Category: Boston

I was all set to post my favorite Irish-relevant Muppet sketch—Animal, the Swedish Chef, and Beaker singing “Danny Boy”—until the coffee kicked in and I remembered I had already done it.

Ah well. If you’re in a maudlin mood, check out Eva Cassidy’s rendition.

It’s cold, cold, cold here today. Really unsettled weather over the weekend; it went from somewhat reasonable and sunny on Saturday to rainy and thundersnowing on Sunday. Twice we went out shopping in clear weather only to look out the window inside the store and see lightning and heavy, wet horizontal snow whipping across the parking lot. The winds were high and blew in 6° air from somewhere. It was too cold even for the dogs to walk, and that’s saying something.

As Dave Winer would say, it’s philosophy time for Patriots Nation. What a heartbreaker of a game last night. But it was that rare Superbowl, one that was exciting to watch from beginning to end, and for that I thank both the Patriots and the Giants.

Yeah, I thank the Giants. Now maybe Brady can get his feet back on the ground and his head back to the game. I think the last two weeks of preemptive crowning of the team in the media were not good for the play last night.

I’m really grateful to the Pats, too, who gave us an amazing ride all season long. I don’t expect to see this kind of season again, but now I’ll always hope.

When the New York Times writes about the near-demise and miraculous return from tax-evasion death of a Cambridge, MA ice-cream maker, you know there’s something special going on. And, in fact, there is.

To my astonishment, in the nearly seven years of this blog I’ve only written about Toscanini’s once, in conjunction with last year’s Ig Nobel awards. But my roots with Toscanini’s go back right to 2000, to almost the day I first set foot on MIT’s campus, where at the time there was a Tosci’s under the entry stairs at the west campus student center, one in Central Square, and one in the same block just south of Harvard Square as the stationery store. They had basil ice cream. Basil ice cream. Like the pure essence of Italian summer, like back yard gardens, like pure golden-green herbal explosions in your mouth. I was instantly hooked.

I only tasted basil ice cream twice, but there were other flavors. Green tea. Guinness, of course. And khulfee and burnt caramel and all the other spectacular flavors that they had. Completely unlike every other ice cream that there ever was.

With the Atlantic opening up their paywall, you get a little better sense of how good it really was. Ice Cream for Beginners – 00.06 describes the origins of burnt caramel, and a little of the creative atmosphere of the place. As well as how he might have gotten into the tax problems in the first place: the bit about Adam Simha wandering into the kitchen to filch ingredients probably raised no eyebrows in the happy-go-lucky creative late 90s but makes me wonder now how many other employees thought of Tosci’s as their own version of Andy Warhol’s Factory, or their Stop’n’Shop.

But all of this pales at the thought that I might be able to taste basil ice cream again. Perhaps I ought to drop Gus Rancatore a line. Right now, he might be susceptible to special requests.

I think the New York Times is getting a little ahead of itself by preemptively declaring Boston a city with three winning teams. Someone touch wood, quick.

Of course, the article is “balanced” enough to include the dismal history of our teams. Two favorite passages: “Last spring, the team was accused of losing games on purpose so it could finish with the N.B.A.’s worst record and increase its chances of landing the No. 1 or 2 pick in the draft. The Celtics botched that, too” and “The Patriots’ history has been the most pathetic. Beyond frequent 3-13 seasons, their first true home, Schaefer Stadium, opened in 1971 with massive toilet overflows and barely improved thereafter.”

I knew we hadn’t been back in the North End very often, but what really brought it home was calling the phone number at our butcher and finding that it was no longer in service. A quick Google search confirmed the worst: Frank Susi, owner of the Abruzzese Meat Market on Salem Street, had to retire earlier this year and the shop is now closed.

To say this is culinary devastation would be an understatement. As this blog testifies, sausages and pancetta from Frank’s store were major ingredients in our lives for many years. On at least one occasion, I flew the pancetta back to Seattle with me when we were living there. And there will be no fresh cotechino for New Years this year.

