Saturday June 16, 2007 Revere, MA
Evan's Apartment
WOD: Imprecation: The act of calling down a curse that usually invokes evil (an usually serves as an insult)
The Brazilian food that we had the night before was a carnivore's wet dream. Midwest Grill is OVER THE TOP, which would be a recurring theme for the first part of the trip (also a great Powertime movie). Again, we kicked off the day with a game of Puerto Rico. Already I was feeling worn down by the heavy drinking so held off the first part of the day, plus I wanted to focus and play the game well. Finally, I was beginning to get the game a little more intuitively. Graham and Evan (especially Evan)were naturals, probably because they were brothers, and played 1000s of similar games in their youth. Damn them!
After about 3-4 games, I wanted to head downtown again to Newbury Comics to buy cds. Newbury is THE local mega-media place filled with comics, music, movies, and crappy plastic consumer goods. More music would be essential for the road trip.
Also, a good friend and Michigan-native Justin (aka Black Metal Justin/BMJ) had moved to Boston a few months prior. He had many of his material possessions like his cds and car, to live on a houseboat at Constitution Marina. I gave him a call to see if he wanted to meet up later or party down.
So we went to Newbury, not sure which location; I had been there before in 2002 when I last visited Graham. Record stores to me are like laxatives, for some reason everytime I go into one I have to crap up a crap storm. So, if this isn't personal enough, you can guess what happened next: I shit all over the cd racks, I shit all over the cashier's face, I shit all over the dvds and customers. This is what would have happened if I didn't go to the bathroom in the next business over. I did pick up 6 excellent cds, of them 3 Nordic artists, and all I had not heard yet:
Jaga Jazzist - A Living Room Hush
Ulver - Nattens Madrigal - Aatte Hymne til Ulven i Manden (8 Hymns for the Wolf in Man)
Dodheimsgard - Supervillain Outcast
King Crimson - In the Wake of Poseidon
Neuraxis - Trilateral Progression
Ozric Tentacles - The Floor's too Far Away
And the Curb Your Enthusiasm DVD set.
Earlier that day we had talked about going out to get Ethiopian food, another ethnic food I had not eaten, I was anxious for that shit too. I had gotten ahold of BMJ, which was great because he and his girlfriend Jenny could then meet us. Chris, the other guy who would be questing with Graham and I in RTOTF would also be meeting us there.
The restaurant we were going to was the Asmara, in Cambridge. Boyd, Evan, Graham, and I took Graham's car to meet BMJ and Jenny and pick them up near a PetCo store. When we neared the block, Graham and I got out to walk and meet them. A few blocks of walking we were walking behind some couple; the man was wearing a fedora similar to Indiana Jones. Immediately I knew it was Justin, as he is going for archaeological studies at Harvard. Also the difference in height between his girlfriend and him clued me in. We picked them up to head a few more blocks down the street.
The Asmara Restaurant was small and minimal. At 2-3 foot intervals small objects such as masks and paintings were placed on the background of a white wall. Still it was drab and a bit mysterious. The tables were very communal which helped us order a large sampler for multiple diners. Food is brought out on a giant circular tray in piles on top of porous, rubbery flatbread called injera. Some of our piles included shrimp, lamb and chicken with curry, cauliflower, and chickpeas. It reminded me a little of the curry and spice-laden Indian food my dad makes. Instead of utensils, the diner eats with his hands using the injera, tearing off pieces and clamping whatever curry pile you want. Again, I ate my fill and complimented the meal with the house beer, aptly named Asmara (where do they get their ideas?). It should be noted I was in hysterics over the meal Evan usually orders: Zil-Zil Tybsy Zil-Zil Tybs.
Primitive, delicious, but most importantly: Over the Top.
Our bellies heavy with the melange (not the spice), we piled 7 of us into Boyd's car to Justin's new house boat. I was anxious to see this thing, and I had been feeling very boisterous since I had been hanging out with Graham, Evan, and everyone else, it's usually nonstop laughs when we talk. As mentioned earlier, to achieve his nautical goal, Justin sold almost all of his possessions including his car and most of the music, save his house to rent out for income. The cost of his houseboat near the Boston Harbor Islands was marginal compared to his house. Not only that, but he did not have to pay home association fees, taxes, or any other BS fee that comes with a house. Simplifiiiiiied man.
