08-08

Wow, talk about a hiatus, huh? One would think nothing of note occurred during the month of August; that RUWF and her family and friends found themselves in a stalemate as the culmination of summer crept upon us. Well, I apologize to have led you all astray these past few weeks because, to the contrary, there have been a number of point changes and highlights worthy of bringing to your attention.

For starters, Liana, prego with her second dose of "trouble", and Marley returned to the east coast, which included a visit to Wolfeboro with Mars' Nana (Mama Sue), Pop-pop, Nan, Aunty D, Great-Aunt Bella, Robbie, Sam & Misty and 2nd cousin Ariana. Mars explored the trampoline with Ari (allotting time between bounces to offer some sound jumping advice), indulged in Nan's famous hand-picked blueberry muffins (hand-picked muffins, now that would be something), challenged Pop-pop to a face-off (that 18+ month old jaw has to be double jointed), and practiced delivering her favorite words: baby, Ahwie (Ari), mama, dowwwwn and di-di (Zoey).

Speaking of Zoe-bear, Mama Sue and Franko have become her new proud care-takers. For those unfamiliar with Zoey, Jamie and Liana's first baby, she is part black Lab, part Doberman and, I'm no mathematician, but I'm going with 110% lap dog.

Soon after Liana and Mars' departure, Owen also decided to fly 3000+ miles to pay New England a visit (just to even the stakes). The Brit got tossed into the fire but, not surprisingly, no manipulation was necessary to achieve a roaring end product. Together, Owen and I managed to successfully check off the Cape, Boston, Cambridge, Milton, Wolfeboro, NH, Arlington, VT, and the Berkshires (including a town named after Owen's heritage: Lee) in 5 days. On the second day of our road trip, Owen received a call from his brother in England notifying him of his new official uncle status. Jane delivered a healthy girl, Megan Ann, on August 20th, who could be found days later with a Red Sox teddy by her side. A girl after our own hearts, eh? But before Uncle O hopped his flight to London, he had won the hearts of more than one Bostonian. Parents, aunts, roommates, high school and uni friends, as well as a select few PTown goers, were shocked that RUWF unearthed such a gem and are already requesting an encore visit. Is a person considered a legend if he continues to be the subject of many a conversation weeks after he is removed from the scene? Thais, Marc and I are headed to Italy over Thanksgiving to verify that this label holds true (and maybe do some leather goods shopping and pizza consuming, but that's just on the side!).

In other news, long-time good friend Lauren Bowe announced her engagement to Dan Hover yesterday morning! Without questions (or complaints), Lauren was awoken at 5:30 to take a bike ride to the nearby beach in Salem. The pier on which they perched, the beach from which the rocks escaped and the expanse of water into which the rocks emerged, were absent of people and extraneous noises. Dan presented Lauren with a hand written heartfelt poem as well as a BEAUTIFUL ring for her to wear always. Congratulations Lauren and Dan!

King Khan

How do you describe psychedelic funk? I think you have to be witness to King Khan and the Shrines' stage act to gain a full understanding but let me open the door a crack for you...

Sun Ra and his 8 person entourage prepared to dominate the Middle East just shy of midnight last week. This Canadian bred (although you wouldn't speculate from his appearance or the lack of "ay"s in his speech) vocalist and comic set the precedence for the sold-out show with his pimp cane, black nylon cape and bejeweled headpiece as he molested the mic with the commencement of the opening number. He was accompanied by a pair of young probable Berklee-descendant trumpists who could harldy contain their amusement, a spellbound organist in competition for most perspiring grunge rocker who raised and manipulated his instrument for all to hail, a black guy dawning a pirate hat and a silly grin plastered to his face tucked in the corner of the stage, a long silver haired (accented with a purplish hue) drummer straight out of One Flew Over the Coo Coo's Nest who held post sans expression, a guitarist who resembled a spooky owl (I wonder if his occipital lobe is proportionate in size to his eye sockets), an Asian trophy cheerleader adorned with sequence and pom-poms, master of the "ooh-ahh" faces a mother makes whilst coaxing her baby to smile, and lastly, a lean fella wearing an over-sized costume chicken head ready to rumble with Sun Ra (or whomever he may trip over due to the displaced eye cut-outs).

As Marc Stuart commented, the product of this ensemble was analogous to a soundtrack for a 70's car chase movie (Smokey and the Bandit perhaps). Sun Ra hypnotized the audience with any given song: the interactive throng of listeners were forking over dollar bills to be burned on stage while reciting "here's to welfare", answering a gospel call with "ya, ya yas" and chanting "ass ass titties titties" in unison with their leader. Meanwhile, members of the band dove off stage, showered nearby heads with beer, sang through Freddie Cougar-esk masks and threw down with the hybrid chicken-man. Sun Ra concludes one of the chicken fights with, "You're a f'n chicken..I'm a human being" with the inflection and deliverance not unlike Mitch Hedberg (sure to get a smirk out of anyone). As Thursday's early morning hours crept up on us, Sun Ra held stage in his undies; time to depart.

Sweat hung in the air. Bodies rocked in sync. Raw, exuberant, distasteful, offensive...and highly recommended.

