Boston photos!

As promised before, here is a link for the photos I took in Boston. Some of them are kind of blurry, given the fact that I was testing out my new camera's ability to take photos without the flash in low light situations. (I hate flash photography. It just ruins the atmosphere.) Some of them turned out surprisingly well, some didn't. It's just difficult to judge how good something looks when it's just on a tiny LCD screen. Anyway...

My Photo Album

Vacation!

I had opted out of WizardWorld Chicago this year because I had wanted to save money, but after moving, I decided that I did need to get the hell out of Ohio for a bit. Despite the fact that I’d taken four days off to move, anyone who’s done so knows that that is nothing approaching a vacation. I looked at my options, and given the fact that it was summer, I decided to postpone going out west. Instead, I turned my attention to Boston, home of my dear friend Jeanine.

I’ve known Jeanine since my junior year of college, where we met in an acting class. (She’s exceptional, by the way. The world is really missing out because of her desire to stick to a more academic profession rather than an artistic one.) After that, we were also both in a class about British sitcoms, and we’ve pretty much kept in touch since then. Unfortunately, I moved to the Northeast Ohio area right when she moved away from it to attend grad school in Boston. That’s where she’s been ever since, except for whenever she comes back to visit family and friends during the holidays.

This past Thursday marked the first time I’d been on an airplane in over a decade. The last time was when I went to Florida with my high school’s band and choir. Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t freaked out about it or anything. I remembered not having a problem the first time around, so I figured it couldn’t be that different. Obviously, there are the heightened threats of terrorism and all, but I just comforted myself with the thought that Cleveland, Philadelphia (where I had to get a connecting flight) and Boston probably weren’t top priority for anyone wanting to blow up airplanes.

Paul graciously dropped me off at the airport about two hours early. The line for security was actually fairly quick. After confirming that I wasn’t carrying any explosives or other weapons, security allowed me into the main area so I could look for my terminal. Since I had some time to kill, I decided to grab a sandwich at The Great American Bagel. The guy who prepared my food kind of freaked me out a little. He had a low, mumbly voice and a blank stare much like the guy who was just arrested for the murder of JonBenet Ramsey. I got the feeling that he probably thought of the knife he used to cut my sandwich as his friend.

Both flights went just fine, and I finished the Doctor Who novel I’d bought especially for the trip. (Luckily, I had another book with me for the return.) I arrived in Boston around midnight of Thursday (technically Friday) and met up with Jeanine at the baggage claim. She’s all fit and stuff now, since she’s been jogging for several months. I’m rather jealous. Fucking Achilles tendon…

There weren’t any extra bedrooms at her apartment, but the couch was just fine. The only unfortunate thing about sleeping in the living room was the fact that I was kept company by her roommate Lisa’s two cats. I like cats, but as mentioned before, I’m not crazy about the hair. Also, cats tend to jump on you while you’re trying to sleep. Luckily, I remembered to bring earplugs with me, so that allowed me to get a lot more sleep than I normally would have under those circumstances. (Seriously, guys, I know there are a lot of you who don’t think you could sleep with earplugs, but they work wonders.)

On Friday, Jeanine took a half day from work, and I met her at Harvard Square. (I took the T, Boston’s rapid transit train, which seems fairly similar but superior to Cleveland’s Rapid.) We visited the Fogg Art Museum, the Peabody Museum of Anthropology and Ethnology, and the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Of the three, I enjoyed the latter the most, what with their extensive collection of taxidermied animals. (Unfortunately, they didn’t have the squirrel dressed as Robin Hood that I’d seen at the Allen County fairgrounds when I was a kid.)

On Saturday, she took me downtown, and we pretty much just walked around so I could see all the buildings. Boston is definitely a beautiful city. The amount of old structures that remains really gives you a great sense of the history the place has. It’s sometimes easy to forget that people lived in that area before the 20th century, let alone before 1776.

Saturday was also when actually began what I surprisingly found to be the most fun part of the trip, clothes shopping. I didn’t used to enjoy it. I’m not what one would think of as a very fashionable person, and whenever I’d gone out to shop for clothing in the past, I’d always gotten frustrated and given up fairly quickly. Recently, though, I started to realize that the same old things I’d been wearing for the last several years just weren’t working. (See the blog entry entitled “Fashionably Late?”) I decided that what would be best would be to get one of my female friends to help me pick stuff out. After all, females are whom I would ultimately want to impress, so it’s best to go directly to the source, right? I mentioned this to Jeanine before I finalized my plans to visit, and she said she’d be more than happy to assist. She began to keep an eye out in the men’s departments whenever she went shopping for herself, and she already had some ideas by the time I got there.