We walked past the entrance with a giant wood-carved sign that read "Constitution Marina." A pier led us down to the throngs of boats. The water was a putrid green color, it wasn't appealing enough to want to jump in or at least drink it, which is what I do when I visit new marinas. Every boat has a name, most of them are cheesy names like "Purr Fection" or "Gnarlin' Marlin", the second one isn't real. Justin's boat is THE FITZCARRALDO—the best name on the docks. For those who don't know, Fitzcarraldo is taken from a Werner Herzog movie starring the actor, Klaus Kinski (more like megalomaniac-tor). Naturally, Kinski's character is an opera-loving megalomaniac who wants to build an opera house in the middle of the Peruvian Jungle, which is exactly what it needs- a fucking opera house! Kinski and his team have to carry a large riverboat OVER A MOUNTAIN first. Great boat name though...
The time was about 6 or 7, the sun was on the horizon giving us enough light to hang out. Justin was fairly new to boating. He said he bought the boat with no knowledge about boats, boat maintenance, or driving a boat. His neighbor instructed him on how to take it out for a drive on the Atlantic. We lounged and chatted on the "first floor" of the boat, which was similar to a living room setting. A cat was sauntering about, I cannot remember its name at the moment. Justin had a little bit of alcohol for us (Black Label beer and a wine box) and some sugary pastries with fruit goo in the middle. I always appreciate this because I feel hospitality is a good quality in a person. He also had a retractable set of shot glasses, which is something I had never seen before. We imbibed a shot of gin or whiskey. We had talked about his recent move to Boston from Michigan, and our plans for the road trip. I had remembered seeing a HUGE ship on the pier walk. That was the USS Constitution—a wooden hulled, three-masted frigate. This was one of the most famous ship in US history. Construction was mandated under the 1794 Naval Act to eventually form the first Navy and destroy any thing British and swimming. Every Friday and Saturday, cannons are fired from it at 8pm. Not real ones of course.
All the while on the boat, Motorhead-Ace of Spades was playing in the background, a dreadnaught of rock and roll history.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
The 15-Minute Drinking Party
June 15, 2007 Revere, MA Evan's Apartment
I felt a good place to stop the last entry was at the party because I didn't feel like explaining the concept.
After we went upstairs.
Before the party, presents were doled out to each of his friends: Gwen and Jess received their respective bottles of alcohol, Boyd received a knife and a hat with "Living Legend" embroidered on it. Packaged inside the big box—you guessed it: a Fisher-Price basketball set. My expectations were shattered needless to say.
After the presents were doled out, the people and alcohol congregated around the living room table to drink heavily in the 15-minute party. The theme is genius: what happens is someone sets a timer for 15 minutes, and everyone imbibes as much alcohol as he/she can, after 15 minutes is up, everyone is supposed to stop. But what if alcohol remains? What are people supposed to do the rest of the night? That is the beauty part—no one stops drinking after the 15 minutes are up. It is kind of like having desert after you've had way too much to eat.
I cannot remember much from the night, but I do remember this from the total pandemonium:
We went back to the house to jam cds and play a strategy game called Puerto Rico. Drinking beer, primarily Pabst Blue Ribbon (fuck that Heineken shit!), jamming metal, and Puerto Rico occupied most of our time the few days in Boston.
For dinner, a party of us headed downtown to the Midwest Grille, a Brazilian restaurant. Graham was giving me the silent treatment about the whole concept of it so I was extra-fuckin'-excited to eat there. Hell. I had never had Brazilian food before. For some reason all I could think about was skewered bugs and spiders...I was pretty close.