Glorious

Well I don't mean to gloat but I'm a friggin RN!! It only took 2 years, 1 month and 18 days of nursing school. Phew. Looks like I can start getting excited about taking the next 2 board exams less than a year from now... Naaah, isn't living in the moment precious? (By the way, if anyone would like to inform me of any part-time gigs in the area, that'd be delightful...I'm having difficulty recalling what a paycheck smells like at the moment.)

And while we're on the topic of sweet victory, I'd like to share with you all some documented news: Dan Hunt and I have won this year's Stamp Act challenge (only because Casey's time was deemed unofficial due to the lack of estrogen on the team. Aren't we lucky?!). Whitey and Skwar followed closely behind with Thais and Marc (our rookies who rose fearlessly (well ok not maybe not fearlessly but they still rose) to the challenge and even sported matching water shoes to fend off those nasty jagged rocks and floating tree stumps encircling the island)) pulling up the rear.

Horror stories were spared but to no avail; history unveiled itself in the photos mounted on the Ftoreks' walls. As the starting time drew near, joints stiffened, and sebaceous glands functioned hyperactively. First was the beach jaunt to claim the sharpest canoe that would cut the water like a pair of scissors. The run around the island, come to find out, was 2.27 miles before paddling back to the beach. An hour and half, a few sizable gashes and multitude of sore muscles later, the celebration ensued with a follow-up whiffle ball game, a round of Cranium, grilling and balance board try-outs in the gazebo.

It was a hell of a day at sea sir. (Anyone name it??)

Must See Shows

The MFA is hosting several ear-catching performers as part of their summer courtyard series. Some artists that are worth exploring include:

Bon Iver with Bowerbirds - lead singer Justin Vernon's tale of transplanting himself to an isolated cabin in Wisconsin and unintentionally refocusing his musical frame of thought, is nearly inspiring enough but if you're looking for additional incentive to witness these performers together, what you'll pay for is fluid and dreamy vocals atop subdued, yet complementary, orchestral accompaniment. A particular favorite is "Skinny Love" which you can check out over at Bon Iver's link. Bon Iver and the Bowerbirds play at Remis Auditorium this Saturday, July 26.

Vetiver and Phosphorescent - an indie folk group who attempts to harmonize a cello with an acoustic guitar and a violin, all the while successfully narrating a story - take Remis Auditorium by storm August 1. The release of their new album, Thing of the Past, a compilation of choice covers, brings renewed fervor and energy in which listeners may delight.

Tift Merritt with Jason Collett of Broken Social Scene - USA Today harps that Tift is "a charming blend of country, rock, and Southern R&B", while Jason has proven to be a pivotal and enduring figure in the Indie scene as evidenced by his hit "Out of Time"and by his ability to maintain his mark for over 10 years now perfecting his Indie-turn-raw-rock n' roll style - will play in the courtyard Aug 6.

Of note at the MFA is also the French Film Festival that concludes this Sunday July 27, which will be followed up by the Roxbury Film Festival and the New Japanese Cinema come August. If you haven't stopped by for a French film showing yet, Thais recommends Woody Allen's Shall We Kiss, which plays one last time on closing night. Audrey Tatou, star of RUWF's favorite Amelie as well as The Da Vinci Code, can also be seen in Hunting and Gathering July 26.

Memorable Destinations

Musical bliss

Well it's been quite the harmonious week here in Boston folks. I was lucky enough to be present at four unbelievable and wildly varying acoustic sets - "best of jazz" at Symphony Hall, Dave Matthews, Josh Ritter with the BSO and Pearl Jam!

Close friend of the family and recent inhabitant of Boston, Brie Bidart, thoughtfully invited me to see a tribute to the late John Birks (Dizzie Gillespie) featuring a slideshow narrated with music from the Pops, followed by a performance by the Dizzy Gillespie All-Stars comprised of James Moody, Slide Hampton, Claudio Roditi, John Lee, Lewis Nash, and Cyrus Chestnut, each with his own flare and bebop style. (Worthy of note: our balcony seats hovered just north of the stage so we could witness each band member's detailed expression, every pic of the strings, every glint of brass and each awe-inspired face below!) Of particular interest to me was Claudio on trumpet. So honored and humbled was he to be, not only a member of the band, but in collaboration with the Boston Pops. Even as his trumpet gadget (distorter I believe) hit the ground during the peak of an exhilarating solo, Claudio remained composed and lighthearted, later incorporating the mishap into a few jokes, eliciting chuckles from his on-lookers.

Dave performed on a Tuesday night with impeccable timing; just as the last of the heavy rain that had saturated the tailgaters (whose canopies were seized in some cases due to the new Comcast regulations) ceased. Hoards of teenagers roamed the lots. Most were sucking face (like the romantic spin on that one?), relieving themselves on cars, having their 30-packs confiscated and being taken away on security golf carts (I wouldn't be too broken up about that if I were still in HS I'll admit). Although these events received top scores on the pre-show entertainment scale, they also made me feel aged by no less than 10 years. When we made it to our seats, it all came together. This is why I jumped on those last minute tickets! Dave and his band played a tremendous show. The lighting and stage set were complex and spectacular with clear close-ups of the performers. The majority of the set list included songs from their album that is due to be released this July. However, following the same groove and jam mentality of some of DMB's other songs, it seemed as if the audience hardly took note that they themselves didn't know the actual lyrics. One peculiar moment that stuck with me after the concert concluded was the bit where Dave speaks to the crowd (apart from thanking everyone). He told a rather off-colored story about a monkey he saw while visiting his homeland of South Africa, describing the monkey's blue "Frank" and red "Beans" before launching into "Proudest Monkey." It was difficult to decipher where the story was going for the first 15 seconds but I suppose we can't discredit him for creativity!

