Epic Challenge pt 7

Things over heard at bars:

"They're doing a red line bar crawl, with a game that is awesome!"
- bartender at Davin Bar + Kitchen

"I can sing that shit a Capella!"
- FreakyBalloon

Epic Challenge pt 6

Third stop, Blarney Stone. People grabbed food. We're almost done with the southern portion of the crawl...

Epic Challenge pt 5

The med kit.

Epic Challenge pt 4

Final day of reveals leading up to Saturday. I present to you, the official rules and penalties for the Epic Challenge.

Epic Challenge Rules

1. Everyone buys their own round.
2. Minimum one round per bar.
3. No refusals (unless intoxicated).
4. A unanimous decision will allow for up to two bars skipped (one south of DTX, one north of DTX).
5. Cannot start drinking until everyone has been served.

Epic Challenge Penalties

Penalties are in Crawl Reputation points

1. Refusing a round when not intoxicated  (500 pts)
2. Not finishing a round before group leaves bar (250 pts)
3. Spilling a drink (100 pts)
4. Starting to drink before everyone is served (250 pts)
5. Falling down in public (500 pts)
6. Falling asleep during the crawl (1000 pts)
7. Vomiting (Game Over)

Reputation Points will be explained on Saturday, as will the final "Activity." Therefore, it is important to be on time. We will meet at 11:30am at Ashmont Station, across from where the buses depart. I look forward to seeing everyone on Saturday.

Epic Challenge pt 3

When attempting a task such as the one that will take place this Saturday, information is key. Yesterday, I rolled out some info on necessary items and suggested items. Today, I present the "map." I've been asked several times "where are we going?" Or, "What bars are we gonna stop at?" I've been holding back these answers until now. Look below at the chart for a glimpse of the path we will take this weekend.

RED LINE STOP	BAR NAME	PRICE	NOTES	BAR ETA
Ashmont	Ashmont Grill	$$	Credit/Cash	12pm
Shawmut	Centre Bar	$	Credit/Cash	12:45pm
Fields Corner	Blarney Stone	$$	Credit/Cash	1:30pm
Savin Hill	Savin Bar & Kitchen	$$	Credit/Cash	2:15pm
Andrew	Sports Connection	$	Cash Only	3pm
Broadway	Amrheins	$$	Credit/Cash	3:45pm
South Station	Tavern in the Square	$$	Credit/Cash	4:30pm
Downtown Crossing	J.J. Foley's	$	Credit/Cash	5:15pm
Park Street	Jm Curley	$$	Credit/Cash	6pm
Charles MGH	Beacon Hill Pub	$	Cash Only	6:45pm
Kendall/MIT	State Park	$	Credit/Cash	7:30pm
Central Square	The Field	$	Cash Only	8:15pm
Harvard Square	Felipe's Taqueria	$	Credit/Cash	9pm
Porter Square	Toad	$	Credit/Cash	9:45pm
Davis Square	Sligo Pub	$	Cash Only	10:30pm

All price points are based off the Yelp pricing scale. You can see that the plan is to be cost-efficient while imbibing. Take note of the the "Bar ETA." There is a pace and we will do our best to maintain it. But, fear not; no one will be left behind. In my clan, everyone makes it home in one piece.

Now that you have the itinerary and the schedule, begin your preparation!

Epic Challenge pt 2

I am five days away from my Epic Challenge and support for my task has been overwhelming. When I initially posted the event, there was an immediate response from my friends. Many said I was nuts to attempt something so outrageous. Others applauded my determination and pledged their aid to my cause. Because I appreciate those who have said they will crawl with me, I have decided to reward them with fun activities (besides imbibing) along the way. Those who come along with me have opportunities to earn Reputation, honor, and rewards. That being said, I want to make sure everyone who participates is ready and fully prepared to do so. Here is a list of some items you will need as well as some things to think about.

Necessary Items

• MBTA Charlie Card - You can't get anywhere without a "ship." This is your means of travel. I suggest a Day Pass since it will cover you for the duration of the event and is fairly priced.
• A valid form of Identification - Make sure you are able to play. Don't be the person who can't get in; that's just lame.
• Funds - Call it cash, money, glimmer, whatever, you'll need to bring some along. Most places will accept credit/debit cards, but there are a few that do not. Plan accordingly.

