JJB’s Ramblings

I’ve been busy.  Between my regular workload, photo work, soccer, general social engagements and packing, I am pretty tired.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining.  It just is starting to take its toll, making me semi-brain dead lately.  But that’s not what I want to talk about today.  I want to talk about last night.  Last night, I got home from work and immediately busted into Super Packer.  The way I figured it, I had about an hour and a half before meeting Erin and her friends for some super BBQ at Redbones,  but you don’t care about that. In fact lets just say that I got most of the kitchen packed up before getting the text that I should head to Redbones.  On the walk into Davis Sq. I reflected on how tired I was feeling and started wondering what food would be appropriate considering I had a game to play in a few hours.  Oh yes, 11pm soccer game in Newton. Neat. 

We all meet up at Redbones, get seated and place our drink orders.  We chat amicably though I don’t have my normal, “I can hold a conversation with new people” ability. In fact, conversationally, I suck.  Tim is asking me some questions and in my head I can formulate answers but what comes out of my mouth is nowhere near as detailed and genuine as I planned.  At one point, after discussing eRock’s pursuit of opera, Tim asks, “Oh, that’s great. Is she a mezzo?”  Me:  Head – “No, she’s a soprano.” Mouth – “uh…*awkward pause*..no…she’s a…uh…….” Tim sees my struggle and starts to say soprano… “Yes soprano.” Wow. That was off the mark.  He continues saying, “that’s great.  Who is she with?”  Oh god I know this.  Why the hell can I not think of it….fer chrissake. BoCo…BoCo…no you dope, that’s where she went to school…BOC. That’s right; Boston Opera Collaborative.  To prove I know what my girlfriend does, I talk about the recent shows she’s done.  He nods and asks if she’s done any internships. Internships……yes.  Actually I know this one.  Yes she did, last summer in FL.  (Crap I am sitting at a table with people that are from FL.) I know the question is coming….  “Where in FL?” where in FL…um….  (Now, all three of them are mentioning potential areas, hoping that something will jog my mind.) Sarasota? Orlando? Miami?  I blurt out:  “Palm Springs?  Yea I think that was it” Shit, is that even in FL? I don’t know.  I am going to stick with that.  I tell them I know the program name was Intermezzo, but I don’t recall the school…or apparently the town.  (For the record, it was West Palm Beach)… This goes on for a few more minutes until I’ve given the impression that I cannot carry on a normal conversation about myself or loved ones.  Thankfully the food comes out and everyone tucks into their meals.  I am enjoying my brisket (thankfully I can still remember how to chew and swallow food) thinking that this is the perfect portion size.  About 20 min later I realize that I had grossly misjudged.  The Redbones adventure ends without any other embarrassing moments, though I would like to make mention of this awful tattoo I saw though.  This guy (maybe in his early 20’s) had, on his right tricep, the word “HATE” except the letters were written to look like large pieces of stone, like you would see at Stonehenge.  I don’t know how either got there, but I don’t really care. It was awful.

 The whole purpose of Erin bringing her friends up here to Davis was to show them how cool it was and what a nice area, etc etc, etc.  The Burren (in spite of the lack of TV’s showing the Sox game) was the next destination.  I concurred.  Let the record show that Tuesday night at the Burren is open mic night.  We chose poorly.  When we got there, this girl who was maybe in her late teens (maybe) was just starting to play her piano and sing Anna Nalick’s – 2 a.m.  Well the poor thing had some serious patch trouble and her keyboard kept clipping out and buzzing.  Then she forgot a lyric and started again.  Then, another pause because she didn’t start in the right place.  She laughed nervously and apologized each time, but it didn’t really help.  She finished up and there was wild applause…because from what I could tell, her family was sitting in the back corner.  Anyway, we all have to start somewhere.  So she launches into Alanis Morissettes – Ironic.  Our table breaks into a discussion of how bad the song is in itself and how should could have chosen ANY other Alanis song and it would have been better.  Still technical difficulties and now she is a little flat.  Anyway, one more song from her and she wraps up.  Not the best I have seen, but I am notching that up to age.

