Category: Boston

I carved a pumpkin yesterday afternoon and lit the candles at 5:30. Then Lisa and I ordered pizza, sat back, and waited for the trick or treaters. We didn’t have to wait long. Over the next two and a half hours, we had about 45 trick or treaters—by far more than we’ve ever seen in the seven years we’ve been married. Lisa’s instincts were right; this definitely is a good family neighborhood.

This morning my neighbor told me last night was actually a slow Halloween—typically our block sees about 60 to 70 kids.

Last catch-up post: On Thursday I had lunch with George Chang. He and Becky are in town while she attends a conference, and he and I decided it would be a good day to walk about the city, have some lunch, and take some pictures. As it turns out, it may have been a perfect day for photographs in downtown Boston. We ate lunch near Copley Square and then wandered around in the square, inspecting and photographing the preparations for the parade today (which I did not attend, thank you very much, preferring to stay warm and dry inside). After a bit we caught up with fellow Sloanie Rick MacDonald and walked up the Harvard Bridge to Central Square for some Tosci’s.

I got what I think are some pretty good photos, particularly the one of newly restored Old South Church and the abstract series off the Harvard Bridge.

Last night we had dinner with George, Becky, and some of Becky’s friends from her residency at Taranta, which appears to have shifted focus somewhat from purely southern Italian to some inventive cross-breeding with Peruvian cuisine. We slipped in our party of eight on the promise that we would eat and be out in an hour, so that they could re-set the table to help accommodate the party of 30 that would be arriving at 8:30. It was needless to say fabulous, particularly the yucca gnocchi with lamb and spicy cilantro pesto ragu. Afterwards George, Lisa and I retired to the wine bar at Via Valverde for a cheese plate and two outstanding half-bottles, a delectable Dolcetto and a stunning Chianti. The review in USA Today does not appear to have gone to their head.

Things have been a little euphoric here in the great Northeast for the last few days, to the point that my blogging has fallen off precipitously. Here’s a quick catch-up, starting with Wednesday night.

I walked outside and saw the edge of the moon darkening. I decided it was time to try my luck with a camera. I grabbed it and a small tripod and walked down the hill to the park, a large unlit area where I figured I’d have the best chance of getting a decent sky picture.

There are four large rocks on the hilltop in Robbins Farm Park, which seemed tailor made to try to position the little tripod to catch the sky. Unfortunately, though, the telescoping legs don’t hold intermediate positions, which was necessary to get the view of the sky. After a lot of give and take (and a few minutes to snap some other pictures, including this sardonic and almost unreadable LensDay entry), I eventually got the camera in position and stayed out, freezing, taking a photo every few minutes.

The result? Well, the image to the right is the only one that actually came out well. But the rest make a nice QuickTime movie. The only problem was that toward the end my hands were so cold that I couldn’t snap the shutter without knocking the camera out of position—hence the swerve in position toward the end.

As someone wrote on a mailing list today, “I’m going to go out in the morning and shake my trees, because there will be pork in them.” The Sox just got the last out. Game 4. 3–0. I hear fireworks and horns in the streets. I’m going to bed.

But I can’t resist asking: if things come in threes, and we are having two signs of Apocalypse tonight (one atmospheric, one Bostonian), what’s the third?

Tonight: Game 4, and a total lunar eclipse. Guess I’ll miss part of the middle innings, since the eclipse starts at 9:14…

It looks like Pedro isn’t taking any chances, and he’s giving credit where due. I think this photo from Game 3 would make a great Photoshop contest…

Boston, that is. My take on this coming weekend: unless you have tickets for the game or like lots of crowds, now would be a good time to head out. So Lisa and I will take the dogs north to hang out with Charlie and Carie in New Hampshire tomorrow. Enjoy the fall…

Sports history, folks. Next stop: World Series. Hopefully the shambolic Sox will hold it together long enough to make that sports history too. If you want to see what coverage of sports history looks like, check out the Boston Globe’s online report. I swear to God, I’ve never seen a game covered from more angles, more reporters, or with more adjectives. (More coverage: here, here, here, and here.

Oh, and less-confidential to David Ellis: enough, already. Let us have our celebration.