The following Friday I revisited Symphony Hall to see Josh Ritter take stage. I had been forewarned that Ritter sometimes dawns a much talked about white suit whilst setting the precedence for his show, however, in this case, he took the stage solo dressed in nearly all black. What does this tell us guys? Well, I'm still not sure because it didn't foretell his mood that night. Although Ritter played a number of subdued songs, he maintained his usual ear to ear grin throughout the evening. With some elaborate foot work and spin moves, Ritter summoned the audience to bring on the noise, whether it was a synchronous clapping or a chiming in for the chorus. At one point, a violinist from the supporting orchestra teamed up with Ritter on acoustic guitar to play "Thin Blue Flame", which deservingly received the first of several standing ovations of the night (while the violinist received a great big bear hug from Ritter). Midway through the hour and half performance, Ritter passed the mic off to Robert Pinksy who proceeded to read 2 "Poems of Desire". His artistic recital did not evoke the same response from the crowd as most viewers were thrown off by this interlude, but it was a heartfelt moment for both Pinksy and Ritter. Two encores and a grand finale of a sing-along later, Ritter rattled off a laundry list of sincere thank yous fearful of forgetting anyone who made his appearance at Symphony Hall possible, and the audience exited the building with "Empty Heart" ringing in their heads.

Josh's return appearance on Letterman this past winter.


Pearl Jam was a band I hadn't seen since 2002. They have since been the subject of much hype and buzz, protesting Ticketmaster's escalated prices to the public, (canceling tour dates even) and joining forces with Verizon, to which Scottie makes mention here, in order to make their music more accessible to today's youth. Mansfield, being the last stop on PJ's 2008 tour, was crawling with long time fanatics and brimming with more energy than I can (or care to) remember. Luckily Jessie Capp scored tickets and was kind enough to bring me along to what I can confidently declare as my all-time favorite concert to date (U2 falling just shy to PJ and then maybe Arcade Fire - I know, Arcade Fire does not carry the same magnitude or weight as the aforementioned classics but they are phenomenal and soul stirring nonetheless)... Vedder balanced the set list between intimate and pensive and raging and electric. In fact he had quite the theatrical performance; from running leaps off of the sound system display, to air guitar splits, to lengthy jam sessions (he was not alone on this one) to ripping butts between songs and throwing plastic bottles at the stage props; Vedder completely owned the stage and the audience for that matter. Breaking briefly to dig on the Marine recruitment stations within the venue and making cutting remarks towards the war itself, Vedder could say or do no wrong in the eyes of his fellow worshipers. A true rock concert indeed, Pearl Jam had everyone on their feet from 8:30 to close (11:00) singing along, and on numerous occasions, singing nearly half of a song in unison before the accompaniment of Vedder on the mic (Better Man in particular stands out in my mind). As PJ wrapped up the evening with "Why Go Home", the thousands chanting along were questioning just that.

Not of the greatest quality but here's a clip of Better Man from the other night to give you a sense of the crowd's involvement.

First of all, my apologies to anyone who tried to have a listen to the song mentioned in the previous entry (at my request). I appreciate your efforts and I promise I did not intentionally deny you access (silly/glutenous iTunes regulations). It is worth checking out, if only for 30 seconds' worth of a sample.

Secondly, my weekend escapade to Aix en Provence was something out of a film (A Good Year perhaps). In just a brief few days I was introduced to the French countryside with rolling greenery and endless vineyards, petite, tucked away villages with cobblestone streets and quaint French cuisine restaurants, skinny (like most women's pants) interwoven streets consisting of dated architectural buildings (framed with classic sand washed shutters) that seemed to embrace the sun's light at the most picturesque angles, the city's bustling center brimming with boutiques, charming markets (displaying both material and edible goods), women in free-flowing sundresses and men in their business suits with beads of sweat adorning their brow, easily whisked away by a tepid breeze, and the remote island of Porquerolles offering tandem mountain biking as their premium mode of transportation (what could be better?!). (That may just be the longest run-on sentence I've created since 3rd grade.)

My future humble yet magnificent chateau sits on the grounds of a vineyard just adjacent to the owner's 10-rooms-too-many living quarters. It appears to be currently occupied by a lovely young couple at the moment but we'll check back next decade and see where we stand, shall we? I've also developed an affinity for the French dining etiquette. Five course meals including cheese and dessert plates as their own meals!! (However, I could probably do without the pigeon and duck souffle.) Until this point, I believed that my Boston driving skills would've prepared me to be successfully and efficiently mobile in any region. It turns out, (as hard as it is for me to admit) the French may have something on me. Then again, I didn't see one 5-0 in sight. If that were the case here, who knows what would ensue...

