So it's Fall again and life is pretty slow at the moment. The only significant happenings was a trip to Montreal last weekend with Sven. Montreal is a nice city, not spectacular, but pleasant. Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster that Sven is fluent in French though. He was even teaching me some, which I've mostly forgotten already.
Highlights of the trip were; seeing the spectacular autumn foliage on the way up and back through hilly Vermont, plus the awesome bridges over the lakes in upper Vermont; the Biosphere and environmentally related exhibits; the interesting architecture of the olympic stadium; our trip to the gay sauna....; staying basically above a gay bar; and just spending time away from Boston with a friend who I've quickly grown close to.
That's about it really, just wanted to quickly write this entry to remind myself of the Montreal trip. Work is OK, not great, although I've settled into my new position and things are slow but kind of progressing at least.
13 October 2008
31 August 2008
Ptown
It's Labor Day long weekend, which marks the last weekend of summer, and it's been a beauty. The weather is gorgeous, my mood is good, this is Boston at its finest. I spent today (Sunday) rollerblading with Sven on Memorial Drive (a busy road in Cambridge that's closed off each Sunday during August to allow people to enjoy a stretch of traffic-free road), and lying in a park enjoying the sun after Sven left.
Saturday was spent at Provincetown (Ptown) on Cape Cod (the Cape), a beach-side hamlet that's accessible by a 90 min ferry ride. Ptown is a mini gay haven. Rainbow flags line the quaint main street of shops and eateries, buff gay guys strut around in tight summer singlets casually mingling with lesbians, families and straight tourists alike. It's an idyllic seaside town with the promise of late-night clubbing and hedonistic parties. My Ptown trip was spent with Sven and Rahmat, a girl from Sven's department at the Picower Institute, MIT. They had their bikes and I rented one once we arrived. Sven was particularly grateful to escape the roiling ferry as he was sick due to the somewhat bumpy seas. The weather was slightly overcast but still warm, bright and pleasant.
It's been around 8 years since I last rode a bike, and although I fell a few times (once on the main street in front of dozens of people no less) and was swervingly unsteady on occasion, the old adage of not forgetting how to ride a bike came to fruition, and we spent the day cycling around town, along scenic seaside back trails to beaches, and had a brunch of cheese, crusty bread and beer on a man-made rock pier-like structure that streched into a calm and mostly still ocean. Between cycling and laying on the beach, the day passed quickly, which ended on a high note at an unexpected location.
Early in the day Sven mentioned that he heard of an infamous dock in Ptown with the sophisticated name of 'Dick Dock'. Neither he nor I knew where it was and exactly what purpose the Dick Dock served, although we made some pretty educated guesses. To completely solve the mystery, we drew straws (leaves actually) to see who would suffer the indignity of asking a Ptown local about the Dock. Of course I drew the short leaf. This was how I found myself asking the waitress serving our lunch at a terrible Thai place, what and where this elusive Dick Dock was. Although somewhat puzzled at my question, her reply was a crushing "Err, I have no idea".
Facing the inconceivable possibility of never finding what the Dick Dock was, we were amusingly dejected, with much laughter and praise at my bold questioning. However, we were soon delighted to find that the waitress had asked another server, a very gay guy, about my query. He was very adorable and cute, but not my type, and he explained to us that the Dick Dock was an area under a club right on the beach where guys would go after the clubs shut to, well, in his words "get whatever they wanted", wink, wink, nudge, nudge. The location of the Dock was revealed and we instantly knew where it was, as we had passed a club with booming music on the main drag and had joked that perhaps the Dick Dock was there. How prescient of us. We also learned that the Dick Dock was widely known and accepted in Ptown, and that free condoms and lube were handed out by an AIDS prevention charity to the deabuchered masses each night. Hooray!
We left the restaurant, dissatisfied with our crappy meal, but ecstatic that we had solved the Dick Dock enigma. It was a little after 6 pm, but the sun was still up and we still had around an hour before our ferry home was due to depart. After some deliberation and scoping of the mostly outdoors club from the beach, we decided to have a drink in the club in order to at least partially experience the Dick Dock fame.
One deciding factor for me was that I spied a cute guy in the club from the beach, and Sven and Rahmat decided that I was going to speak to the cutie, whether I felt brave enough or not. What friends.
