Begin here, then read this.
Being revived sucks. Boston tells me it feels like coming up for air after being under water for so long that your lungs are about to burst. He says it almost burns. I never really understood Sunsinger warlocks. To me, it feels like being kicked in the chest repeatedly until you wake up screaming from pain which is always how I feel. This time is no different. There is a flash of blinding white light, and suddenly, I'm on my feet, coughing inside my helmet, and disoriented. I'm inside Zwazo's bubble. Safe.
"We gotta move. Now," Zwazo says to me. "Vex teleported in behind Fallen defense line. We never saw it." I nod.
"Must have been the bombardment and the mines that got me," I say. He just looks at me. No need to answer a rhetorical questions.
"Boston and Kittyy?" I ask. He points off the way we came in. They are crouched behind a cracked barrier firing in different directions at dregs and goblins.
"Heads up," Zwazo says. Two dregs leap inside the bubble, intent on knifing through us. We side step and let the bubble work to our advantage, blinding the dregs as they land. We each melee one of the dreg and watch them scatter into arc and void damage dust. Then we sprint out of the bubble towards Boston and Kittyy who have cleared our retreat path.
There isn't enough space for all of us to find cover behind the barrier. We need a new plan. They aren't saying anything, but everyone is waiting for me to give orders. Comes with being Clan Leader. My HUD begins to light up with enemy presence. My ghost tells me that more Vex are inbound along with Fallen. Not looking good.
"Where are reinforcements?" I ask no one in particular.
"Bailed," Zwazo answers. "Drop zone is too hot. They can't land safely" he finishes. I curse to myself.
"Ok, we're heading west. There is a bridge a few clicks that way, we can try to flank," I say. Boston and Kittyy just stare at me. I repeat myself, but get the same reaction. Boston taps the side of his helmet.
"...lo? Can you... ear me" He asks. I shake my head. My ghost says there is interference on the comms due to all the electricity in the air. Great. I point west then summon my Time Breaker speed bike. Everyone follows my lead and we jet off westbound towards the bridge.
We speed off through the outer edges of the abandoned settlement, bombed out buildings hulk and crumble on both sides, grim reminders of golden ages long past. Along the river, the Fallen and Vex exchange gunfire and explosions. If we can get to the bridge, we can flank all of them and push them back off the river. It's a gamble, but if it works, and we secure the area... My mind boggles at the potential strategic advantage.
We pull up to the bridge just in time to see a squad of Fallen get blown up by a group of Vex Hobgoblins and Minotaurs. This just keeps getting better. We ditch our speed bikes in a small grove of trees and make our way towards the bridge. As we move closer, it becomes obvious that the Vex are taking control of the area. Fallen bodies lay strewn about the streets. They threw tons of dregs at the Vex with no success. From our approach, I see vandals and captains attempting to retake the bridge, but instead, they are being pushed back, forced to retreat in our directions.
"The Fallen are trapped," I think out loud. Kittyy responds.
"We can cut them down, as they fall back." Comms must be working again.
"Yeah, ok, let's set up here," I say. "Heavy weapon volley, Kittyy, clean up the stragglers by sniping."
We get in to formation, Zwazo, Boston, and I crouch in front of Kittyy. When the vandals and captains come into range, we let loose. Lighting rounds from Thunderlord as well as Gjallarhorn and Truth rocket rounds seek their targets. No Fallen survive. We reload and advance towards the bridge. The Vex have taken notice of us and the Hobgoblins begin to fire, their single-shot Line Rifles gauging the distance. Boston takes a shot in the chest, cracking his shield. He laughs over the comm and takes a knee. We circle up to protect him while his shield regenerates and return fire. An old mantra pops into my head as I aim through my scope. Something we used to say when I was in training, To kill a Vex, the chest is best. It brings a smile to my face as squeeze the trigger and watch goblins shudder, twitch, then burst with a sizzling pop as my bullets pass through their central processor.
Boston is back on his feet and sprinting ahead, shotgun in hand. He makes quick work of the Hobgoblins who attempted to hide behind their energy shields. Kittyy lays down cover fire with her sniper rifle, keeping the Minotaurs from getting too close. Zwazo and mop up. It's over almost as soon as it starts. We reload, I check our coordinates and begin to setup an uplink so other Guardians can lock onto our signal and drop in on our location. It's just in time too. As soon as I finish, the air gets dim and there is an odd energy that causes interference with my HUD. It can only mean one thing. Vex are teleporting in.