At least I’ve learned that Frank’s legacy lives on, literally, in his son, Anthony, who runs Sage (which has apparently moved to the South End). Who knew?

The bonus pic is from National Geographic’s “zip code” visit a few years back to the North End, and captures Frank as I remember him: jovial, and with a very sharp knife in one hand and fresh meat in the other.

You know, I really should stop being surprised when the snow falls continuously. It is Boston in December, after all. But I’m a little bit in awe of the continuous snowfall we’re getting right now on top of the 11 inches we got a week ago and the nice ice storm we got last Sunday. I want to ask, “Is this really necessary?”

The continued snowfall makes something like the Snowscoop, just highlighted today on the Hardware Aisle blog at This Old House, look really attractive to me.

For me, at least. Because we’re driving to New Jersey on Saturday for the Christmas holidays, I frontloaded my concert schedule and finished my personal Pops run last night with two back to back concerts. The 4 pm concert was the better of the two for me personally, and I think for the team as a whole; we were all fresh, having had a day off since our Sunday morning and afternoon concerts, and our concentration was good. The result was a luminous rendition of Rutter’s “What Sweeter Music” (which rises substantially in my estimation with a full string section behind it) and of the Vaughan Williams Fantasia on Christmas Carols. The second show was weaker in the first half—a few minor glitches that threw off the concentration of the chorus—but stronger in the second, where audience response to the Twelve Days medley made a big difference.

Two explanatory notes:

1. There are something like 33 home performances of the Holiday Pops concert, and even if the Tanglewood Festival Chorus were all full time choristers (which we’re not), we couldn’t possibly sing all the shows without developing a mass outbreak of laryngitis and vocal nodules. So we take 250 voices and split them up into five or so teams. I sing on the Purple Team, and we had a run of six or seven shows.
2. The program at Holiday Pops is typically structured with a more serious first half and a more “fun” second half. This year the first half was not only serious but strikingly good from a choral repertoire perspective, with the usual “Holiday Fanfare” (on Hark the Herald Angels Sing) and the “Hallelujah Chorus” being supplemented by the aforementioned Rutter and Vaughan Williams pieces, and by a suite from the sublime Amahl and the Night Visitors. The second half kicks off this year with a massive jazzy, brassy take on Joy to the World, is followed by the indignity that is “Light One Candle,” then “Sleigh Ride,” “Twelve Days,” the traditional Night Before Christmas, the “Santa Medley” (featuring the full-choir arrangement of “Santa Baby” which the Globe review compares to being seduced by a pro wrestler(!)), a singalong, and two encores. All the pieces on the second half benefit from audience feedback, and we know the crowd is going to be good when we hear them reacting to the early jokes in “Twelve Days.” Last night the crowd was clearly primed and had repeat listeners in it, as some joker in the crowd called out “Excellent!” when Keith announced the number—a reference to the appearance of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” made famous to current listeners of course by the “excellent” Wayne’s World movie, in one of the later days.

All in all, I think I had more fun at Pops this year than I’ve had in the past. But I’m still glad it’s done!

I’m posting this on the iPhone from the Uno’s across from Symphony Hall. The morning matinee was well attended considering the weather. I had to shovel about six inches of snow before I could get to the car, and had to take Lisa’s Highlander to get through the mostly unplowed roads.

But now I’m warm and dry, with a concert under my belt, free wifi, and the Patriots. Not too shabby.

I had to take care of sick family this morning, so I went into the office late. I left early on account of the threat of snow, and made my last grocery run on the way home. It was 1 pm when I left the grocery store, and the snow was just starting to come down. By the time I got out of the Trader Joe’s (the last stop), there was a 2-inch snow buildup on my car.

It got deeper from there. When I started the snowblower at 4:45, as the snow seemed to be slackening, we had about 6 inches. I think we’ve gotten another 5 since then.