The club was really an outdoor patio (with the sandy Dick Dock underneath), there was a packed dance area inside. Being Labor Day, the "Tea Party" event was packed, mostly with older guys and the obligatory over the top aging drag queens. Feeling quite youthful, I grabbed a beer and began hunting for the stripey shirt guy, a young bloke, thin, short sandy hairy, nice legs. The speakers were pumping out faithful gay dance remixes, and we split up to locate my boy.
It was Sven who found him near the back, along the railing that overlooked the beach. Overcoming my initial shyness, I took the opportunity of his friend departing to sidle alongside him on the railing. Meanwhile, Sven was already immersed in a conversation with a slightly older but attractive bloke next to me.
First contact with the boy, James from NY, was made by a remark of mine about his prime position along the railing and having the fantastic view of the sun setting over the harbour. Unexpectedly, he seemed interested in me and we quickly spoke about our day and where we were from. He enjoyed my Aussieness and postdoc status, and just when everything was looking promising, his friend emerged from the crowd, saying that his friends were all ready to leave for a barbeque. It was such a sudden and quick death blow, that I was totally off guard, and we shook hands and he departed before a slight hesitation, leaving me kicking myself for not getting his details, despite him living in NY. Oh well, lesson learned, and it was a small ego booster that he seemed interested, so it was successful in that respect.
Sven had better luck apparently, as when I turned around he was having an embrace and a kiss with his guy. Later I found out he had gotten a proposition to stay in Ptown and forget the ferry Sven was insistent on taking. A wingman is not supposed to do better than the mate he's helping dammit!
Soon after, we were on the ferry home, glowingly happy at having had a memorable day in Ptown, and satisfied with our fleeting taste of the ripe pleasantries that are promised with the fabled Dick Dock.
Saturday was spent at Provincetown (Ptown) on Cape Cod (the Cape), a beach-side hamlet that's accessible by a 90 min ferry ride. Ptown is a mini gay haven. Rainbow flags line the quaint main street of shops and eateries, buff gay guys strut around in tight summer singlets casually mingling with lesbians, families and straight tourists alike. It's an idyllic seaside town with the promise of late-night clubbing and hedonistic parties. My Ptown trip was spent with Sven and Rahmat, a girl from Sven's department at the Picower Institute, MIT. They had their bikes and I rented one once we arrived. Sven was particularly grateful to escape the roiling ferry as he was sick due to the somewhat bumpy seas. The weather was slightly overcast but still warm, bright and pleasant.
It's been around 8 years since I last rode a bike, and although I fell a few times (once on the main street in front of dozens of people no less) and was swervingly unsteady on occasion, the old adage of not forgetting how to ride a bike came to fruition, and we spent the day cycling around town, along scenic seaside back trails to beaches, and had a brunch of cheese, crusty bread and beer on a man-made rock pier-like structure that streched into a calm and mostly still ocean. Between cycling and laying on the beach, the day passed quickly, which ended on a high note at an unexpected location.
Early in the day Sven mentioned that he heard of an infamous dock in Ptown with the sophisticated name of 'Dick Dock'. Neither he nor I knew where it was and exactly what purpose the Dick Dock served, although we made some pretty educated guesses. To completely solve the mystery, we drew straws (leaves actually) to see who would suffer the indignity of asking a Ptown local about the Dock. Of course I drew the short leaf. This was how I found myself asking the waitress serving our lunch at a terrible Thai place, what and where this elusive Dick Dock was. Although somewhat puzzled at my question, her reply was a crushing "Err, I have no idea".
Facing the inconceivable possibility of never finding what the Dick Dock was, we were amusingly dejected, with much laughter and praise at my bold questioning. However, we were soon delighted to find that the waitress had asked another server, a very gay guy, about my query. He was very adorable and cute, but not my type, and he explained to us that the Dick Dock was an area under a club right on the beach where guys would go after the clubs shut to, well, in his words "get whatever they wanted", wink, wink, nudge, nudge. The location of the Dock was revealed and we instantly knew where it was, as we had passed a club with booming music on the main drag and had joked that perhaps the Dick Dock was there. How prescient of us. We also learned that the Dick Dock was widely known and accepted in Ptown, and that free condoms and lube were handed out by an AIDS prevention charity to the deabuchered masses each night. Hooray!