Recommended Items

• Restorative Drinks - There will be some basic supplies on hand, but it will be a good idea to carry something that will replenish electrolytes. It's a long day; you don't want to tap out early.
• Comfy Shoes - There will be some walking involved.
• An Open Mind - The Event will ask much of you. Prepare yourself to rise to the challenge. 

I am close enough now to see the Challenge unfolding in front of me and those who stand with me. I will share more details and advice as the days advance. I'm looking forward to sharing all that transpires this Saturday.

Epic Challenge

They say that life is not worth living without the challenges it presents that we must overcome. Maybe I read that somewhere, or maybe someone told it to me, but I think there is some truth to it. In meeting and surpassing these challenges, we test our strength of will, our resolve, and our ability to cope with unexpected obstacles. These things "build character," and I'm prepared to test mine with the help of my friends. That being said, here is the Challenge:

Click image for a larger view

 Thrillist's (a website you should familiarize yourself with) Boston division put out this MBTA map with a bar to go along with every stop, on all lines. Epic. Perhaps you've seen something similar, but on a smaller scale. Some have created portions of this map that only cover a few stops on one line. I call that a cop out and it will not stand. I have set in front me, this challenge, this path to (alcoholic) greatness. I have given myself until the end of the summer to complete the two main train lines, Red and Orange. I recognize that this feat is big. maybe even bigger than I can handle. To that end, I will enlist the help of my friends, you could call them my clan... While I am prepared to take on this trial on my own, it is my hope that my friends will join me because something like this benefits from company. There is not much better than the camaraderie created in a shared pint. In the same spirit, dear reader, come with me on this journey. I will use the blog to update my progress, perhaps even live blog some of the event. Will I finish? Will I be joined in "battle"? Will it all just end up being a terrible disaster? Stay tuned to find out...!

A ride of the pantless on the MBTA - Boston.com

I came across this story on Boston.com and decided it needed sharing, especially considering all the MBTA stories I've posted.  Check out the link.
A ride of the pantless on the MBTA - Boston.com

This is something I probably would have participated in with my people were I still in Boston. Some quick questions and observations: 1) Did anyone I know ride pantless? 2) I was impressed by the innovation of some of the riders. No pants doesn't necessarily mean underwear only. 3) I sort of wish the reporter had talked to some pants-wearing spectators to get their opinion of the event.

Of Mice and Music

[The following is an excerpt from a collection of short stories I wrote about growing up in Boston and riding the T.]

The Park Street train station is notorious for a few things. It’s one of the few train stations that connects three different lines, the Red, Orange, and Green, at one place. It’s also known as the hub of one of the oldest public transit lines in America. According to history, the Green line in its trolley form originated from Park Street as one of the oldest above ground train lines. It’s also one of the busiest train stations in Boston. With three lines connecting from it, it is easy to see why. Because it’s so busy it is also one of the hottest train stations in Boston. Second only to Downtown Crossing, the temperature in Park Street has gotten up to and over one hundred degrees. While all these stats are impressive, most people will agree that Park Street is most known for its entertainment.

All over Park Street you can find people performing for dollars and change. I’ve seen a breakdancing troupe outside the entrance to Park Street, a college aged magician doing card tricks on the Green line level, and you can almost always count on seeing someone with an acoustic guitar playing on the Red line level of the station. This person is the most interesting to me. They usually sit on the middle platform between the inbound and outbound train tracks playing music and hoping not to be drown out by the noise of incoming trains. Some even bring speaker equipment to combat train noise. These people impress me because they situate themselves right in the middle of passengers. When you’re at Park Street waiting for a train on the middle platform you can’t help but listen to their music even if you don’t like it. This seems like the perfect way to get heard, despite how annoying it seems.