The first amazing discovery that I made when we began our epic shopping journey was the fact that I’ve been wearing clothes that are too big for me for at least the last couple years. I was wearing an extra large T-shirt that day, and she informed me that it was way too big. She grabbed a large T-shirt and had me try it on. As I looked in the mirror, I thought to myself, “Hey, this looks pretty good!” But feeling it was still too large, she handed me a medium. “Are you sure?” I asked, to which she replied that she was. So I tried it on, and I then found myself thinking, “Hey, this looks even better! I can wear medium-sized T-shirts!!! Who’d’ve thought???? "

As if that weren’t enough, I also discovered that I can wear pants and jeans with a 34” waist. When in God’s name did that happen? It wasn’t that long ago that I had to wear loose fit jeans with a 36” waist! And corduroy! Apparently, I look good in corduroy! And I’m not just talking about the pants! Jeanine had me try on an outfit that consisted of a pair of brown pants, a blue collared shirt and a dark blue corduroy blazer. As I looked in the mirror, I thought, “Wow! I would totally make out with myself!” (I suppose it was a less vulgar version of what Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs was saying to himself in the mirror whilst preparing to do his tucked-in dance to “Goodbye Horses” by Q. Lazzarus.)

All told, I bought four button-down shirts, six T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, two pairs of pants (one brown, one beige corduroy), and two pairs of shoes (both Skechers). Unfortunately, this just isn’t enough. I really need to start totally phasing out all of the clothing in my collection (save underwear and socks, although I’ll need more colored socks to go along with the new shoes). (I suppose I’ll have to ask my friend Anna if she’d like to hit up some outlet stores in the near future.)

Sunday evening was rounded out with dinner at the Cambridge Brewing Company and a showing of Little Miss Sunshine. I got the pan-seared swordfish at the CBC, which was very good. It marked the first time I’d tried swordfish, and I imagine coastal cities are probably the best places in which to eat seafood. The movie was very pleasant and enjoyable. The acting was great all around, and it managed to be sweet and endearing without being too saccharine or cloying.

I left on Monday morning. I had to make room in my baggage for the new clothes, so I took some out to donate to the Goodwill near the train station. This was still not enough, so Jeanine let me borrow one of her duffel bags. (This turned out to be just barely enough room.) Taking the train to the airport was somewhat of a nightmare, due to the fact that everything I was carrying was extremely heavy. (My shoulder is still pretty sore from where the strap of my bag had dug into it.) Also, the combination of expending such effort and the amount of people in the train made me start to sweat uncontrollably. It was quite disgusting. Thankfully, I had applied a goodly amount of deodorant that morning.

The flight back was uneventful, and I spent the entire time reading James Ellroy’s The Black Dahlia. (So far, it’s pretty awesome. Can’t wait for the movie.) The time in between the first flight and the connecting flight was a little shorter than I’d expected, so I didn’t get to finish the bottle of water I’d purchased. Of course, I totally could have taken it on board the plane with me. It’s not like they’ve added a security check in front of the terminals or anything.

So now I’m back in Cleveland and actually a little bummed about it. I think it’s just another sign that I’m not really meant to live in Ohio. Doesn’t mean I’m meant to live in Boston, but I certainly wouldn’t be adverse to that.

Pictures to come. I’ll post a link as a separate entry.

The move

This is a little late in coming, but I just kind of kept forgetting to come back to it. Anyway, here is the story of my move from Lakewood to South Euclid.

At the end of July, I left the upstairs of the house on Lincoln Avenue in Lakewood and have taken up residence in South Euclid. It was kind of a sad occasion, as my roommates (Mike and John) and I all went our separate ways. Mike went most separate of all and is now in North Carolina to attend grad school. John and I both decided that it was perhaps time to get places of our own. I had a change of heart, however, when I realized that I wanted to start saving as much money as I possibly could. At that point, I wasn’t sure exactly what to do, since I didn’t really know anyone who was looking for a roommate, but then my friend Darcy came to the rescue. She currently rents the basement in her friend Paul’s house, and she suggested to him that I could rent one of the bedrooms. He quoted me a price that I couldn’t quite pass up.

So that was all set, then. I had a place to live. The problem then became finding a way to get my stuff there. I’d amassed a great deal of belongings over the three years in which I’d lived in Lakewood in addition to the things I’d already had before moving to the Cleveland area. Having lived in furnished apartments whilst going to school, I hadn’t previously had need of a bed or dresser of my own. Apart from those, I had also bought a large amount of books, DVDs and comics. I decided to sell off a large chunk of those before the move, but it still probably wasn’t enough. (I didn’t actually sell any of the comics. Those are pretty difficult to unload.)

The last time I visited my family in Lima, I decided to switch cars with my parents. They had my grandpa’s old station wagon, in which I could fit far more stuff than my tiny ‘93 Honda Civic. (Sure, it wouldn’t make me a hit with the ladies, but it would only be for a limited time.) I also couldn’t resist letting my dad know that he was always welcome to help me move. After all, I certainly couldn’t lift a lot of that stuff by myself, and when I thought about it, I couldn’t think of too many people who’d be able to help. To my delight, my parents accepted the offer, and they decided that our dog Macy would “help” as well. (To those of you who are unaware, Macy is one of the best dogs ever.)