The place was packed, a reservation was obviously needed to come close to eating here. Aromas of garlic and meat filled the room. For some reason I gave the name "Crux" a few hours prior. How it works is everyone sits down (at a table), and these friendly waiters whom I will call the Meatmen, come around with swords or skewers of meat. The barbecued meat is called rodizio. It's as close to a viking mead hall as I could ever get in America, and a place definitely not for vegetarians. I was glad Graham made an exception to eat meat for RTOTF. We ate Garlic Lamb, Sausage, Pork, Beef, Chicken, and Chicken Hearts. The salad bar was also exceptional, I remember the chicken salad destroying my world. The friendly Meatmen do not stop ushering meat until the octagonal card on the table is flipped upright telling all the waiters to STOP!. It was a kingly feast!
I felt a good place to stop the last entry was at the party because I didn't feel like explaining the concept.
After we went upstairs.
Before the party, presents were doled out to each of his friends: Gwen and Jess received their respective bottles of alcohol, Boyd received a knife and a hat with "Living Legend" embroidered on it. Packaged inside the big box—you guessed it: a Fisher-Price basketball set. My expectations were shattered needless to say.
After the presents were doled out, the people and alcohol congregated around the living room table to drink heavily in the 15-minute party. The theme is genius: what happens is someone sets a timer for 15 minutes, and everyone imbibes as much alcohol as he/she can, after 15 minutes is up, everyone is supposed to stop. But what if alcohol remains? What are people supposed to do the rest of the night? That is the beauty part—no one stops drinking after the 15 minutes are up. It is kind of like having desert after you've had way too much to eat.
I cannot remember much from the night, but I do remember this from the total pandemonium:
- Some guy named Pevner projectile-vomited a quadruple+ shot of Jager all over the kitchen
- Cake was smeared/thrown at Alex's face by Graham
- Graham spilled beer on me, I retaliated by pouring beer on him
We went back to the house to jam cds and play a strategy game called Puerto Rico. Drinking beer, primarily Pabst Blue Ribbon (fuck that Heineken shit!), jamming metal, and Puerto Rico occupied most of our time the few days in Boston.
For dinner, a party of us headed downtown to the Midwest Grille, a Brazilian restaurant. Graham was giving me the silent treatment about the whole concept of it so I was extra-fuckin'-excited to eat there. Hell. I had never had Brazilian food before. For some reason all I could think about was skewered bugs and spiders...I was pretty close.
The place was packed, a reservation was obviously needed to come close to eating here. Aromas of garlic and meat filled the room. For some reason I gave the name "Crux" a few hours prior. How it works is everyone sits down (at a table), and these friendly waiters whom I will call the Meatmen, come around with swords or skewers of meat. The barbecued meat is called rodizio. It's as close to a viking mead hall as I could ever get in America, and a place definitely not for vegetarians. I was glad Graham made an exception to eat meat for RTOTF. We ate Garlic Lamb, Sausage, Pork, Beef, Chicken, and Chicken Hearts. The salad bar was also exceptional, I remember the chicken salad destroying my world. The friendly Meatmen do not stop ushering meat until the octagonal card on the table is flipped upright telling all the waiters to STOP!. It was a kingly feast!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Blast-off
June 14, 2007
Novi, MI to Revere, MA ~14 hours
Graham and I awoke around 8:30 am. The weather was sunny without clouds which was ideal for driving. Though we slept little, anxiety would triumph over any feeling of tiredness. My parents cooked us a light breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee. This would be sufficient until lunchtime. Stops had to be minimal at a rate of 1 per 3-4 hours of intense-concentration high-speed driving.
After we hastily ate, we loaded the provisions in the car. The checklist ensured that this task would be foolproof. In addition to piling my large travel bag, backpack, and cooler into the trunk, Graham's car was stuffed with presents for his friends in Boston. The entire back seat housed a voluminous wrapped box, I hadn't the foggiest of what the [mal]contents were.
After said my respective goodbyes to my dad, mom, and sister, it was time to depart.
We had officially crossed the line.
Two possible routes led to Boston, one was a more direct route through Canada, and one led along the periphery of Lake Erie and through the brunt of New York. We chose not to take the Canadian one to avoid dealing with border assholes and immigration. They do not take kindly to freaks and longhairs like us and would have held us up for hours for no logical reason.
