April 17, 2006

Mass. Transit

Phew.

So, my weekend in Boston was really, one of the most incredible weekends or vacations I've had in a long time.

The drive down was a little stressful, thanks to a late departure, last-minute route change, and the usual incompetence and retardedness of the United States government (because of whom we got to sit at the border for almost ninety minutes while Maryam was intensively questioned and put into a databank somewhere, just because she happened to be born in Iran). I think I am without a doubt on some kind of terrorist watchlist now, simply because I drove an Iranian over the border-- for some reason they had to take my name and US address, as well as all her details. Of course, I was probably already on a terrorist watchlist, anyway, because of the two (TWO!) false positives that the explosives-detecting machine at Logan airport has made on my shoes over the years.

But from there, things got progressively more and more freakin' great. We spent Friday afternoon wandering around Harvard Square and surrounding Cambridge with Eileen (cf. this post) and her friend Jessie. We got to visit a couple of my old haunts, and also do a couple of things that I'd never managed to do while I lived in Boston-- most notable of which was wade through a giant heap of clothes (literally) at The Garment District. Then in the evening Adrienne, Maryam and I hit up my old neighbourhood, saw John Kerry's house, had a drink at The Sevens, and ended the night with a pajama-jammy-jam back in Weymouth.

The highlight of the trip, though, was the Swink screening. The movie was excellent (including a really fantastic original score by Jay McCarrol), and it was nice to see director Chris again (if briefly). In fact, my only complaint was with the barstaff at the after party, who refused to accept my British driving license as valid ID. I tell you, there is something seriously wrong with a country where a twenty-two-year-old can't buy a drink at a bar, especially a twenty-two-year-old with as much designer stubble as me (I mean, if not shaving for a few days can't get me served, all it's really doing is getting me put on terrorist watchlists).

We capped off Saturday with a trip to Bukowski's, an endearingly dingy bar near the Pru. I almost got KBed by the bouncer there, too, but like a true Bostonian he eventually caved, saying he didn't wanna be a buzzkill and making me promise that I wouldn't get into any bahroom brawls (as if I would, in my favourite Gap sweater). Then I had the seminal experience of driving through road closures in downtown Boston on a Saturday night, with Adrienne drunkenly belting out the words to 'I Will Survive' along with the radio.

Say, do you think being on a terrorist watchlist means I get to meet Kiefer Sutherland?

And now, to bed.

3 Comments:

At 17/4/06 10:00, Anonymous Mariana said...

Sounds like a friends-and-fun-packed time! How awesome is it that bars are smoke-free? Yeah, Boston's pretty great...

Will Swink be viewable by regular public at any point?

ended the night with a pajama-jammy-jam, eh? You are such a girl! Unless that was a euphemism for "hot threesome".

 
At 18/4/06 00:12, Anonymous Anonymous said...

A bostonian? A terrorist? ...a lesbian!?!

 
At 18/4/06 00:13, Anonymous stretch said...

That was me, stretch.

 

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