To facilitate the moving of the large, heavy items, we decided it would be best to rent a U-Haul truck. I picked it up on Friday afternoon, and the first thing I noticed was that it looked like it was at least ten years old. Aside from that, none of the advertised amenities actually came with the vehicle. The air conditioner didn’t work; the tuning button on the radio was broken; the suspension seemed shot, thereby making the promised “gentle ride” false advertising. But as long as it got to where I needed it to go, I could put up with it.

Loading the truck was slightly easier than I expected. (We had a bit of trouble getting the box spring around the tight corners in the house, but once that part was over, it was easy from there.) After we had it as full as we could get it, we proceeded to drive it along the highway. It was at that point that the truck began to make a loud knocking sound. The hood also began to rattle as though it would pop open at any moment. About a mile from the exit we were to take, there was the unmistakable sound of something breaking, and black smoke began to rise from under the hood. We pulled the truck onto the shoulder, and let it sit for a moment. We then tried to restart it, but to no avail.

I called U-Haul’s roadside assistance and tried to listen to the operator. The passing traffic made it difficult to hear the woman who mumbled to begin with. She said she would call back in about thirty minutes to inform me of how soon they could get a tow truck to the area. She kept her promise, but for some reason, she was unable to hear me. (I actually heard her better during that conversation, ironically.) I tried yelling as loud as I could during the call, but she still couldn’t make anything out. Instead, she just told me that there would be a truck there in about an hour and a half.

We called Mom to come get us just so we wouldn’t have to stand out on the side of the interstate. Not being used to it, she can’t totally handle city traffic like what Cleveland has to offer, so she was understandably jittery by the time she got there. We waited around, and the truck actually arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the operator had predicted. The driver looked to be in a fairly precarious position every time he had to hitch up anything on the driver’s side. I don’t know how one gets used to that sort of thing, but I would have totally been in fear for my life.

He towed us to the house, since we were pretty close, stopping partway to turn the U-Haul truck around. (Apparently, it’s preferable to tow it from the rear.) After getting us to our destination, I slipped him a twenty and thanked him for his service. The unloading went quickly, but seeing as how the tow truck didn’t arrive until a quarter after eight o’clock, I knew there would be no way of getting the U-Haul back to the rental office by the 8:30 deadline they’d given me. I called the hotline back to make sure that I was all squared away, and they told me that I would be. They also told me that it would take about two and a half hours to get another truck to haul it to a repair shop, so I left the key in the glove box and left with my parents and my brother, who had arrived later.

The next day, I dropped by the rental office to request a refund, and that was when I discovered that they had no idea that the truck was no longer in my possession. (I found out later that they’d called me earlier and left a voicemail message to inform me that I was late returning the truck and that it was supposed to go out that day to someone else.) The guy pretty much told me that, unless I wanted to fight it out directly with the U-Haul Corporation, he could drop a ton of charges and make my final bill about $27. I figured I could live with that, since ultimately it sort of did what I needed it to do.

After my parents left, I began the process of cleaning the old place and ruthlessly trashing everything I didn’t need. This took a long, long time, and thanks to the weather, I was exhausted by the end of the day. This, of course, was only the first of the three evenings it would take. The second was by far the worst, as I didn’t have a chance to shower the entire day. (Okay, technically, I did, but I was so tired that I opted not to.) The third was more tolerable, although I still had a lot of cleaning to do. Plus, I needed to get rid of the couch. (Neither John nor I wanted it.) Apparently, the Salvation Army couldn’t be bothered to pick it up until sometime in September, so I tried a local second-hand furniture place. Someone from the store came by to look at it, but she said she couldn’t use it. Therefore, the couch got tossed.

The funny thing about the removal of the couch was the fact that, in doing so, we broke a segment of the stairway window. The whole time we lived in the house, we never broke a window. Hell, I don’t think we broke much of anything that actually belonged to the house. (The lone exception would have been a part of the balcony railing, which had been rotting long before we moved in.) Somehow, our landlord Norm decided it wasn’t a big deal, and he gave the full deposit back to both me and John.

So now I’ve been living there for about three weeks, and it seems to be going fairly well so far. The house gets a bit crowded at times. Aside from Paul, Darcy and me, there are also a few occasional occupants: Paul’s fiancée Maggie and Paul’s daughters Rachel and Rebecca. There are also animals, Darcy’s cat Sabrina and occasionally, Paul’s dogs Bosko and Peppy. (He shares custody of the dogs with his ex.) Pretty much, I keep my bedroom door closed at all times. As much as I love animals, I don’t like the hair, so I figure that if I cut them off completely from the room, it should keep hair to a minimum.

Also, I’ve gotten Darcy into Doctor Who. Slowly but surely, I’m spreading the gospel.