I want to send my sincere gratitude to Indy for doing an all-star job hosting me this weekend. You're ok with staying in a Holiday Inn and dining at McDonald's when you come over to visit, right? I mean, it's only fair...

Je ne te connais pas

So that Indy character I've been referring to as of late has naively invited me to his French abode for the weekend. Whaattt? It's make or break time folks. Let's take a leap of faith from the lion's mouth (as Harrison would say)... or just board the plane and hope it lands on foreign soil (preferrably in Marseille, France but who are we to be choosy?)
Here's a French tune to set the mood; one for those who employ fist-pumping as their mode of dance and one that comes highly recommended by Mama Sue who has enlightened me that the lyrics depict the story of a drunk man who fails to remember his female companion's name from the beginning through the end of their encounter. I guess it doesn't hurt to set the bar low, right??

Turkey for me, Turkey for you

Let's eat the Turkey in my big brown shoe.

Not that kind of turkey? Ohh, you must be referring to the transcontinental excursion on which Noel and I endeavored (just about a month ago now, yikes I'm a slacker). Got it! Well, since you inquire (FB), I would love to impart with you all a few noteworthy tales about our trip. Better yet, don't they say pictures speak a thousand words?

As you'll see Noel and I teamed up with 2 thoroughly entertaining Brits, Indy and the Monk, for the 1st half of our trip. We piled into the Ford Focus which accumulated some 2000 miles over the course of our journey from Istanbul to Safranbolu on the northern coast, hitting central Cappadocia, touching upon Konya province (comprised of mostly ghost towns with one listed hotel in a 50 mile radius) and shredding air until we finally reached Olympos (home of the treehouses and wagonwheel complexes), situated on the southern coast.

Bahaus hostel, our first sample of the Turkish culture and a backpacker's safe haven, became our home for the first couple of nights in Istanbul. We arrived shortly after Anzac Day, commemorating the battle between Turkey and Australia, so, as one would imagine, the area was grossly populated with Aussies. Although we Americans were outnumbered, we received assurance on more than one occasion that there was a special place in the Turkish heart for Americans (contrary to beliefs some of us may have held/do hold about our perception in the Middle East). The native people were so amenable to tourists (from around the world) that it was difficult not to feel suspicious at times. Advice, directions, guidance and transportation were offered at the drop of a hat (from where does this experession stem? anyone?) and with no monetary supplement expected.

Noel and I took a Bosphorus River cruise (which divides the European side of Istanbul from the Asian), bought spices and Turkish Delight (gooey deliciousness interspersed with nuts) at the Spice Bizarre and wrist sweat bands and silk scarves from the Grand Bizarre, wined and dined at some of the local restaurants and pubs (where we managed to get barricaded in in an effort to escape the po-po) and lavished ourselves with a Turkish bath and massage (a long extinct Turkish tradition that still (surpise!) brings in excellent revenue from tourists) while in Istanbul. I do feel I need to elaborate on the Turkish bath experience some. Having received no instruction aside from where to undress, Noel and I instinctively retreated back to our school girl days with our towels tucked neatly under our arms as we entered a sauna filled with 20-25 clothes-less women strewn about on a circular stone platform in the center like slabs of meat on a grill. It appeared that they were sunbathing without realizing they were indoors. Rather rotund Turkish women (impossible not to take note of) would splash water on you, which was your cue that your number was up. Nonverbal language sufficed for this part of the bathing; a finger, a slap, a pull of the hand and you were anything but disobeying. I felt like a 5 year old again and probably the cleanest I'll ever feel in my life.

Our next stop was Safranbolu, the most popular tourist town for Turks. With little to see or do aside from a mosque and some cobblestone streets lined with family-run markets (targeting mainly 10 year olds; similar to suks one may happen across in Marrakesh), we continued onto Cappadocia. This is about when I stole the hot seat. And, since I had never learned how to handle a stick, Indy (aka Owen) was my impeccable driving instructor. Success! (Minus a few bumps in the road later in the trip when I hit a town inundated with traffic lights that were partial to the color red...)

Cappadocia is a region denoted by volcanic deposits and rocks, from which villages were later carved. We chose to spend our night in Goreme which was littered with what are referred to as "fairy chimneys", hundreds of pillars and minaret-like (fallic as Noel deemed them) rock forms. As many residents had transformed the caves into a place of inhabitance, we found it fitting to stay in a plastered hostel resembling such. In Goreme we were able to attend a "Turkish Night" where twirling dervishes and belly dancers entertained tourists whilst they ate tapas and drank Raki (a potent and acidic-tasting libation). Our carpeted van ride back into town put us in touch with our favorite gay traveler, Tom, who took the entertainment reigns for the remainder of the evening. At 5am we got ready to take a surreal hot-air balloon ride (or hover rather) above the magnificent pillars. Before we departed Goreme, the gang visited the open air museum which contained churches and homes carved out of rock and decorated with frescoes and ancient biblical illustrations. Sadly, graffiti marked many of the walls of these Lycian ruins (due to the lack of funding for preservation and upkeep). We also toured an 8-story underground city dating back 4500 years ago that held up to 5000 people. These people did their share of wine drinking when they weren't defending themselves from invaders (they even had an Indiana Jones circular stone that rolled into place at the release of a lever to serve as an entry blockade from any attackers). It’s incredible to imagine living in such tight (claustrophobia-inducing) quarters, crouching through tunnels, sleeping on stone surfaces and defecating in non-ventilated quarters, isn't it?