At least this is nice powdery stuff—though that means it has already drifted our sidewalks… but at least it’s easy to shovel.

I woke up and went downstairs to look out the window, expecting to see new snow from last night’s expected storm. The sidewalks were black and looked wet, and I thought, ice. I put my boots on, put on the dogs’ collars, and stepped outside. Two steps down the brick walkway and then… the dogs pulled me down the sidewalk like I was on skates. Oof.

Fortunately there is some time until I have to get to Symphony Hall for the opening of the Pops rehearsal. Yes, it’s that time…

AdamG at Universal Hub coins what I believe is a new term: the French Toast Alert System, which shows the urgency of your need to run to the store to buy milk, eggs, and bread to wait out a coming snowfall. Heh. Be sure to read the comments where the system is defined.

And yes, it looks like it will snow on my birthday.

UPDATE: Live French Toast Advisory System Alertbox!!!

Which, you know, kinda sucks, since Elliott’s music was pretty pivotal to the whole movie, and it really launched him past hipster obscurity to a wider audience. So let’s do the retrospective:

1. Elliott Smith left the band Heatmiser in 1994 because he was tired of having all his songs played like big rock songs, and went on to become a solo act specializing in whispered lyrics and acoustic arrangements as harrowing as anything Heatmiser ever did.
2. Gus Van Sant tapped Elliott for the soundtrack, presumably based on familiarity with his work from their joint residence in Portland.
3. The movie was a surprise hit and Elliott ended up playing “Miss Misery” at the Oscars.
4. Elliott released two albums on Dreamworks.
5. Elliott got addicted (or his addiction worsened) to alcohol and other hard drugs (heroin, crack, you name it). He went into a downward spiral, and ultimately was found dead stabbed through the heart. The death was ruled a suicide.

Not as cheery as talking about Matt Damon, but just as significant a follow-up to the movie. I don’t know if Elliott would have burned up as fast as he did without the sudden fame the movie brought, but it seems pretty clear that it contributed to his issues.

An article in yesterday’s Globe triggered one of my fortunately rare moments of anger at the greater Boston metropolitan area where I live. The anger came toward the end of an article about poor, confusing, and absent road signs throughout the area:

Since 2001, state Senator Patricia D. Jehlen has been sponsoring legislation that would force communities to post signs at intersections, but the bill has gone nowhere. The Massachusetts Municipal Association opposes it as a costly burden that takes the decision away from communities.

Um. Excuse me? What decision are you taking away from communities? Is it the decision to do their jobs? Because really, if you build the roads but don’t put up the signs, why did you bother?

Clue for you, folks. Massachusetts has a high per capita income ($44,289) and a high rate of taxation (5.3%), while Washington State is lower on both fronts ($35,409 and no state income tax). But Washington State manages to actually post signs on all its streets! So does Virginia ($38,390/2% to 5.75%); so does North Carolina ($30,553/6%-8%). What is the state doing with the money it takes in income tax that it can’t afford to put up the damned signs itself, or grant money to the local communities?

Actually, this puts another question to my mind. If a local community can’t afford to put up street signs, and can’t keep residential streets paved or maintain storm sewers, then the system is broken. Either the towns need to build up their tax bases or small towns need to combine and consolidate services so they aren’t trying to each maintain their own systems. Or the state could get off its ass and make sure the municipalities have what they need to serve their people.

Alas, tis true—if you aren’t trick or treating or taking someone out trick or treating, the holiday is over way too soon. It was a pretty quiet day at the office followed by a relatively small parade of trick or treaters. (Favorites: the neighborhood “math kid” (he was Pi a few years ago) as the Pythagorean Triples, and the middle school kid wearing the halo, black leotard, and black wings, who announced herself as the “goth angel.”)

It’s a good thing I don’t live on this block. I have to believe that the trick or treat traffic at Youk’s place would be a lot heavier.