We left the restaurant, dissatisfied with our crappy meal, but ecstatic that we had solved the Dick Dock enigma. It was a little after 6 pm, but the sun was still up and we still had around an hour before our ferry home was due to depart. After some deliberation and scoping of the mostly outdoors club from the beach, we decided to have a drink in the club in order to at least partially experience the Dick Dock fame.
One deciding factor for me was that I spied a cute guy in the club from the beach, and Sven and Rahmat decided that I was going to speak to the cutie, whether I felt brave enough or not. What friends.
The club was really an outdoor patio (with the sandy Dick Dock underneath), there was a packed dance area inside. Being Labor Day, the "Tea Party" event was packed, mostly with older guys and the obligatory over the top aging drag queens. Feeling quite youthful, I grabbed a beer and began hunting for the stripey shirt guy, a young bloke, thin, short sandy hairy, nice legs. The speakers were pumping out faithful gay dance remixes, and we split up to locate my boy.
It was Sven who found him near the back, along the railing that overlooked the beach. Overcoming my initial shyness, I took the opportunity of his friend departing to sidle alongside him on the railing. Meanwhile, Sven was already immersed in a conversation with a slightly older but attractive bloke next to me.
First contact with the boy, James from NY, was made by a remark of mine about his prime position along the railing and having the fantastic view of the sun setting over the harbour. Unexpectedly, he seemed interested in me and we quickly spoke about our day and where we were from. He enjoyed my Aussieness and postdoc status, and just when everything was looking promising, his friend emerged from the crowd, saying that his friends were all ready to leave for a barbeque. It was such a sudden and quick death blow, that I was totally off guard, and we shook hands and he departed before a slight hesitation, leaving me kicking myself for not getting his details, despite him living in NY. Oh well, lesson learned, and it was a small ego booster that he seemed interested, so it was successful in that respect.
Sven had better luck apparently, as when I turned around he was having an embrace and a kiss with his guy. Later I found out he had gotten a proposition to stay in Ptown and forget the ferry Sven was insistent on taking. A wingman is not supposed to do better than the mate he's helping dammit!
Soon after, we were on the ferry home, glowingly happy at having had a memorable day in Ptown, and satisfied with our fleeting taste of the ripe pleasantries that are promised with the fabled Dick Dock.
21 August 2008
Wow. Racecar. Wow.
Never odd or even.
Go hang a salami, I'm a lasagna hog.
Satan, oscillate my metallic sonatas.
Go hang a salami, I'm a lasagna hog.
Satan, oscillate my metallic sonatas.
16 August 2008
12 pennies for my thoughts
It's Saturday evening and I'm in the lab, procrastinating and wasting time before dinner with Sue and Till. Sitting here, I just realized that someone stole 12 cents off my desk! On Friday, I had 12 pennies stacked neatly on my desk to remind myself to go to the post-office for stamps. The day was hectic, partly due to a four hour meeting with my boss, and I totally ran out of time for stamp shopping, so the pennies remained desktop bound, ready for their future fate at the post-office. Well, not anymore, bastard thieves (probably the cleaners). Seriously, who the hell steals 12 cents, it's not enough to buy anything... except stamps I guess. Sigh.
Speaking of money matters, I'm totally broke after my trips to Chicago last week and Rochester, NY the week before for Fari's wedding, so it was a nice surprise that last night for restaurant week at Mantra my share of the bill was 64 cents -- they totally botched the charge on my card, it should have been around $50. I was hesitant to sign and bolt, but the rest of the table thought it was a good deal and bailed on me. In the end I left Emre to sign my docket and fill in the tip, a generous 40%!
Well gotta go, Japanese dinner awaits.
Update: Mantra ended up charging me the full cost of the bill. Bastards.
Speaking of money matters, I'm totally broke after my trips to Chicago last week and Rochester, NY the week before for Fari's wedding, so it was a nice surprise that last night for restaurant week at Mantra my share of the bill was 64 cents -- they totally botched the charge on my card, it should have been around $50. I was hesitant to sign and bolt, but the rest of the table thought it was a good deal and bailed on me. In the end I left Emre to sign my docket and fill in the tip, a generous 40%!
Well gotta go, Japanese dinner awaits.
Update: Mantra ended up charging me the full cost of the bill. Bastards.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