Time to continue our journey. With a reprieve (stopping off at a hotel, a rarity in Konya provence as aforementioned) from driving along unlit mountainous and winding roads (not unlike Lombard St in San Francisco), we landed at our destination; Olympus. I should mention that during our evening travels (with me as a less than superior navigator) we were pulled over at a random checking point. The police were purposively checking for Iraqis who may be sneaking across the border. However, with an undeniable language barrier, we received a disappointed curled-lipped face and awaited a possible English speaking officer to attend to us. As he approached the window, the only words exchanged were “good-bye”. Curt and concise (minus any cuffs), I’ll take it.

The Kadir treehouse village greeted us with vagabond workers and log laden dormitories and bars amidst rolling mountains. The rocky beach, within 2 minute’s walking distance, was surprisingly more comfortable to sprawl on than to traverse (which didn’t take long to discover). The “Bull bar” at the treehouse complex provided endless amusement with a fire pit and free-spirited dancers (namely Noel and Whyte, the bartender). For my birthday night, I received a caramel hostess cupcake complete with a sparkler and thoughtfully scripted inspiring words from my fellow cohorts. We witnessed the eternal flames (an hour ride from our site and a half an hour hike) with a bottle of champagne complements of Indy and the Monk. In case anyone was wondering, the flames are not resistant against water…and walking down a mountain in the dark without the aid of a flashlight will most likely end with a sprained ankle. Noel, being a Fairfield U graduate was very familiar with the idea of “stealing a birthday”, which does not commonly infer a negative connotation despite the typical use of the verb in this phrase. And so, as tradition would have it, Noel “black out” Barnes received a branding unlike those most eyes have seen before (one that Aussies refer to as a “vacuum marker”), thereby claiming May 7th as her own.

Leaving the treehouses and our newly established travel companions (and let’s not forget Freddie the Focus) proved to be more of a difficult task than anticipated. The only thing to which we looked forward was the possibility of hot showers in our near future. We boarded our schooner with 11 others for a 4 day venture around a small peninsula that culminated with the town of Fethiye. The water was not hot, nor was it warm, and the septic system was not functioning to the best of its ability, nor was it preventing feces from overflowing onto the bathroom floors, BUT the boat did offer plenty of opportunity to sun bathe and sleep on the deck as the sun emerged over the horizon.

As we docked for the last time, Noel and I faced a series of decisions that ultimately, after making plans with different Turks to hit the town that night, getting a hostel room and canceling it, buying plane tickets to Istanbul and voiding them, we boarded an overnight bus (not the one that we bought tickets for of course but the one adjacent to it) for a 14 hour ride to Istanbul, to Bahaus hostel in fact. For our last night we managed to meet up with a friend’s younger sister studying in the city (despite having a consistent mode of communication, like say a phone) to carry out the ultimate dance revolution.

Turkey was a place of fascinating and inspiring people, rich and unfolding history and incredible and memorable adventures. There are too many details to relay in this entry but if you’ve made it to this point, I thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings! Serefe (cheers)!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

4.28.08: A change of seasons

Thais "T-dawg/Tae-bo/Tevo" Baldini celebrates her claim to fame today: the day she entered the world (N. Korea specifically). As Betsy and Jim would have it, Thais moved to Milton in the 7th grade (a mere 2 streets over from the McCabe residence) to became the cool new chick with the longest hair ever to be witnessed swinging through Pierce's corridors and champion stare-contest holder.

Thais' hair trends have varied accordingly (as determined by the fashion times), her eyes have remained captivating (especially when hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses) and her personal records have multiplied exponentially since 1995. She is currently the most frequent traveler Wichita, KS has seen in decades, so clutter-free that she's created an organizational company for those who are not able to get rid of their own crap, the best thing to happen to plenty of gay men (no zing intended there Marc) and Rhode Island's most creative party planner... which leads to the inevitable question: who's planning Thais' party?

Guess we'll have to stay tuned until her return from Puerto Rico! Happy birthday T!

Health Insurance

So, as I will officially be uninsured for the umpteenth time as this month draws to a close, I thought I'd share a relevant, yet alarming article that was in today's NY Times. It discusses the introduction of a new system for co-payment pricing. And, quite frankly, it is absurd.

Initially, this system (called Tier 4) was limited to Medicare insurance programs but as of late employers and private insurers are also adopting the plan. If people suffering from ailments that can only be treated with expensive brand name drugs (as opposed to a cheaper generic versions) are paying 20-33% of the cost of their medications rather than a fixed $10 - $40 co-pay, it lessens the blow for other subscribers of the plan. Therefore, as one health care provider interpreted it, "the more the sick person pays, the less the healthy person pays". Here's to social justice, huh? Talk about throwing salt on your wounds. Not only are you going to carry the weight of an illness, but you're going to bear the burden of cost too. (Sadly that's going to deliver more of a bite than salt ever could.)