ANYWAY, during her last song, my eyes wander around the room and see the two guys (and I use the term loosely because they are maybe 17 or 18) waiting to go on.  I turn back around to the table and make eye contact with Marisa who was just looking in the same direction. Something in my brain clicks.  What did that kids shirt say? I ask her “Does his shirt say what I think it says?”  She starts laughing and says she just realized the same thing and then confirms what I saw.  The shirt says “I © Female Orgasm”.  Yeah.  His buddy’s is rockin’ a Pantera shirt.  Both T’s look BRAND new and negate any street cred that may be garnered from witty shirts (though these are a Zero to begin with).  Wow.  We discuss what kind of music they will play (with a keyboard and a guitar) and decide it wont be covers of Dashboard Confessional or Supertramp.  They open with an original.  The climax lover is tickling the faux ivory (which is synthed to drum sounds) while our 80’s prodigy is nailing some power chords.  No lyrics.  These guys don’t need no stinkin’ lyrics.  About 2/3 of the way through the song the guitarist actually drops his pick, so he stops, bends over and picks it back up.  Marisa saw this too and we just started laughing and said, “ok, we need to go.”  Now.  Am I showin’ these guys the cream of Davis or WHAT!  We part ways, I make my way back to my house, grab a totally useless 45 min nap where I neither feel rested or relaxed and drive out to my 11pm soccer game…that the other team didn’t show up for.  You can’t script this stuff.

Who knew there would be a part 3!  The Photos Photos everywhere theme is back.  This time we’ll be discussing an upcoming issue (May 30^th) of the Improper Bostonian where, I’m told; they are running an article on La Spina in Davis Sq.  Rita (chef, friend, general crazy woman and owner of La Spina) called me last week to tell me that they were reviewing her restaurant and that she wanted to send them some of the photos that I had taken for her a while back when she first opened.  She asked me to email her contact at the Improper and provide them with the link to the photos. I said sure, I could do that.  So we will see how it all came together in tomorrows issue, check it out if you are around town.  And if you haven’t eaten as L.S. yet, then you totally should. Why?  Well just look here 

It seems that every Tom, Dick and Eduardo think they can open up a pizza and sub shop.  I am here to tell you that this needs to stop.  Seriously.  I am all for taking something away from the big corporations and love the idea of that Mom and Pop (LLC, trademark M&P International) store that serves up a decent sub (or hoagie, grinder, hero, etc etc etc) with a smile and a genuine “Have a nice day”.  But I will NOT stand for mediocre food and sandwich making incompetence.  This. Ends. Here. 

There are a ton of lunch choices here in Lynn (Lynn, the City of Sin) and on the days when I am not heating up leftovers or going upstairs to the Atlantic View Café, (motto: hey look, there’s the ocean) I will venture out and about.  I avoid the fast food joints altogether and only occasionally make my way to the cheese counter at Whole Foods.  On the days when I can resist the dairy I will seek out a new place, which seems to relegate me to storefronts that advertise: Pizza, Subs and More. I say, pick one and do it well.  Apparently these places disagree.  One of my favorite, fallback subs is an Italian.  Done correctly, this can be a masterpiece that plays with the taste buds.  Done incorrectly and you’ve got yourself a crap sandwich.  I experienced the latter sandwich.

My Italian order is pretty standard.

·        Bread – fresh is the only way to go.  No Subway bread here.

·        Meat – Mortadella, Genoa salami, and Capacola (occasionally Proscuitto)

·        Cheese – Only provolone belongs here.

·        Veggies – Lettuce, Tomato and hots.  Maybe onion depending on gum or mouthwash situation

·        Condiments – Oil and vinegar, black pepper and oregano.

That’s really it. Actually, it seems pretty hard to screw that up right? I thought so too.

