Boston and I are on awkward terms.
Up until right around last December I had made a career out of running my mouth for the better part of 15 years, proclaiming at loud volumes how incredibly dull, contrived, and suffocating is suburban Orange County, and how I was clearly meant to subsist amongst the seemingly meaningful reality that was (in my over-dramatic mind) New York City. That was always the plan.
However, after considerable (read:occasional) research, I conceded that moving to a city that already possessed one collegiate sibling was easier slash cheaper than a city with none - and I quickly found myself packing up and heading out for New York's distant, mouthier, slightly more fanatic cousin.
I settled for the easy, sloppy prom date. And Boston knows it.
Its not that I dont like this city. As a matter of fact, I find it incredibly charming and sincere. Homegrown locals pull no punches. They posses a brutally honest outlook on life, which I find refreshing and familiar. If my own personal motto is "I'll say it to your face" Boston would then chime in with "...if it weren't so ugly." New Englanders are also hilariously infected with an accent that I cant get over, let alone decipher. Oh and they have this team called the Red Sox - its Baseball I think, but no one really talks much about it much so I have not been very well informed of the exact stats of every game, nor the grooming habits of every single player. I will keep you posted.
Aside from the adorable quirks, and the obvious differences between this coast and my own consistently over-commercialized west, there are a few random little known subtleties that have infiltrated my daily life as a Massachusetts resident that I feel bear mentioning and dissecting with a point/counter-point discussion.
Lets proceed:
1) Whats with the forced full-service gas stations?
Point: Ive been aware of this requirement in many states, and have always found it strange, unnecessary, and uncomfortable. I am a grown-ass woman, with full use of my trigger finger, and do not need some smarmy individual sauntering up to my car, taking full advantage of the direct aerial view of my cleavage, and possibly escaping into the woods with my debit card.(There are alot of woods around here in my defense). Also, how many times do you think these guys use actual finger quotes when asking females if they can indeed "Pump your gas." Barf.
Counter-point: It was 47 Degrees the other morning and I nearly cried when I realized I needed a fill-up, which would then require me to stand outside in my heels and lack of jacket. I gladly slipped my card through the slit I created with my window to the gentlemen who was just as tired and unamused as I was, careful not to let any of that sweat heat escape from the little furnace of happiness I had created in my car, and silently conceded that I could just invest in some high-neck collars. And also a zip cord for my card. Suck on that jumpsuit!
Winner: Boston
My fear of anything below 50 degrees trumps any conviction and pride I thought I had.
2) Seriously, How can you people drive like this?
Point: Not since my foray into the third-world traffic bonanza that was my two mission trips to the Philippines (which included jack-knifes with actual horse 'n buggy's) have I witnessed such illogical and erratic driving. Last time I checked, you cannot make a left hand turn from the right lane. That may actually be biblical. Yet I witness this fantastically ballsy anomaly atleast once on a daily basis. As far as I can tell, lane lines are pure decoration, and one's horn is used as a sort of Morris code to inform EVERYONE of your exact intended route - because even if the tunnel is three lanes across, Oh you are making it four, and seven honks should have made that pretty clear, re-tahhhhhhd!
It is pure madness.
Counter-point: Ever felt like waving your hands in the air, and waving like you just dont care, WHILE driving? Then you have found your mecca. Since moving here, I have pulled some automobile stunts that would impress Will Smith in Bad Boys. (Okay, maybe not, but that would be the first of many references to that film on this Blog. Just so you know) I have also learned that pot-holes are the work of the devil, and are the reason for mind-boggling swerving, forcing even the largest vehicle to dart around like a mini cooper. Who's job is it to fill these things in and how can I get in touch with them - Is there a hotline or something? I feel like this is a problem that is being ignored in order to purposefully contribute to the insane Mario Bros video game that is my driving experience.
Winner: Ashlee
Regardless if Boston has taught me how to parallel park literally in a tree if necessary, it took me no less than three tries and one dead pigeon to get this here drivers license, and my picture is REALLY fierce, so Im not losing it over some fool playing leap frog with a cab. No sir.
Tie Breaker:
3) Who eats this much Buffalo Sauce?
Point: I was unaware that an orange, tangy, vinegary sauce, typically reserved for the greasy appendages of a flightless bird, was so versatile in its use until arriving on the land our forefathers settled. So far I have witnessed the consumption of such items as: Buffalo Pizza, Buffalo Nachos, Buffalo Pasta, Buffalo Burger, Buffalo Salad, Buffalo Jerky, and my own personal favorite - Buffalo Tofu. I actually personally used to have a very serious visceral reaction to the smell of Buffalo wings for many years - I called it "Nostril Hives." The smell and taste were so pungent, and bordered on hot steaming feet, that I never understood their appeal.