11 April

Plans this Friday? No? Well if you're into checking out intimate, laid-back venues with a great selection of music (and brews), head over to the Lizard Lounge between Harvard and Porter Sq. at 9pm to support performers John Doney and Evan LaFlamme. Doney has been writing some new material, of which we will hopefully hear a taste. There is rumor that there may even be cd's for distribution! The duo will be opening up for the band Hi8us, whose keyboardist and saxophonist, Mike Rakusin, I've known for a few years now. Mike also does stand-up comedy so if the music isn't what you were looking for maybe it will still be entertaining...

March Madness

Back to catching up on last month (now that school is on a gradual deceleration as far as workload is concerned). In hindsight, March proved to be quite the Fairfield alum month. J-Ro and Noel had a crash stay in Boston the weekend approaching Paddy's Day. Noel delighted in getting kidnapped by none other than Jessie K, while JRo and I participated in a sober game of quarters late night. Taking into account both the hour and the principle of staying hydrated in preparation for a 10am race, quarters with water was surprisingly entertaining. I took the opportunity to perfect my game, which, let's not beat around the bush, was pretty pathetic given such a simple concept.

My former FU roommate, Doyle, kicked off her Paddy's Day party which entailed plenty of dips, homemade meatballs and kilbasa, MJ power hour (compliments of Campbell), "don't sink the chalupa" and the presence of some of Milton's favorite parental figures, Connie O'Connor and Donna Flynn. Sunday concluded with (more) dinner and cake for Mama Sue's birthday and a mound of school work that brought tears to my eyes (literally). Anyone interested in knowing what-have-you about erectile dysfunction or all the various off-label uses of Viagra, please feel free to contact me.

Brian took off for the red-light district of Thailand for a couple weeks. I believe he celebrated his birthday with a couple of drags that couldn't get enough of his smokey-eyed look that he's nailed at this point, the look that is. A little late but, "sook sun wan gerd" Bri. Not sure how you would accurately pronounce that birthday wish in Thai but that's for you to say and for me to write. Also, 142 Pearl contemplated throwing a video together but were having difficulty choosing a scenario that wasn't too obscene. Instead, we captured stand-still evidence of the most exciting part of any birthday celebration (the rocking out part, duh!) in Brian's honor (see shotty photo above).

Seeing as we were down a roomie, our other Fairfield visitor, Greg DiCamillo, flew in from D.C. to assume Brian's role for the week. Greg's highlight of his spring break in Boston was his purchase of a suave gray pinstripe quasi top-hat made to induce atrial flutter in females. Clearly, there is no picture that can do the accessory justice but at least you have an idea of what to look out for ladies (and no that is not Greg after some photoshopping gone awry).

Annnd that wraps up March madness I would say (but apparently the madness officially ends tonight with Memphis vs kansas).

Hooray

Spearheading the trio of forwards for Alba Volan, cousin Sam Ftorek recently celebrated the International Ice Hockey Federation championship, granting Hungary its 6th consecutive continental cup (how's that for alliteration?). But the excitement doesn't stop there folks. Misty November and Ariana have been residing in Budapest for the season, serving as Sam's number one fans. The other day, while Sam was bestowing Misty with flowers (awww), Misty decided to take that opportunity to slip her hubby some booties that had no potential of harboring Sam's sasquashes and, therein, indicating their anticipated new arrival in a mere 5 months to date!
Congratulations Misty, Sam and Ari!

The Great Gazelle March

...referred to others as the Guerilla Stampede...silently, but maybe not so inconspicuously, unloaded on the Bell in Hand last month (and Tequila Rain this past Friday). My roommate, Brian, informed me of his latest discovery in the gay realm: 300+ gays take over an unsuspecting straight bar on any given night. Participants are notified of the destination via email 24 hours prior to the event and are requested to congregate at a specific time. The idea is to make people aware of the lack of integration between gays and straights. Well who doesn't want to witness an explosive infiltration of gays at one of the most straight-laced bars in Boston? The Bell in Hand was like a turkey on Thanksgiving stuffed with gays overflowing out its orifice (front door) and spewing onto the platter on which it sits (Union Street) And let's not forget to mention the torrential downpour that persisted (now that's some soggy stuffing). At first glance, chances were nil that you'd find a straight bar-goer in any room of the watering-hole. And at a second, more arduous look, maybe you'd see 2 fag-hags (me and Alayna) and a few guidos who just weren't getting it (and then of course Whitey and Campbell waiting in the hour-long queue to join the party). It's an event everyone should check out at some point, if not for support of gay-straight integration, at least for some gay ol' fun!

Guest Spot

This just in: the latest review of Basia, Foreign Born & Annie C.'s recent performance at the Middle East thoughtfully and cleverly scripted by Milton's Chris "Stonewall Jackson" White. Have a look-see.

Thank you, Dana, for the invite and I apologize for my tardiness. Personally, I’d like to hear some more of your thoughts about that opening a capella that Basia performed. Perhaps you could, say, compare its texture and flavor to that of your last ½ pint of UFO at the bar? First, a disclaimer: I have never seen a live, female singer-songwriter that I did not like. Seriously. Give Doyle a xylophone, a stage and the screenplay for “You Got Served” and I am in. That said, I thought Basia was excellent and thought Dana’s “soft and natural” description was perfect. Since the show was a week ago and I am a bit of a drunk, that’s about all I can remember about her set.

