Less sand, sun, and Fahrenheit

The beaches out here don't have anything on the West Coast beaches. At all. What a bummer. Imagine your favorite patch of Cali sand. Add some rocks. Subtract some sun. And divide the temperature of the water by 2. But I guess that could be said about the East Coast in general: less sand, sun, and Fahrenheit.

My first Boston show

My first Boston show was an absolute blast. Three amazing bands (Mae, As Tall As Lions, and Dear And the Headlights), a packed underground venue (literally), some new friends that love talking about bands and music, and a crowd that can't say "no" to clapping. It made me go home smiling.

Selfishness

Please forgive me for my latest act of pure selfishness. This Boston thing was not for anyone else but me. 100% me. I left everyone and everything that meant anything to me high and dry in the Vegas desert. And as I continue this act of self indulgence, please keep in mind that I still miss my Vegas friends, my Vegas family, and my Vegas life every freaking day.

Salem, Ma. sold its soul to the devil

I spent all day in Salem Massachusetts yesterday. After a quick ferry ride up the coast, I began my exploration of the small city. I started the day with a few museums (the Peabody Essex Museum and the Salem Witch Museum) and ended it with a short walk down Chestnut Street (known for its 200+ year old houses). Overall, it was a good experience. But I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the city was playing the witch angle just a little too much. Maybe it was the multiple haunted houses that run year-round. Or maybe it was all the souvenir shops filled to the brim with images of women riding broomsticks and men with glowing red eyes and horns on top of their heads. Maybe it was the nagging feeling that Salem Ma. sold its soul to the devil. I think I could have learned more REAL history about the Salem Witch Trials by spending just a few minutes on Wikipedia. Nevertheless, I'm glad I went there. At the very least, it was good to have an excuse to get out of the house.

These things look good on paper

Yes, these things look good on paper. They probably sound good when you read them off of a computer screen too. They're the kind of things that people always want to be able to say about their own lives. Yes, I've got a good job. I live in an interesting section of an amazing city. I'm constantly surrounded by culture, style, and history.

The only beast I've had to battle since I've gotten up here is myself. And hopefully, if I ever end up winning this fight, I might even be able to convince myself that these great things are enough to make even me happy.

Back to my roots

I love being busy as hell. The kind of busy where I don't have any extra time to myself. The kind of busy where I don't have time to think. About anything. Ever.

I made it a personal goal of mine to become this busy the last few months I lived in Vegas. And it was phenomenal. It was so easy to pull off - what with planning a new life in a new city and all. But now that every thing's starting to settle down, I've caught myself slacking off on the job a few times. And that frankly will not fly.

The good news is that I'm back on course and wicked busy again. No relaxing. No free time. And screw sleep - I've got better things to do. Back to my roots.

A normal workday

A normal workday for me consists of waking up around 7:30am to, as it has been since August of last year, a song called "Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta." And it sure does. [Editor's note: I know it sounds corny, but thats what makes it so ridiculously funny to me!] After a quick 16-minute iPod-infused walk to work, I begin playing with cellphones, building websites for them, and other miscellaneous nerdy things. If it's a Friday, there will probably be a beer intermission around 3pm. After work I'll probably end up either hanging out with coworkers at a couple of bars, exploring Boston on foot by myself, catching up my social life online or by phone, or reading the newest Harry Potter book. Sleep tends to come late for me - I'll usually let myself fall asleep around 1 or 2am. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The apartment

I finally moved into an apartment today. I now live in an area of town called "South End," which is known as the artsy section of Boston. I already found a place that has live jazz every night at 10pm that is literally a couple blocks from my place. My roommate is a tall, skinny, friendly Trinidadian who travels a lot. I've already relocated my life (the one that fits into just two suitcases and a guitar case) to my new place, but now I have to do the boring task of buying home-type stuff: Sheets, blankets, towels, food - you know, all the stuff that normal people already own.

I finally have a place to call "home." Now, if only I can make it feel like one..

Becoming.

My first week of living in a new city is coming to a close, and I'm happy to admit that my mind still gets blown on a daily basis. This place is so different from everything I've ever known. I mean, I'm used to jumping into far-away places and getting used to strange street names and foreign faces - but this time it's so different. This time it's not about watching and interacting with a new culture. Now it's about understanding them and (hopefully) becoming one of them. Emulating. Assimilating. Becoming.

Reading.

Reading is such a big deal here. Everyone reads while commuting to work on the T (that's what they call the subway here). People even read while walking to work. I've concluded that reading in Boston is like listening to NPR or those crappy "Morning Zoo" shows back in Vegas - it's the thing to do when you're between where you want to be and where you have to be everyday. Anyways, I'm doing my part to fit in. I've got my 7th Harry Potter book with me wherever I go. And it's awesome. Yes, I'm a nerd.

Beer Fridays.

I got to enjoy my first "Beer Friday" at work. This weekly event consists of a Friday afternoon at the office plus the delightful bonus of beer, chips, salsa, and cookies. It's such an odd yet comforting feeling to open a beer with your boss, drink it, socialize a bit, and then return to your desk to finish up some last-minute work.

Hella.

Hella. This word comes out of my mouth so easily and effortlessly whenever I feel the need to describe a large quantity of things. Yet, as natural as it sounds to my west-coast ears, it does not sit right in conversations here on the east coast. In fact, this word is guaranteed to disrupt conversations, turn heads, and make everyone around you question where you're from. For the most part, I've been good at avoiding this word as much as possible. Unfortunately, I found out that alcohol does to me and my control over this word as what kryptonite does to superman and his superpowers.

So I was out at the bar with hella (oops) coworkers, making friends and telling stories. You know how I do. When all of a sudden, this word starts flying out of my mouth more often than Jon Losey spelling supercalifragilisticexpialidocious when he's drunk. Damn you Newcastle! Damn you for creating awkward situations where everyone stops talking and asks where I'm from!

And on a side note, I started drinking Newcastle to remind myself of all the great friends I have back home.

I live in a hotel.

I live in a hotel. This bit of information makes some people laugh and some people feel bad for me. Personally, I think it makes my Boston adventure THAT much more adventurous. So who cares if I don't have a permanent place to live? Or a legal address to give to the Massachusetts government? Or a place I can call "home?" My Boston story sounds so much more exciting this way anyways. And I wouldn't have it any other way.