I spend a fair amount of time at Park Street, and I’ve noticed that humans aren’t the only species that listens to the music. One of my pastimes at Park Street is counting the mice that I see while waiting for the train. They aren’t that big, and they move rather quickly so it takes a sharp eye to spot them. The mice are about the size of a thumb, and colored dirty brown. This makes them almost invisible when they scurry across the tracks. Most times one can only see them as a brief flash in the corner of your eye. Once you turn to look fully they have disappeared among the dirt and grime of the track.

The mice like the music. Well, that isn’t exactly true. It’s more that the mice are drawn by the music. Whenever a musician is out on the platform I’ve seen more mice running about on the tracks. Often times I see them running up and down the track stopping near to where the person is playing. They seem to listen for a moment and then run off in the opposite direction, only to come back moments later and repeat the process. Every time I see it I can’t help but think of the Pied Piper. The mice seem to be waiting for instruction from the musician. They wait there on the track, almost at attention, once they have received orders, they hurry away. When the task is completed they return for more directions. No matter what the music type the behavior is the same. I wonder what is so captivating to them, what is so mesmerizing about the music that these mice become soldiers in the musicians cause. What is the musician telling them?

Every time I wait for the Red Line at Park Street I look for the musician. The Pied Piper of the day. I look to see what he or she is commanding of their troops, and how well the troops are performing. Only at Park Street.

Culture Shock

[The following is an excerpt from a collection of short stories I wrote about growing up in Boston and riding the T.]

All types of people ride the “T.” It is transportation for the masses. As long as you pay your fare you can ride. Most people on the “T” are good people as far as I can tell. The high school students are loud and considered obnoxious by the old women who are riding downtown the shop. There are young professionals who wear crisp suits and read the New York Times on the ride into town. I’ve seen construction workers, and even homeless people. The weekend is even more diverse as people shed their work clothes for more comfortable party clothes. This is the time that you see drunken people on the train. They deserve a story unto themselves. While I’ve seen all types of people on the train, I’ve seen all types of people on the train. This includes those that don’t quite fit the mold.

During the summer after my first year of college I worked as a camp counselor at a writing camp based out of Tufts University. This meant that every morning, I would meet my buddy and fellow counselor, Matt, and he and I would take the Red Line to Davis Square. Davis Square is on the other side of the city, and thus it was a long train ride both in the mornings and the afternoons. Most mornings we would pass the time by finishing the corrections to our campers’ journals. Being the good counselors that we are, we rarely saved journals for the morning commute. However in the afternoons it was a little more difficult. We could get an early start on the journals, but that would mean not having anything to do on the morning commute, so that was out of the question. We often resorted to looking at women and talking about video games that we had played or wanted to play. Sometimes we would discuss deep philosophical issues, such as censorship in the media, but this was a last resort.

On one particular trip we had exhausted video games, and seen enough pretty women to last us a life time. Matt was opening his bag to pull out a journal. I had to act quickly or all would be lost. Fortunately I would be saved from discussing the pros and cons of communism because a new topic of interest stepped on to the train. It was an Asian woman with two children in tow. One was in a stroller, and the other looked like a boy. I wish I could give you a definite answer to the older child’s sex but I can’t. It looked like a boy and even had some characteristically young male mannerisms but because of the way it was dressed I couldn’t be sure. The way they were all dresses, save the baby who was dressed normally, was enough to spark a conversation alone. The (boy?) was wearing a Japanese school girl’s outfit. You know the type. A loose white blouse with a red neck tie that splays out in two even ends down the chest, a short blue skirt with pleats, white socks pulled up to mid shin, and black patent leather shoes that reflected the overhead lights in the train.

The mother was wearing a magenta pink waistcoat that was unbuttoned down to the place where her ribcage split. She was not wearing an undershirt or bra. She had on black leggings that were pulled up and covered by the end of her waistcoat. Over the leggings she wore chaps. Yes, chaps. Like you’ve seen in westerns or more recently, as an accessory in bondage sex. These however, were not black leather, they were silk or satin, and they shimmered as she moved onto the train. They were gold in color and covered with Japanese characters. She was also wearing stiletto heels with a severely pointed toe. Her outfit caused most of us to stare; those that regained their senses looked away and opted for furtive glances in a show of discreet politeness. Others cursed politeness to hell and stared outright.