"Incoming," Zwazo says. I look up and watch as a Vex Cyclops appears at the north end of the bridge surrounded by Goblins, and Minotaurs.
"Hydra and Harpies approaching from south," Kittyy says.
"Plan?" Boston asks me. I check the uplink and start to laugh. Everyone stares at me.
"Relax, guys, we've got help coming," I say.
On cue, as if dropping into the Crucible, Guardians appear and drop to the ground, locked, loaded, and ready. They take up defensive positions, each fireteam leader directing their crew. A lone Hunter drops in near me, salutes, and approaches. His name is Demonbreun, he's in the clan. He joines our comm channel.
"Greetings, Phreelancerz. Minding the small fry, are we?" He asks.
"Demon," I say. "Here to lend us a hand?"
"No, I've been put in charge of the bridge defense," he responds. "I also have a message from the Vanguard for you."
"Oh really?" I'm skeptical. These always involve retrieving something for them.
"Yeah, they need you to take your team to Venus. Skolas sighting."
"F@#$king Skolas," Zwazo spits. I know what he means. Demon presses on.
"Uplink with Petra from the Reef when you hit orbit. She has details. Good luck."
I nod and tell my ghost to bring us to our ships. No one has caught Skolas yet. It would be a major triumph for Phreelancerz Clan. Let's go to Venus.
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boston. Show all posts
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 11, 2015
Phreelancerz pt. 2
Start here
At the Tower, I have a few stops to make. I talk to my Vanguard rep, Commander Zavala, to bring him up to speed on the situation. He nods and tells me to get back out there. Typical. Next, I give my engrams to Master Rahool. He gives me back a Strange Coin and some guns I break down into glimmer and weapon parts. Last, I check my vault to store those extra materials and see if there are any guns I want to take with me. My vault is full, I need more space. Zwazo is arguing with the Frame that runs the bounty board. I think he's losing. I turn away and walk towards the railing that runs along the edge of the Tower, as I approach, Boston and Kittyy drop in from their ships.
Phreelancerz Clan. Greetings are exchanged. Zwazo and I wait while they grab supplies, check for available bounties, and prep for what is coming. I do a quick tally, two Titans, one Defender Class, one Striker Class, One Warlock, Sunsinger Class, and a Hunter, Gunslinger Class. A solid load out of power, defense and recovery. Once back in low orbit, I bring Boston and Kittyy up to speed on the mission brief and our new strategy of hard contact to force the Fallen away from the river. Boston is all for it, Kittyy, naturally more cautious, has questions.
"Do you have a count on how many Fallen are present?" She asks. I don't.
"My ghost says several hundred, all ranks including servitors," I reply. Kittyy is quiet on the comm and Boston speaks up.
"Won't be a problem, Dash and I will take point, Zwazo is mid coverage and Kittyy, you can tail and snipe from distance," he says. It's as good a plan as anything I've thought of.
"Fine, just don't get so spread out that we can't revive each other," she warns.
We dive in low through the atmosphere over the open plain, as we hit the ground, all of our ghosts go crazy blaring warnings about incoming enemies. The sky darkens as several Skiffs, Fallen drop ships, appear overhead. One of them is carrying a Walker, a six-legged tank with a mounted plasma cannon. The Walker drops to the ground with a thunderous impact, releasing Shanks. We scatter, trying to find what little cover is available. Zwazo creates a protective bubble made of pure energy. Boston, Kittyy, and I all slide inside to avoid getting cut down by Shank fire.
Enemy fire echoes off the bubble as we cower inside. I crouch next to Boston who is laughing. I look at him.
"So, that didn't go so great," he chuckles. I can't help but smile inside my helmet. His enthusiasm for battle is contagious.
"Yeah," I say. "New plan: Kick Fallen ass." Boston nods, stands and steps out of the bubble, firing Red Death, the staccato bursts are loud compared to the "pew, pew, pew" noise of the Shank firing mechanism. I step out of the opposite side of the bubble from Boston, level Vision of Confluence at the same leg he is shooting and squeeze the trigger. The gun pushes against me in a steady rhythm. The Walker staggers, emitting a burst of electricity, then bows its head to reveal its weak spot along its "neck." Zwazo's bubble dissipates and I hear familiar sounds. Thunderlord, Zwazo's heavy machine gun, whines and rattles off several arc rounds. The high-pitch whip crack of Icebreaker, Kittyy's favorite sniper rifle, completes our well-orchestrated take down. The Walker never stood a chance.
