Beantown Buffoonery

I decided to join in with the huddled masses and take a Greyhound bus from Penn Station to Boston, since I haven't felt like a poor college kid with no other transportation options nor been annoyed/wished my nose wouldn't work in quite a while. Luckily I got to sit within earshot of the one girl on the bus who wouldn't shut up. Ever. I don't think she was friends with or even knew the girl next to her, yet that didn't stop her from talking about guys who didn't want to date her, her favorite areas to run, or her favorite topics to talk about. She gave advice, inquired about inquiries and mentioned 25 places she had lived for 3 years or more each. Despite looking mid-20s, she was apparently 80 or older. Normally I'd be fascinated with her Wolverine-like powers, but she was the most obnoxious person on the bus, even speaking with a fake British accent the entire time. For what reason? Who was she trying to impress on the bus?

Everything was made better when my bus finally docked in South Station and a car driven by a yellow labrador named Sahara showed up to pick me up. She was so excited to see me that the next day, at the ungodly hour of 7 something, she evolved opposable thumbs in order to open the door to my guest room and wack everything in sight with her billy-club/tail. At least, that's what must have happened since Chris denied her involvement in this plot. Chris is my old neighbor from Ithaca College and now lives in Chelsea, north of Boston. Along with her limey husband/butler, she is the largest landowner in all of Massachusetts, with four properties in the area, all completely gut renovated and beautiful. After purchasing and moving into the 4th location, Chris and Simon plan to eventually move to Seattle, Washington, where they will make a land grab to rival the Louisiana Purchase.

In between ducking her racist septuagenarian bi-polar neighbor who threatened (promised, really) to knock out Simon and catching a death trap bus with a driver who cursed non stop, spoke to himself, thought the rumble strips were a bus-only lane and tried to sideswipe cars in NYC, I had time to pick raspberries, watch old men in tie-dye shirts hold dance competitions at the Beach Boys concert, travel to Johnny Cupcakes and Harpoon Brewery with Mario and lobster bake.

Dedication to fetching; Sahara the big yellow dog

Sheep eating their natural diet of watermelon and pineapple

I wear my Johnny Cupcakes kangaroo shirt while Mario wears the only Karlos Dansby shirt ever made

Amherst Action

Human Dynamo and DJ were chauffeured by me in the manlac Prius to Amherst to visit James (their high school friend and mine since 1st grade) and Laura, his wife, this past weekend. Highlights of the weekend included HD using his pirate strength to hammer softballs over the fence at Smith College, venison burger bbq, ice cream at Herrell's, a night of Redneck Life, and blueberry picking, where Laura demonstrated her migrant worker abilities, picking 10 lbs of blueberries in the time it took me to pick less than half. That's ok though; since HD and I are roomies again, we walked away with over 10 lbs together. Due to the fact that we both love blueberries, we decided to put blueberries in our blueberries so we could eat blueberries while we ate blueberries and eventually converted those 10 lbs into blueberry crisp, blueberry lavender ice cream, blueberry lime salsa, blueberry papaya muffins and blue blueberry blueberries. Surprisingly, we didn't get sick of them. Blueberries, like me, are quite versatile and unbelievably delicious. Oh, also, it was great to see Laura and James.

HD steps up to bat; getting attacked by his own glove



Matt realizes spending hours in the sun without sunscreen is a bad idea; I got the St. Ides "gamepiece"

Playing Redneck Life; Laura showing off her picking skills

James, the blueberry monk of Amherst, with his preciouses; HD has James' shirt

Bountiful bounties