What I received was downright embarrassing.  Stale, tasteless bread was filled (I use this term loosely) with a few paper-thin slices of bologna, ham and mortadella.  My sub had, from what I could tell, one thin slice of provolone, though I did find a corner of American cheese on the uncheesed half of the sandwich.  On top of that they dumped some roughly chopped lettuce, some plum tomatoes that were cut wrong, and 3 hot pepper rings and doused it with what could only be described as generic Italian dressing.  So sad.

So I implore you.  Protest. Complain. Return.  Do it right or don’t do it at all, otherwise we are going to egg you (with a nice deviled egg, naturally).

Say I put you in a four sided booth that was 6 feet tall (think phone booth, but wider) and each wall was 3 feet of brushed aluminum (from the bottom) and the remaining 3 feet comprised of glass. There is also glass over the top of this imaginary booth so you can look up and watch the birds, or planes passing overhead. Next, using a dolly, I roll you on over to, oh, i dont know, say…Government Center. I leave you with some food and fiji water, a mirror, your cell phone and I even rig up some speakers inside your booth so that you can plug in the iPod I gave you for this experiment. neat huh? I tell you that all you have to do is hang out in this cushy booth for a few hours, eating, drinking and being merry. Not the worst thing to do on a wonderful weekend afternoon in a hustling bustling city, right? During your time in the box of awesomeness, you probably people watch, make yourself comfy, eat, talk with friends on your cell phone, etc etc.

I am willing to bet that at no time do you do the following:

- check for gray hairs
- pick your nose
- give that emerging zit on your chin a good hard squeeze
- absent mindedly use your index finger to clean your ears
- try and snag that one nose hair that thats protruding from your right nostril
- sing along to R.E.M’s - End of the World, (with great gusto) while trying to keep up with Michael Stipe’s rapid lyrics, only to lose yourself 16 words into the first verse, but coming back with a vengence at the chorus
- have a totally animated conversation with a friend on your phone; complete with sailor-type explicatives, hand gestures and maybe an inappropriate comment involving a horse.

Why not? Because people can see and hear you! You are in a public place, why the hell would you expose yourself to that.

my point? If you can’t do it in a glass and aluminum box in the middle of a high traffic, public place, then you probably shouldn’t be doing it in your car. I am watching you.

5:30 am. 

eRock’s cell phone starts ringing with the alarm that I have truly come to hate… so loud, so grating on the nerves it makes a bucket of ice water seem like a nice wake-up call.  She snoozes it.  I start to doze back off and just as I am about to slip back off to sleep it jolts me awake again.  This time she isn’t moving, at least not as fast as I would have liked.  She snoozes it again.  Today it seems that 3’s a charm.  She shuts it off, rolls over and allows herself to slowly wake up.  I am supportive and mutter “way to go, Hon” a few times as encouragement for her getting up this early to go to the gym where she will be performing aerobics on mini-trampolines.  She makes her way to her dresser and starts grabbing her work out clothes.  These dressers are nice, they really are.  However, they don’t come with any sort of ball bearing track for the drawers so its wood on wood when you open and close them.  Open. Close. Open. Close. Open……………………..Close. 

Sitting up, I give her a sorta sleepy smile, though the sleepy part is rapidly wearing off.  Grab a bag. Unzip the backpack.  Take the water bottle out. Zip something else. Open. Close. I am sitting up now.  Bag on the bed, water bottle by my feet, she is sorting a few things out and repacking. She looks at me and says, “Oh are you awake?  You should go back to sleep.” I am confused, thinking, “of course I am awake, I can sleep through a lot, but this is a true test.”  She gives me a smile, grabs her bag, I get a little sugar and she leaves….did I mention that its kinda hard to shut her door? It makes a loud thud.  I hear her in the hall getting ready, bags rustling and all.  Then a loud whump as she opens the door.  She forgot something.  Another smile and another thud.  Back in the hall, I start getting comfortable to doze off and I hear the outer door click shut.  I look at the clock and make a note that she made good time.  Then I hear the front door open and shut.  I think she forgot something else.  Then once again the outer door clicks shut and all is quiet. eRock has left the building.  

I love that girl, but I think I may just start helping her pack the night before….and THAT is why she will never be a ninja.