Bahstahn, part I

I am unbelievably, and irrationally, tired. As I write this, it’s only 8:30 at “home” and a mere 10:30 here in my borrowed base camp. Under no circumstances should I be as wiped out as I currently feel.

(Excuse me. I was just interrupted by George, a cat who was last seen hissing at me in his best impression of a cobra. He is currently bonking me so hard that his paws are slipping on the hardwood floor. Fickle.)

Okay, so where was I? Ah, yes. Boston. It has been years since I’ve been in Boston, and never for a reasonable length of time. I have an uncle who lives in Boston, and he and his wife have extended an invitation to me numerous times. This time, however, the planets aligned just so, and a flock of friends descended upon them all at once for my uncle’s birthday celebration. Welcome to Tedstock: Three days of peace, music, and Ted. (Yes, my uncle was at Woodstock. 40 years later, a great story came out of it. You should ask him about it if you ever have the chance.)

I won’t download any pics until I get home to my card reader. A more detailed post (and links!) will accompany those. For now, you get:

• Slushie drinks
• Lobster and steak
• Flag Cake and heavenly cheesecake
• Fireworks
• Walk around Deer Island
• Harbor tour on a friend’s lobster boat
• Slushie drinks
• Dinner for 34 at La Siesta
• FOUR pies (and flag cake and heavenly cheesecake)
• Dim sum
• Brief walking tour
• Duck Tour
• Slushie drinks
• Big Ass Paella
• Coconut cake (and four pies and flag cake and heavenly cheesecake)

Yeah, this weekend has been a lot about food. It hasn’t fit in very well with my vegetarian diet, although the lobsters most definitely met my personal requirement of having lived a lobstery life. I met the man who actually caught them, I was able to watch him at work, and while some passengers on his boat were a bit squeamish at the reality of the situation (including, I thought oddly, the two daughters of crabbers), I approve of the general decency and respect that this particular fisherman afforded the creatures involved. I actually felt better about eating lobster after seeing the process first hand. I did feel a little guilty about tossing the more-difficult-to-get-at parts into the trash, until the raccoons broke in overnight and made short work of the remains. I’m glad nothing was wasted.

In closing, I offer you a snippet of Jailbird George’s oral tour from the DUKW boat:

“The Bunker Hill Monument is an Egyptian obelisk in an Irish neighborhood commemorating a battle we lost, and erected on the wrong hill. Heh.”

Tomorrow: Fenway Park. FENWAY FEKKIN’ PARK. Oh yeah, baby.