USA Email Series 6: Rounders, Uranium, Hahvahd and horses (no bloody tea though)

(First sent: 15th July 2009)

Morning English,

Once again, dispatches from Stateside as the Americans continue to deal with the Michael Jackson tragedy in a sensitive and truly touching manner with 24 hour updates on ‘Blanket’s woe’ (which definitely sounds like the title of the next Pixar hit) and insightful, responsible, journalism leading the mourning and healing process with headlines such as ‘Family at war over unreleased material’ or ‘Jacko kids' dad says "$100million or its war!!!"’ Still, MJ pretty much invented celebrity culture so I guess it’s all part of the continuing saga that was his life… and it’s a lot more entertaining than sodding baseball.

For my part, the mourning process didn’t prevent me making tracks to Boston, where life is a rather buttoned up affair. Most Bostonians are friendly but beautifully dressed. Hard to tell sometimes because the hostel here is right in the heart of studentsville, so there’s a healthy amount of bespectacled, floppy haired bums with no job, seemingly just wondering aimlessly around. Boy, I’m really glad I’m not like them.

Record shops abound as well, and local skate dudes tend to loiter sans agenda in the doorways looking disaffected. My inclination to barge through and try to enforce a dress code have so far fallen on deaf ears, so I’ll have to content myself with throwing bricks at them from the hostel roof at three o’clock in the morning when they insist on playing some abysmal American nonsense from their itwatophone outside my window. God, there is some rubbish music in England too, but I think I’m going to start enriching Uranium just so I can launch it in the direction of Lady Gaga.

However, despite these street rats, most of the normal locals are an altogether more beige group. Not dull as such, just practical. Rather like Germans, they are efficient and courteous without being over the top and emotional – there’s a lot of khaki pants, not many bums on the streets. That’s a major difference between here and NYC or Chicago as the authorities are more puritanical and try to keep the poverty firmly under wraps. In fact most of the bums you do see simply mumble to themselves rather than panhandle for pennies.

Of course, there was one exception, notably the guy who addressed me by saying “I’m gonna fxxk you up”, but even that was so listless that it felt like he was offering a unique tourist experience from Screwed Up Life Tours – “like alcohol and crack? Come with me, you’ll never look back!”

The one time that Bostonians go berserk is for the Red Socks. Gee Wizz, buddy, I gotta tell ya. They go friggin insane for the Sox. Wear a Yankees cap and I give you ten minutes before you’re inspecting a major head wound inflicted by a rather austere middle aged businessman. In khakis. When they win, the bars are packed with dudes in shorts throwing beer over each other. When they lose, the atmosphere takes a nasty tone that makes Glasgow on a Saturday night seem like my sisters' 10th Birthday party.

But there’s a lot of friendly faces too. Literally within 30 seconds of getting off the train and looking lost, a local had taken me under her wing and phoned ahead to the hostel to check my directions. I was seriously wary at first, wondering if her eyes were wondering down to my back to chose the juiciest kidney to harvest, but after about five minutes of being led through the town I began to wonder if she fancied doing my laundry while I smoked a cigar and got a foot rub.

This experience was not unique to me either – most of the travelers have a similar story of the Bostonians taking pity on us and offering their help. It’s like everybody knows your name, and their always glad you came… they should definitely use that line in a long running show about Boston natives.

So that’s a little taste of the Boston vibe – fun and bizarre. Just like the rest of this wacky country. Here’s a few things that I have sampled, attempted, donated or evacuated since my last mail, all for your viewing pleasure:

1. Visited Cheers. Nobody had a clue who I was, so it’s a big lie. Nice burgers though, that’s for sure.
2. Went to Salem to burn some heathens. It’s a very odd place. The second we got off the train, there was something odd about the atmosphere. I’m not suggesting it’s a one-horse town, mainly because that would invest Salem with approximately one horse too many. In fact, if Salem ever was able to acquire a horse, it would declare to its citizens a holiday for six weeks and install the horse as it’s mayor and dictator for life, and the horse would get its own twice weekly chat show on Salem TV… Eventually though, the horse would become wealthy and complacent while the natives would become suspicious of the power of the horse, eventually betraying him and burning him for his witching powers. Then spend the next few hundred years ruthlessly exploiting the horse crimes to try and eek any and all tourist dollars from passing mugs who might be vaguely interested in horses… I think you get the picture, sorry about that.
3. Tall ships are in Boston. No bloody tea parties though, the liars. I was gasping for a brew.
4. Did I mention horses yet?
5. Had soup and a salad. Yum
6. Cheered for the Redsox down by fenway when they did a rounder.
7. Headed up to the memorial marking the war of independence. Felt a bit sheepish to be English for about 10 seconds then went completely the other way and claimed that we built the country and it was basically a civil war – the native Americans are the indigenous race here. Attempted an invasion, but failed at the last second because I didn’t have a flag handy. France would be easier. I reckon I could do that in a long weekend. Perhaps next year.
8. Had some clam chowder. Is good.
9. Took a boat tour and felt the wind in my hair and sun on my face. Delicious.
10. Got caught out in the rain after dinner and had to wait for half an hour in a shop doorway with a busker. Unfortunately he played the drums (on pots and pans) and he made an attempt to bore holes through my eardrums with his infernal tippy tapping.
11. Headed to the beach and caught some rays. The last stop on the train there was called “Wonderland” but it was a bit disappointing. Not up to the hype.
12. Headed for Hahvahd – as the locals pronounce it. Felt twice as clever, but unfortunately, two times nothing …
13. Learnt that Irish people have no stomach, just an alcohol conversion device.

Well, that’s a bounteous update and plenty enough for now. I hope all is well with all who receive this mail and keep your notes, updates, suggestions, etc coming. I love to get a notice from back in England or further afield.

Byeloveyoubye. xx

...Is it wrong for me to hate people as much as I do? The 'hipsters' of Boston were everywhere, wearing their check shirts and skinny jeans whilst trying to imagine how asymmetric hair can go before it defies the laws of physics. Introducing them to the solid part of my heel would be a reasonable idea...