One woman in particular, a heavyset black woman seemed to take personal offence to the Asians woman’s presence. The black woman acted as if the Asian woman has walked on the train and slapped her in the face. She shook her head in disgust stopping only to look at the Asian woman, and go back to being outraged by her presence. Matt and I watched the Asian woman board the train with curious interest. We had no need to discuss communism. The Asian woman seemed to be oblivious to all the attention she had received upon entering the train. She told her son (daughter?) to sit down in a seat and be quiet while she gently rocked the stroller. As attention over her entrance died down, Matt and I proceeded to make comments in hushed voices about where she was coming from and where she was going. We amused ourselves and almost forgot that she was even there. But at JFK/UMASS she reminded everyone of her presence on the train.

As the train entered JFK/UMASS, the Asian woman coughed and then spit out some phlegm onto the floor of the train and then wiped it with her shoe. This was too much for the black woman. She looked at the spittle, and then at the Asian woman and shouted at her.

“That is just disgusting! I can’t believe you would do that!” she looked around for support from other people on the train. Getting none and needing none, she continued her tirade.

“Look at you! Who dresses that way huh? And then you spit on the train! It’s people like you who make me sick!” the black woman yelled.

“Shut up you! How dare you insult me!” the Asian woman spit back. Her accent was thick but you could make out everything. Matt and I were all ears. This was great.

“No you shut up!” the black woman countered. “You just a dirty bitch! Just filthy”

“No you bitch!” the Asian woman retorted.

This seemed to strike a nerve with the black woman. She stood up and took a menacing step towards the Asian woman. The black woman easily had fifty pounds on the Asian woman, who took a step back when the black woman stood up. I had never seen a fight on the train before. I couldn’t believe my luck. Timing has a lot to do with what happened next. I often wonder if the train was not pulling into a station would there have been a fight, and who would have won. But as it was the intercom crackled and broke the staggering silence of the compartment.

“JFK/UMASS CHANGE HERE FRO BRAINTREE SERVICE, THIS IS AN ASHMONT TRAIN.”

The doors opened and the Asian woman, seeing her opportunity exited the train dragging her daughter (son?). The black woman just stood there, breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. I could see the sweat running down the side of her face. She went back to her seat and sat down heavily, not saying a word. In fact the whole compartment was silent; it felt as if no one knew how to move past the situations that had just occurred. I laughed, loud and hard, clapping Matt on the back hard enough to make him shake. Everyone looked at me, but I didn’t care.

“Did you see that? She was ready to hit her, that’s crazy.” I said through fits of laughter. I was laughing so hard I was crying. Matt just nodded and opened his bag and pulled out a journal. I wiped my eye and settled down. By now the compartment had gone back to a facsimile of normalcy. That was my best train ride ever.

The Death of Chivalry

[The following is an excerpt from a collection of short stories I wrote about growing up in Boston and riding the T.]

I like my job. I’ve managed to create the perfect combination of challenge and expectation from my supervisor and slacking off on my part. However, I can’t stand traveling to work. I use the “T”, this city’s excuse for public transportation, and honestly it’s a trip. It really is. If I get to the train station early I can score a seat. This would normally be a good thing because it would ensure a comfy ride all the way to work. Except, as a young male, if you have a seat you also have an obligation to give it up at your first opportunity. Not an issue for me. I see nothing wrong with giving my seat to an elderly lady or someone, usually a young woman, with children. However, I think it’s fair to keep your seat if you have a good enough reason – like an injury.

Recently, I sprained my ankle playing football with some friends. The injury wasn’t serious I limped into the doctor’s office and was given a small, white “airbrance,” some ibuprofen, a pack of ice and told to “walk it off.” This meant that I was fine to go to work as long as I was careful to not re-injure myself. All was fine until one morning when I happened across an empty seat on the train. I sat down relieved that I would be able to take some pressure off of my foot and promptly fell asleep.