The highway was about three miles from my house. After we got to the off-ramp, we balled the jack, or "hit the road," in the parlance of our times. Obviously, I would describe the phrase as the initial burst of acceleration to get to the constant highway speed. I put on the Zeke CDs "Death Alley" and "Til the Livin' End", the riffing is dirty, raw, and fast, the drumming upbeat, which makes perfect anacrusis to kick off the RTOTF.
I felt anxious and very inquisitive at the beginning of the trip. We would have unlimited exposure to concepts, ideas, absurdities, music et al. What music and how much would we be listening to? We had packed at least 300 CDs. What destinations would we hit in the proposed itinerary? Would events go as planned? Would problems arise with the vehicle? Would we be murdered by a gang of banditos? Enough! On top of all of this, I was optimistic. After all, No Expectations, No Destinations was the mantra for RTOTF.
Somehow we started talking about tautologies, after I impersonated my former boss with the quote, "It is what it is" in a smart-ass tone. As you can see, the last quote means absolutely nothing, which is basically what a tautology is, a useless repetitive repetition of repeats. Waste!
Re: it is what it is: if it wasn't then it wouldn't be. This would be the beginning of many abstract conversations.
We had each made some mixes to introduce new artists to each other. Graham's was called the EPIC mix, it was 3 different cds of epic songs from his repertoire. It totalled around 210 minutes, ranging from Nile to Bjork to Radiohead to The New Deal. My mix was mostly metal and punk. I had burned about 25 other cds (from Abscess to Zappa) so I wouldn't have to worry about losing them—which is a pet peeve of mine.
We drove by many signs that said: "No HC zone." I wasn't sure what that meant, but I think it had something to do with the amount of semi trucks pulled over. We had blazed through Ohio, the tip of Pennsylvania of which we could see Lake Erie from the road, and New York with only three stops until we hit Buffalo, the beginning of the Appalachian mountains. Epic vistas had been minimal until that point. The rest area rate increased to one per ten miles. We made a final stop around east Syracuse to stop for food, and liquor for the party when we arrive. We bought snacks at Wegman's Grocery, the liquor store was down the road on Erie St called Pascale's. There, we picked up Svedka Vodka, Hypnotiq (for Jess), gin, and crown royal (Gwen), two items per person. We needed to fill up gas, which the national price was about $3. Outside the traffic circle in east Syracuse we stopped. Graham was on the phone with his friends from Boston to coordinate a simultaneous arrival.
We drove through the Massachusetts border around dusk. Instead of rest areas every 10 miles it was toll booths that dotted the Mass. Turnpike. Weather has been partly cloudy and calm all day, no rain impeded our driving, light to moderate traffic also helped us get there speedily. The most exciting part of the drive according to Graham was the treed foothills stretching out for miles. Other than that, the terrain was generic. It was only about an hour from the first destination.
The Cadaver and the new Slayer albums recharged our batteries. After 13 hours energy drinks do not cut it.
We hit Boston around 12am. We still had about 15 minutes to drive through the network of city byways to go northeast to Revere, a town about one mile inland of the Atlantic Ocean. I took a few snapshots while driving through the tunnels, the abstract blurry effect proved cooler than a static shot. We eventually arrived at 12:15am to the apartment building. Boyd, Evan, and Gwen were hanging out on the front porch. I was glad to see them, and glad to finally arrive so I could relax. More of Graham's MIT friends awaited us inside to open their presents and begin the 15-minute drinking party...
Novi, MI to Revere, MA ~14 hours
Graham and I awoke around 8:30 am. The weather was sunny without clouds which was ideal for driving. Though we slept little, anxiety would triumph over any feeling of tiredness. My parents cooked us a light breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee. This would be sufficient until lunchtime. Stops had to be minimal at a rate of 1 per 3-4 hours of intense-concentration high-speed driving.