The Sox are fighting to the finish. A comment on Dave’s “philosophy” of the Sox: yes, the Curse is an important part of the team’s psyche, but so, right now, is trying hard (and thanks for the kind words about games 4 and 6), and once in a blue moon it pays off. Like being the only team to force a Game 7 after being 0–3 in a seven-game series. Nice writing about the game at Eric Wilbur’s “blog” (a column by any other name) at Boston.com. (Oh, and confidential to David Ellis: Nyaah nyaah.)

This week’s LensDay challenge was “Closing In.” I took about 20 photos of this guy doing something on the scaffolding above this Starbucks in Harvard Square, but I’m not sure what it was—probably sandblasting off the old store name, alas. Click for a larger version.

Cool new music of the day: Joe Pernice’s “Moonshot, Manny (Pega luna, Manny),” written for the Red Sox as they enter the playoffs. Lyrics here; story here. The song, which Joe expects to have a short shelf life (though I’ve already seen the Boston Globe say it should be played regularly in Fenway), is available only via download, and only with a donation in the amount of your choice to First Night Boston.

Oh, and apropos my previous rant, it’s available in AAC or MP3, your choice. No word if the AAC is protected or free, but at least you have a choice.

My aunt came into town tonight with a half-dozen relatives in tow— my first cousin once removed Esta and her husband Lou, my other first cousin once removed Barbara, my second cousin Beth… there are a lot of cousins at various degrees of removal on my mother’s side. We had dinner with them in Sudbury, at Longfellow’s Wayside Inn. Not quite as full-on traditional Yankee as Durgin Park, but close. It’s been a long time since I’ve been asked if I want mint sauce with my lamb.

I enjoyed it, though my back was screaming at me the whole meal. We had spent the day cleaning gutters, after spending part of yesterday on the ladder installing a security light, and on one of those trips up and down the ladder my back decided it had had enough.

I took the bus for the first time yesterday, going toward Kendall Square (via a change to the T at Harvard Square) to meet Lisa after work. She and I went to John Harvard’s for a quick burger and beer and to pick up a couple growlers of her favorite Pale Ale.

On the way I shot a couple photos of the water tower at Park Circle, just a block or so from our house, taking advantage of the first clear skies in a few days. This morning I shot some more photos, including my first Lensday entry. I don’t plan to make this a regular occurrence, but thought it would be fun.

Anyway, autumn: not crisp yet (still too soggy from the last few storms), and not too many turning trees, but beautiful anyway.

A week or two ago, I was on my way up Salem Street to our favorite 24-hour bakery in the North End, Bova’s, when I noticed that traffic was even worse than usual in front of the door and there were some seriously bright lights. I went inside and asked the lady at the counter what was going on. She said they were filming location shots for a movie to be called “Fever Pitch.” Apparently Jimmy Fallon’s character, the obsessed Red Sox fan, lives above the bakery in the movie, and Drew Barrymore’s character buys a cannoli there—from the lady I was talking to.

I took my bread and turned to go. She was already telling the next customer, “Yeah, I sold Drew Barrymore a cannoli the other day!!”

All I could think was, Tony Pierce’s Drew-obsessed friend Ashley would totally freak out over this news.

I went back last Friday and the street was back to normal. “No Hollywood today,” I commented to the lady inside. She nodded and said, “They might be back, but right now they’re reconstructing the street corner in Canada somewhere.”

“At least they’ll have better parking there,” I said.

I’ve often thought that the eternal struggle of Boston’s fans, their faithfulness in spite of the losses and the “curse” and the occasionally unbelievable stupidity of the management, was one of the best things about this town. The French may have invented existentialism, but this is the city where it’s practiced in its most refined form.

But what’s a desperate fan to do when his team not only starts winning, but handily slams the Yankees 2 out of 3, and twice by 7-run margins?

I may have to trade in my Camus for some more cheery reading. Kierkegaard, perhaps.

Inspired by a slightly sour-grapey post on Wunderkinder by David Ellis. At least we see eye-to-eye on Virginia football—4 and 0 after last Saturday’s 31–10 steamrolling of Syracuse. I’d say something about the poll (whaddaya mean we’re still #12???) but I don’t want to jinx the team…