I awoke later to a sharp pain in my injured foot. Fearing the worst I snapped awake to see what was causing the pain, as a young male with a seat on the train, it was my worst fear. An old woman with a young child was standing in front of me. She and the child were holding on to the pole near my seat and the woman was casually tapping my foot with her cane. I decided to avoid confrontation. I moved my foot.

The tapping ceased momentarily and I tried to fall back asleep. Only three stops had gone by since I got on the train. The woman found my foot again and the tapping renewed. I moved it again and pretended not to notice. A woman sitting across from me sighed heavily and shook her head. I dozed a bit more until I was two stops away from my destination. More tapping, a little harder this time. I moved my foot, cleared my throat, and looked at her. She glared back at me. I would not be intimidated. A few seconds later she started tapping my foot again.

“Excuse me.” I said. She just stared at me.
“I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t realize it, but you’re tapping my foot and I’m in-" she cut me off.
“Maybe you should move then…be a gentleman.”
She spit out the word “gentleman.” I felt the urge to wipe spittle off of my jacket.
“Look I would move but it’s just…”
“Always an excuse right?” She said over me. “Chivalry must be dead ‘cause I been tapping you, trying to give you the opportunity to do the right thing but all you did was ignore me! Lord Almighty! These young men don’t have no respect and ain’t got no chivalry!” She exclaimed. Other women on the train nodded in approval and looked at me with disappointment.
“Fine!” I said. “You’re right chivalry is dead.”

I stood up and prepared to get off the train as it pulled into my stop. The brace on my ankle flashed briefly as I stood up when this happened, the little boy the woman was with brightened and began pointing at my foot.

“Gramma, Gramma. That’s the same brace I had when I broke my foot!” he said excitedly. I swung my bag onto my shoulders and limped off. I hate the train.

MBTA part 6

At some point I'll have to compile all the stories I've written about what I've seen on the MBTA. They might add up to a good length essay. I've got two more to add to the list, both from today and from the same commute home from West Roxbury.

I take two buses to get home, the #36 from West Roxbury to Forest Hills Station and then the #21 from Forest Hills to a block from my house. You've seen the ride to work, which is hectic because of how many people crowd the buses. On the way home, the rides can take as much as twice as long because the buses don't run as often. It's a pain, but you just get used to it and learn the bus schedule so you do as little waiting as possible.

When I got on the #36 to go to Forest Hills there was one man on the bus, sitting near the operator talking with him as if they were old friends. As I walked by, he reached into a black plastic bag and pulled out a Natty Ice and cracked it open. He finished that on while the bus waited, and killed one more before getting off the bus. Shortly after, I fell asleep.

Usually, the MBTA provides me with one outrageous situation per day, but I guess I had earned the double because I walked into another one as I was boarding the #21 at Forest Hills. While boarding the bus, the driver, a heavier set woman with short, close cropped brown hair, told a teen that he couldn't board the bus. The teen got off and made a fuss about it, calling her a bitch and other names.

It got interesting when they began to trade "yo mama" barbs. As far as I can tell, there was some issue about whether the teen would pay the fare. To that end, the operator, who had a long line of people waiting to board the bus, allowed everyone to ride for free.

As the bus pulled off, the operator made a point to yell out of the door that her shift ended at 5 p.m. and he could find her at Forest Hills. She also informed the teen that she had brothers and that she was "real hood" and that "they could do this." I just had to laugh. I really mean it when I say I love the MBTA.

MBTA part 5

I just watched a kid roll a blunt on a bus while on my way to work. The smell of weed permeates the area where I'm sitting. The kids around pretend not to notice...!

MBTA part 4

Recently, I've stopped driving to and from work and school in favor of riding the T. beyond the financial boon of saving money on gas, I've enjoyed my time on buses and trains because it affords me a glimpse of the daily human condition. This evening was no different.

I have class Tuesday nights and tend to ride the train home late, usually around 9:30 p.m. I spend this time catching up on pleasure reading since most other times I'm doing school or internship related work. This evening I was enjoying a conversation between Akasha and Lestat when my attention was turned to other people riding the train with me.

