's private chmaber located in the Anarctic. I asked if I could photograph it, and Sam even volunteered to provide illumination.

The drink itself was an refreshing mint-chocolate number, based on Plymouth gin. It was eminantly drinkable without losing any of the gin's complex flavor. A real winner.

Obviously, I'm having a great time here with Laura. Boston is a fascinating town, and I'm eager to she my heavy pack and get the city under my feet tomorrow.

But man! For the first day, the bar has been set high!

Location:Washington St,Boston,United States