Let me break this down for you - Mass eats Buffalo wings like the OC eats Del Taco, which is to say, at 2am, like its their Job. Ive never seen anything quite like it. There are more Wings-r-us, Wings-a-polooza, and Plymouth Rock 'n Wings per square capita than should even be legal. Is singeing the nose hairs of every citizen in Boston really that common of a goal? And where will it end? Buffalo shakes? This sauce situation seriously needs to be reevaluated pronto.
Counter-point: I recently visited Wings Over Somerville near my house, and ordered no less than one pound of boneless chicken wings smothered in a level 3, on a scale of 5, spicy Buffalo sauce. Accompanying this fine entree was an order of Garlic Parmesan Waffle fries. Seeing as how I have never ordered nor consumed Buffalo anything in my lifetime, I am content to assume that I have now been both seduced and brainwashed just by living in such close proximity to the availability of the almighty wing.
Winner: Boston.
FINE. My chins and I thank you.
5 comments:
You truly have a gift! Your ability to express yourself is amazing.
Keep it up!Every time I read something you write I smile and laugh! There is only one other person in my life who can do that and her name is Lindsey Paige!
"The smell and taste were so pungent, and bordered on hot steaming feet, that I never understood their appeal."
Just so you know, I am LITERALLY wiping away the tears right now, and trying to figure out if anyone at work can tell that I just peed my pants...
Referring to the Buffalo sauce issue, you left out a very critical part said brainwashing....Buffalo aerosol spray acosting your nostrils while on a brisk walk to Porter Sq....I will never forget that and I doubt your nostils will either...that's how they get you!
This was a hilarious read! Both Bill and I laughed out loud. I can't wait to experience Boston from your perspective. :) And, of course, try some Buffalo sauce.
Hailing from the "incredibly dull, contrived, and suffocating" burbs' of Beantown, I've always felt that Boston and New York were akin to estranged family members.
Where Boston is undoubtedly the Sloppy Prom Date (and her attendant Meathead Frat Boy... lets not leave him out), New York would be her drunken, abusive, seldom-showered step father and vapid, aloof, dagger-nailed, diva-wanna-be mother.
Where New York will forgo a shower and instead spray on a nauseating cloud of deodorant and cologne before donning a $300 silk shirt, Boston will proudly flaunt their filth and punch you in the mouth for noticing.
Hell, this is fun... would it be considered bad form to chime in on you points and counterpoints? Well, being a Bostonian, I suppose I really don't care do I? ;) Here goes...
1) Full Service -
Having worked the gas station scene in my youth I have to say you're absolutely right. The view of the plunging decolletege many women sport is likely the main reason it still exists. That and the fact that many of those same cleavage-wielding women often have a unique propensity for leaving the gas pump IN the car as they drive away.
2) Driving in Boston:
the old adage "drive defensively" will not serve you in our fair Commonwealth. Remember, its always the defense that gets hit. On that same note, blinkers are a thing of the past unless you choose to use them specifically to trick your fellow commuters. Generally, if you use your blinker, you are alerting your enemy to your intentions thereby giving them the chance to cut you off (which we will do out of sheer habit... no spite or malice intended. Thats just how we roll). A friend of mine who transplanted from Alabama said he figured out the main key to driving in MA "Never Stop. Never Use Your Blinker. and Get really good at flipping the bird."
Oh and a word of caution, stopping for a yellow light may very well get you rear-ended and sworn at.
feel free to parallel park using the Braille Method. Just bump into the fore and aft cars til you get in. Everyone else does.
The potholes are just there to keep things interesting and weed out the weak and distracted. Its a form of Vehicular Darwinism.
2nd word of caution: Always make sure your car is street legal, stickered and your parking in the right place at the right time. There's no finer means of frustration and financial depletion than the Boston Boot!!
3) Buffalo Sauce:
Honestly, I can't defend this one. It came in around the same time as TexMex and Ranch dressing. We DO have a thing for self-inflicted pain and suffering though. The origin of the "chicken" at a lot of these places is never really easy to trace either... though you'll notice there's a rising rat population in greater Boston. Coincidence? "It tastes like chicken" - especially if drowned in a taste-bud annihilating hot sauce.
Nuff said. Personally, I'll stick with the Jalepeno Poppers and tater skins thanks.
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