Middle East manager to Foreign Born before the show: “You guys didn’t get the memo? You’ve been replaced by a serving of Quaker apple cinnamon-flavored oatmeal. Not only is it better for your heart, it adds a certain je ne sais quia to the room.” Foreign Born didn’t so much suck as fade into the background. There was nothing interesting about this band until the last five minutes of their set, when they played an awesome song with a lot of rhythmic (by everyone but me) audience clapping and “Ohhhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh Oh’s” that reminded me of the interlude in Phish’s song, “Stash.” This was the point in the show that I tapped my foot and awkwardly slid side to side a little bit. Since my arms and legs are made of cardboard and tree bark, respectively, this was like Stephen Hawking joining your pickup game and going 5 for 7 from beyond the arc.

Finally, St. Vincent was unexpectedly great. I say unexpectedly only because my ten minutes of pre-show research turned up two You Tube clips, from which I woke up three hours later. But instead of sending patrons into boredom comas, Annie Clark and her band rocked. I know analogies are never perfect and everyone loves to tear them down, but the tone and style reminded me of Regina Spektor. The frequent “ba ba ba ba” or “bee bee bee” type choruses were also familiar. By the way, do “Ohhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh Oh” and “ba ba ba” not translate well to paper? That’s probably why the Milton Record Transcript isn’t knocking down my door looking for a music reviewer. You get what you pay for, Dana. In short, try to get your hands on the Basia Bulat and St. Vincent records. Also, google “Foreign Born Ohhhh Oh Oh Ohhhh.” No, I can’t remember a song title or a single lyric, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding it.

Scott Heim

If you haven't familiarized yourself with Scott Heim yet, I would suggest doing so. Not only is Scott a most modest and aspiring talent, but he is so genuine, calming and poised in his approach that a native Bostonian wouldn't think twice about clearing his schedule and decelerating his heart rate and speed of thought to adjust to the easy cadence of Scott's speech. And so welcoming to new faces is Scott that you may even receive an invite for dinner with he and his partner or an offer to make a guest appearance at your book club upon introduction. Scott's 10 year latest work, We Disappear, hit the shelves this month (physically and virtually). The artist is currently on the beginning of his publicity tour, making his initial stop at the Brookline Booksmith the other night. There he read selected excerpts from his newly released novel and participated in discussion with an inquisitive and diverse audience, comprised of a rich spectrum of ages and cultures. (As per example, I was situated next to a lone woman pushing 70 years of age and a gay Asian couple in their 30's.) We Disappear is one part memoir, one part fiction as Scott would say. After returning to the Midwest to care for his ailing mother, Scott tweaked his novel to incorporate his own trying experiences into his unraveling work. It is a story of people deemed "missing" and a mother who is infatuated with these unresolved and mysterious cases. No worries, I can't spoil the ending because I haven't read it yet myself!
Apparently video clips are the new wave of publicity advertising. Scott has produced a short footage resembling the Blaire Witch Project that you can check out below.

Basia Balut with St. Vincent

Basia Balut, the Canadian singer-songwriter and long time favorite of Anyone's Guess', performed the opening act for St. Vincent at the Middle East this past weekend. Taking stage with a solo A Capella number, she initiated the electricity for which the crowd (who was of strikingly more advanced age than to which the venue is accustomed) seemed to beg. Soft and natural in her approach, Basia Balut owned the stage for a solid hour before she handed it off to Foreign Born, who more or less served as a filler until Annie Clark of St. Vincent assumed her position. Judging from her Youtube clips and short blips of songs I had come across, I was expecting a rather melodramatic and poetic performance. To the contrary, Annie sent the audience into a fervor of head bopping, body convulsing frenzy. She was charasmatic, taking the time in between songs to relay anecdotes and short stories that were not-so-relevant to the show but nonetheless entertaining and lively, playing her electric guitar like Coco Crisp fields nearly-out-of-the-park hits. You can find AG and other's commentaries on Basia here and check out Annie Clark on her MySpace locale. Hopefully, we'll have an inside piece on the show from Chris White to follow shortly. In the meantime, check out Basia's trippy video and St. Vincent's unfiltered in-home recording and have a listen for yourself.

Bienvenidos a Mexico

A little late in the game for a Cancun spring break but I managed to fit it in before 26 years of age (does that count for something?). I was fortunate enough to be invited to play the free-loading-mysterious(who's the Boston chick?)-pseudo-girlfriend role last weekend at a tropical resort in Cancun. No complaints on my end. My date, a Philly guy stricken with severe ADD, and I appeared as if we had minimal association with each other unless there was a work-affiliated camera in sight. Enthused by the idea of being surrounded by free cocktails and endless buffet selections, toasty sand and ferocious waves and a slew of activity options at no charge, our separate entities took full charge. Although we registered as a couple to go ziplining through a canopy and mountain biking to a lagoon, Philly led the pack while I ambled along with a family of 5. Not only were we capable and willing to go our self-chosen paths, but I was flooded with pity and attention for being 'left to my own devices'. Does it get better than that?