The train was unusually packed this evening because of the Boston University opening night basketball game. Naturally, some folks were intoxicated to varying degrees. One such person was Dillon. Dillon, who had been at the game, was talking to a pretty young blond with a pink scarf when I got on the train. As it turned out, the Asian girl who got on as the same stop as me knew the blond. They sat next to each other and the blond introduced the Asian girl to Dillon.

"This is my friend, Tenny," the blond said. (I hope I'm spelling her name correctly.) The blond then turned to Tenny and told her to explain why her name was Tenny. Tenny declined, saying the blond told the story much better. As it turns out, Tenny was born on the tenth day of the tenth month at 10 a.m. Hence her name. Cute when you think about it.

Dillon was equally moved, explaining that he was born in the tenth month on the eleventh day and 1 p.m. Hence the name "Dillon" with two "ls" to signify eleven. Tenny laughed politely at this.

Dillon, a pale blond man, wearing a gray fedora, continued talking to Tenny and her blond friend, asking how they knew each other and what Tenny was studying in school. She answered all questions with a polite understanding of how drunk Dillon was. When it was discovered that she and the blond were from New York, Dillon talked about his sister living there and spending two Thanksgivings in Manhattan, one of which he spent extremely high on marijuana.

Dillon also talked about spending time in Seattle, "it rains a lot," and taking comedy classes at Cambridge Center for Adult Education. At Arlington, Tenny and the blond got off the train, but not before reminding Dillon to check out the blond's trivia night on Saturdays at Penguin Pizza, near Brigham and Woman's Hospital. Dillon promised to show up this coming Saturday.

After Tenny and the blond exited the train, Dillon's companion, a mousy looking girl in an over-sized blue parka, chided him for being so flirtatious. Dillon explained that if one wanted to pick up girls, that is how one had to act. I chuckled out loud.

The irony is that Dillon's intoxication blinded him to his boorish behavior. I'm certain that Tenny and the blond had a grand time talking about him once they were off the train. He'll make for a good story to tell their friends, just like he's made for a good blog entry. Not sure I can say it enough, but I love riding the T.

MBTA part 3

While waiting for a train, today, I saw four boys attempt to jump a fifth boy. The jumpee screamed for the police and help. The people near him did nothing...

MBTA pt. 2

Once again my faithfulness to the MBTA pays off. I don't ride the train as often as I used to so I don't see the rampant nonsense that takes place in it s cars. Tonight was an exception.

I spent most of yesterday at my friend’s house, working on Banner stories and the major project that she and I are spearheading. At 11:45 p.m. I dragged myself out of her apartment and over to the green line to catch one of the last trains home.

Normally, I drive to my friend's place but today I decided to give the car a rest and use public transportation. I'm glad I did.

At the Kenmore Square stop the train was filled with rowdy, loud, drunk people, many of whom were coming from the Dave Matthews Concert in Fenway Park. One gentleman, Jon "with no 'h'." boarded the train with a wooden stool painted green, surrounded by friends and fellow concert goers.

Jon was about 5'10, with the ruddy complexion of a long -time drinker. He wore faded blue jeans, a Red Sox cap, turned backwards, and had tattoo running along his right arm.

Upon boarding the train, he set the stool down in front of the train door across from me and proceeded to hold court. Topics ranged from how awesome the concert was to how a girl on t he previous train vomited on her boyfriend.

Once the train pulled out of the station Jon began to sing, entertaining those around him and enticing the m to sing with him. The first song, "ride it" by the Quad City DJs, was a natural choice since we were all on a train.

By Hynes Convention Center, Jo n was leading the crowd in "Rapper's Delight" prompting two girls from West Virginia to offer to take him back to WV with them.

At Arlington Jon was conducting a stirring rendition of "Living on a prayer." The two WV girls were enthralled. So much so that they both fell over as the train lurched. This prompted Jon to give up his stool to one of them.

By Park Street the songs had died down in favor of general yelling and commotion. As I exited the train, the WV girls were extolling the virtues of Jon's mother, by claiming her to be "the shit!"

Finally off the train, I turned back as I heard Jon s tart up "Bust a Move" by Young MC. The WV girls were dancing again. I just shook my head.

I love riding the MBTA.