After we hastily ate, we loaded the provisions in the car. The checklist ensured that this task would be foolproof. In addition to piling my large travel bag, backpack, and cooler into the trunk, Graham's car was stuffed with presents for his friends in Boston. The entire back seat housed a voluminous wrapped box, I hadn't the foggiest of what the [mal]contents were.
After said my respective goodbyes to my dad, mom, and sister, it was time to depart.
We had officially crossed the line.
Two possible routes led to Boston, one was a more direct route through Canada, and one led along the periphery of Lake Erie and through the brunt of New York. We chose not to take the Canadian one to avoid dealing with border assholes and immigration. They do not take kindly to freaks and longhairs like us and would have held us up for hours for no logical reason.
The highway was about three miles from my house. After we got to the off-ramp, we balled the jack, or "hit the road," in the parlance of our times. Obviously, I would describe the phrase as the initial burst of acceleration to get to the constant highway speed. I put on the Zeke CDs "Death Alley" and "Til the Livin' End", the riffing is dirty, raw, and fast, the drumming upbeat, which makes perfect anacrusis to kick off the RTOTF.
I felt anxious and very inquisitive at the beginning of the trip. We would have unlimited exposure to concepts, ideas, absurdities, music et al. What music and how much would we be listening to? We had packed at least 300 CDs. What destinations would we hit in the proposed itinerary? Would events go as planned? Would problems arise with the vehicle? Would we be murdered by a gang of banditos? Enough! On top of all of this, I was optimistic. After all, No Expectations, No Destinations was the mantra for RTOTF.
Somehow we started talking about tautologies, after I impersonated my former boss with the quote, "It is what it is" in a smart-ass tone. As you can see, the last quote means absolutely nothing, which is basically what a tautology is, a useless repetitive repetition of repeats. Waste!
Re: it is what it is: if it wasn't then it wouldn't be. This would be the beginning of many abstract conversations.
We had each made some mixes to introduce new artists to each other. Graham's was called the EPIC mix, it was 3 different cds of epic songs from his repertoire. It totalled around 210 minutes, ranging from Nile to Bjork to Radiohead to The New Deal. My mix was mostly metal and punk. I had burned about 25 other cds (from Abscess to Zappa) so I wouldn't have to worry about losing them—which is a pet peeve of mine.
We drove by many signs that said: "No HC zone." I wasn't sure what that meant, but I think it had something to do with the amount of semi trucks pulled over. We had blazed through Ohio, the tip of Pennsylvania of which we could see Lake Erie from the road, and New York with only three stops until we hit Buffalo, the beginning of the Appalachian mountains. Epic vistas had been minimal until that point. The rest area rate increased to one per ten miles. We made a final stop around east Syracuse to stop for food, and liquor for the party when we arrive. We bought snacks at Wegman's Grocery, the liquor store was down the road on Erie St called Pascale's. There, we picked up Svedka Vodka, Hypnotiq (for Jess), gin, and crown royal (Gwen), two items per person. We needed to fill up gas, which the national price was about $3. Outside the traffic circle in east Syracuse we stopped. Graham was on the phone with his friends from Boston to coordinate a simultaneous arrival.
We drove through the Massachusetts border around dusk. Instead of rest areas every 10 miles it was toll booths that dotted the Mass. Turnpike. Weather has been partly cloudy and calm all day, no rain impeded our driving, light to moderate traffic also helped us get there speedily. The most exciting part of the drive according to Graham was the treed foothills stretching out for miles. Other than that, the terrain was generic. It was only about an hour from the first destination.
The Cadaver and the new Slayer albums recharged our batteries. After 13 hours energy drinks do not cut it.