The Greatest

Did Chan Marshall of Cat Power perform for her band or the audience tonight? A rocker (and alcoholic) once in her day, CM has toned her energy level down about 95 notches. The get-your-lighter-out mood was set with scarce theatrical lighting, a nearly bare stage and a band that overpowered the lead vocalist's soulful, majestic style. Chan circumvented center stage to displace the few spotlights in use and give her crew the chance to bask. However, when performing in unison, the keyboard, drums and guitar continued to take precedence.
Apparently, when Cat Power's career first launched, Chan experienced severe stage fright, turning her back on her listeners for entire shows.I think I would have to choose the I've-got-to-pee collapsed knees teamed with fancy foot work (as seen tonight) over the artist's (and former Chanel model's) backside. Cat Power has come great lengths since her initial debut but her endearing, soothing, and rather sultry, voice remains constant.
Here's an interview clip with Chan Marshall discussing her revamp into a sober artist and learning to enjoy her audience as much as they do her.

Let's dance around our shoes and pocketbooks.

No relation here right?...





Now I know where I learned to throw them bows.
FYI: You may want to mute out my screechy voice in the 2nd video. OR maybe not!

FREE flowing fingers

For one reason or another a comfortable cafe with free internet access never fails to improve my work ethic and concentration. I'm now at the point of dependency and thought I would share with you all some of the recent havens that have stolen my heart (and more than their share of my pens)...

Tucked away behind an old stone wall church in Central square, Cambridge, with a facade not unlike your friendly neighbor's apartment, lies a discretely cast-away FREE wi-fi hotspot. Andala Cafe. Its intimate foyer unfolds to reveal individual nooks with couches and coffee tables and a porch with similar style. Pureed banana with milk and honey to accompany a bowl of vegetarian chili and waitstaff that know when to give you your space and when to sit down and join you for some jo is something you can pleasantly rely on here.

Back Bay's Trident Cafe, however, will forever be my old faithful study hub. The first free internet cafe I stumbled upon while living in the area and it still proves to be a challenge to surpass. Breakfast anytime, fresh fruit smoothies, open til midnight, and various forms and categories of literature in every direction you choose. This year, I will say, I was disappointed to discover that the owners had removed the power outlets to defray any lingering laptop junkies like myself. But if you're ok with 3 hours of internet access and a tasteful balance of comfort foods and light organic dishes from which to select, grab a book or 2 and a bar stool and saddle up.

Just down the road you'll find Espresso Royale. Free wireless, home-brewed rich hot chocolate, an eclectic handful of chatty baristas and a plethora of Boston hip-and-happening reading material at your disposal. The manageable downside to this micro-sized cafe is its proportionally tight seating. But, depending on the time of the day, the privacy factor may not be an issue or may escape your attention altogether.

Eastern Standard, located in the Commonwealth Hotel across from Kenmore station, offers more of an upscale, professional vibe. If you work well with a couple of cocktails in you then this is your winner for sure. Fortunately, if drinks and concentrating don't mix well with you, Eastern Standard still has a decent menu, although a bit pricey, and free internet provided that you plug in a random hotel room number. The waitstaff are cued into this trick but proceed to cater to your whims and make you feel just a little more powerful than when you walked in.

Toscanini's in Central square survives solely on its coffee and ice-cream sales. I have nothing but respect for the Toscanini gang. The frappes are a great substitute for a meal (or a 2nd helping) and the indie-rock/folk playing in the background sets the mood for hitting the books in my opinion. Plenty of outlets to settle in with your compact electronics, however, the seating may convince you to cut your study session a bit shorter than anticipated.

Feel free to post any of your personal fave free wi-fi spots that shouldn't go neglected!

Happy studying people.

Let the mobile adventures begin

That's my daughter (or rather my niece) in the water (actually just on San Franciscan wood flooring)...

I know Marley's fan club has been anticipating this moment for almost a year now so here it is, brought to you all thoughtfully and devotingly by 226 Shrader. Quite hallmark if I may say so.

Great to have everyone around this past week: Mike Certo in from Seattle, Evan Laflamm in from Chicago and Shannon Lyons all the way in from Dedham. I'm pretty sure I heard my echo the other day without the gang around, or the Tecante orrrr Guitar Hero! The absence of bodies in the abode may take some adjusting but sleeping in my own bed might help move the process along at a sharper pace.

Thais, Marc, Evan and I spent the holiday at Blu, upstairs from the Ritz in town. Fortunately for us, a couple of friends were able to admit us for no charge and satisfy our thirst and hunger for a minimal fee. It was a great excuse to razzle-dazzle ourselves (or so Thais and I believed) and to enjoy some bubbly while gawking at the fireworks and ice sculptures. Hope everyone had a beautiful time ringing in the new year in whichever manner you chose.

2008 is also a milestone marker for me being that it denotes the halfway point of my master's program. I should be taking the nurse licensing exam this month and then I'll be on my way to poking and prodding unsuspecting (and suspecting) victims. Don't worry, you will all have a heads up!

Cheers!