Pre-Departure Checklist
Maybe it's just because of the season, but all the dislike I used to have for Boston has been replaced by fond memories of fallen leaves and pumpkin coffee. Fall in New England really is a special time.
(near Inman Square, Cambridge)
I have spent the last six weeks trying to see this place with a fresh pair of eyes, which I think has been reasonably successful. Actually, I think Boston overall isn't a bad place, except during the winter. Then it really is just not for me. In fact, I'm gonna let you all in on a little secret, and if you New Englanders want to call me weak, first think about this: God taught me how to sweat so I could keep cool in tropical climates (that's science). Not to mention, by living in the frigid North, you are effectively questioning God's plan. And questioning the Big Man like that just isn't smart, people. Not smart.
(God also gave me these two opposable thumbs so I can draw faces in gourds)
Theology aside, it has been a fun six weeks in Boston, consisting of: harrowing (read: exaggerated and mostly untrue) barroom tales of my heroics in Africa, moaning about the Red Sox, sleeping on couches and in the occasional alley, but mostly trying to be as bad an influence as possible on all my friends unfortunate enough to have a job. Even with one unexpected trip to the ICU, it's a little hard to drive away from Boston knowing that I probably won't ever live here again without getting a little reflective.
(Goodbye scarved statue)
But that's what I did. Day one of the Great American Road Trip went off with only minor surprises, in the form of an unbelievable amount of garbage that I somehow thought was worth putting into boxes and keeping for a later date. Day two consisted of getting rid of approximately half of said garbage, then a little real life tetris fitting everything into the car.
With that finished, I'm off to Appalachia and the Ozarks to try to find a few toothless rednecks to teach me how to make the harmonica really sing. From there, I will speed through the Great Plains, stopping for only the largest balls of twine and fried peanut butter & bacon sandwiches. Then the Rockies, where I will be finding myself, exploring the meaning of life and developing a world view based on freezing in a tent at 10,000 feet.
Destination is Eugene in time for Thanksgiving and the Civil War.
(near Inman Square, Cambridge)I have spent the last six weeks trying to see this place with a fresh pair of eyes, which I think has been reasonably successful. Actually, I think Boston overall isn't a bad place, except during the winter. Then it really is just not for me. In fact, I'm gonna let you all in on a little secret, and if you New Englanders want to call me weak, first think about this: God taught me how to sweat so I could keep cool in tropical climates (that's science). Not to mention, by living in the frigid North, you are effectively questioning God's plan. And questioning the Big Man like that just isn't smart, people. Not smart.
(God also gave me these two opposable thumbs so I can draw faces in gourds)Theology aside, it has been a fun six weeks in Boston, consisting of: harrowing (read: exaggerated and mostly untrue) barroom tales of my heroics in Africa, moaning about the Red Sox, sleeping on couches and in the occasional alley, but mostly trying to be as bad an influence as possible on all my friends unfortunate enough to have a job. Even with one unexpected trip to the ICU, it's a little hard to drive away from Boston knowing that I probably won't ever live here again without getting a little reflective.
(Goodbye scarved statue)But that's what I did. Day one of the Great American Road Trip went off with only minor surprises, in the form of an unbelievable amount of garbage that I somehow thought was worth putting into boxes and keeping for a later date. Day two consisted of getting rid of approximately half of said garbage, then a little real life tetris fitting everything into the car.
With that finished, I'm off to Appalachia and the Ozarks to try to find a few toothless rednecks to teach me how to make the harmonica really sing. From there, I will speed through the Great Plains, stopping for only the largest balls of twine and fried peanut butter & bacon sandwiches. Then the Rockies, where I will be finding myself, exploring the meaning of life and developing a world view based on freezing in a tent at 10,000 feet.
Destination is Eugene in time for Thanksgiving and the Civil War.
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