We hit Boston around 12am. We still had about 15 minutes to drive through the network of city byways to go northeast to Revere, a town about one mile inland of the Atlantic Ocean. I took a few snapshots while driving through the tunnels, the abstract blurry effect proved cooler than a static shot. We eventually arrived at 12:15am to the apartment building. Boyd, Evan, and Gwen were hanging out on the front porch. I was glad to see them, and glad to finally arrive so I could relax. More of Graham's MIT friends awaited us inside to open their presents and begin the 15-minute drinking party...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Pre-road trip
June 13, 2007
Several months before the RTOTF, Graham ran by me a transcontinental trip via car. Apparently, this idea spawned from our mutual friend Dalby (who could not caravan with us this time), and the gravity of the concept did not hit me until I started making a comprehensive list of provisions. Most of the trip planning was done by Graham, but I helped him with the provisions part, as many items are needed for the road and gear for camping/hiking. No item was to be left out: floss, CD player, extra oil, batteries—every item on the list had utility. I made a checklist by category on Excel which could be used as a template for future excursions. The categories which I chose and kept were clothes, car, hygiene, chilling, and places to check out. Most of the items I had already owned, I acquired most of the other items from garage sales, people on Craigslist, and as a last resort, actual stores. Economically, it made sense.
The planning process also includes obtaining maps and routes, and consulting others' opinions and advice online. I had discovered a road trip forum, which people would post hypothetical routes and the moderators of the forum would confirm/undermine the feasibility of the route. Our route was loosely orchestrated and had many destinations, states, and miles crammed into a two-week period. In two weeks, we would have traveled from Michigan to Montana via Boston, Pennsylvania, Oklahoma, Arizona, and Nevada. Naturally, the mods scoffed at our proposed route not only with disdain, but with utmost condescension. Damned by judges.
One of my favorite fortune cookie messages (that ironically was not a fortune) was, "A cynic is someone who looks down at those above." It was time to battle the mods' cynicism with even more cynicism...at least a zanier kind.
Graham was to arrive at my house in Novi, MI Wednesday, June 13th via Missoula, MT. While I was toiling away at my final statistics project and deciding which media program to burn cds with, he had been driving like a bastard for nearly two days including stops. He finally arrived at 3am (I must be lone-lTHBPBBB). I opened the front door. Diagonally postured, Graham looked like he was about to fall over in exhaustion. Anxious to catch up at least for an hour, we put off sleep and listened to a handful of tunes (ediT and others). We had to be gone by about 8:30am that morning, a departure standard for the whole trip if we wanted to confute the mod fucks.
Several months before the RTOTF, Graham ran by me a transcontinental trip via car. Apparently, this idea spawned from our mutual friend Dalby (who could not caravan with us this time), and the gravity of the concept did not hit me until I started making a comprehensive list of provisions. Most of the trip planning was done by Graham, but I helped him with the provisions part, as many items are needed for the road and gear for camping/hiking. No item was to be left out: floss, CD player, extra oil, batteries—every item on the list had utility. I made a checklist by category on Excel which could be used as a template for future excursions. The categories which I chose and kept were clothes, car, hygiene, chilling, and places to check out. Most of the items I had already owned, I acquired most of the other items from garage sales, people on Craigslist, and as a last resort, actual stores. Economically, it made sense.
The planning process also includes obtaining maps and routes, and consulting others' opinions and advice online. I had discovered a road trip forum, which people would post hypothetical routes and the moderators of the forum would confirm/undermine the feasibility of the route. Our route was loosely orchestrated and had many destinations, states, and miles crammed into a two-week period. In two weeks, we would have traveled from Michigan to Montana via Boston, Pennsylvania, Oklahoma, Arizona, and Nevada. Naturally, the mods scoffed at our proposed route not only with disdain, but with utmost condescension. Damned by judges.
One of my favorite fortune cookie messages (that ironically was not a fortune) was, "A cynic is someone who looks down at those above." It was time to battle the mods' cynicism with even more cynicism...at least a zanier kind.
Graham was to arrive at my house in Novi, MI Wednesday, June 13th via Missoula, MT. While I was toiling away at my final statistics project and deciding which media program to burn cds with, he had been driving like a bastard for nearly two days including stops. He finally arrived at 3am (I must be lone-lTHBPBBB). I opened the front door. Diagonally postured, Graham looked like he was about to fall over in exhaustion. Anxious to catch up at least for an hour, we put off sleep and listened to a handful of tunes (ediT and others). We had to be gone by about 8:30am that morning, a departure standard for the whole trip if we wanted to confute the mod fucks.
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