When the Walker explodes, it's just a matter of clean up with the Shanks. We collect some glimmer and other materials and then it's back to the river mission. We move in formation towards the river, ready to cut through Fallen and establish a beachhead. We arrive just in time to see another Fireteam of Guardians make an attempt at breaching the Fallen defenses. They have some success and we follow close on their heels to support their efforts. Then the sky lights up. We're all caught by surprise.
Web mines and shock grenades go off, as we stagger back and try to regroup. My head is ringing and everything sounds far away. Kittyy is waving her hands frantically at me. I can't tell what she means. My ghost says my shield is down. Suddenly, my left shoulder lights up with pain from impact. I go to one knee. Shoulder stings and burns at the same time. Arc damage. Kittyy raises a rocket launcher to her shoulder and lets loose. Something behind me screams in agony. Everything starts to fade.
At the Tower, I have a few stops to make. I talk to my Vanguard rep, Commander Zavala, to bring him up to speed on the situation. He nods and tells me to get back out there. Typical. Next, I give my engrams to Master Rahool. He gives me back a Strange Coin and some guns I break down into glimmer and weapon parts. Last, I check my vault to store those extra materials and see if there are any guns I want to take with me. My vault is full, I need more space. Zwazo is arguing with the Frame that runs the bounty board. I think he's losing. I turn away and walk towards the railing that runs along the edge of the Tower, as I approach, Boston and Kittyy drop in from their ships.
Phreelancerz Clan. Greetings are exchanged. Zwazo and I wait while they grab supplies, check for available bounties, and prep for what is coming. I do a quick tally, two Titans, one Defender Class, one Striker Class, One Warlock, Sunsinger Class, and a Hunter, Gunslinger Class. A solid load out of power, defense and recovery. Once back in low orbit, I bring Boston and Kittyy up to speed on the mission brief and our new strategy of hard contact to force the Fallen away from the river. Boston is all for it, Kittyy, naturally more cautious, has questions.
"Do you have a count on how many Fallen are present?" She asks. I don't.
"My ghost says several hundred, all ranks including servitors," I reply. Kittyy is quiet on the comm and Boston speaks up.
"Won't be a problem, Dash and I will take point, Zwazo is mid coverage and Kittyy, you can tail and snipe from distance," he says. It's as good a plan as anything I've thought of.
"Fine, just don't get so spread out that we can't revive each other," she warns.
We dive in low through the atmosphere over the open plain, as we hit the ground, all of our ghosts go crazy blaring warnings about incoming enemies. The sky darkens as several Skiffs, Fallen drop ships, appear overhead. One of them is carrying a Walker, a six-legged tank with a mounted plasma cannon. The Walker drops to the ground with a thunderous impact, releasing Shanks. We scatter, trying to find what little cover is available. Zwazo creates a protective bubble made of pure energy. Boston, Kittyy, and I all slide inside to avoid getting cut down by Shank fire.
Enemy fire echoes off the bubble as we cower inside. I crouch next to Boston who is laughing. I look at him.
"So, that didn't go so great," he chuckles. I can't help but smile inside my helmet. His enthusiasm for battle is contagious.
"Yeah," I say. "New plan: Kick Fallen ass." Boston nods, stands and steps out of the bubble, firing Red Death, the staccato bursts are loud compared to the "pew, pew, pew" noise of the Shank firing mechanism. I step out of the opposite side of the bubble from Boston, level Vision of Confluence at the same leg he is shooting and squeeze the trigger. The gun pushes against me in a steady rhythm. The Walker staggers, emitting a burst of electricity, then bows its head to reveal its weak spot along its "neck." Zwazo's bubble dissipates and I hear familiar sounds. Thunderlord, Zwazo's heavy machine gun, whines and rattles off several arc rounds. The high-pitch whip crack of Icebreaker, Kittyy's favorite sniper rifle, completes our well-orchestrated take down. The Walker never stood a chance.
When the Walker explodes, it's just a matter of clean up with the Shanks. We collect some glimmer and other materials and then it's back to the river mission. We move in formation towards the river, ready to cut through Fallen and establish a beachhead. We arrive just in time to see another Fireteam of Guardians make an attempt at breaching the Fallen defenses. They have some success and we follow close on their heels to support their efforts. Then the sky lights up. We're all caught by surprise.
Web mines and shock grenades go off, as we stagger back and try to regroup. My head is ringing and everything sounds far away. Kittyy is waving her hands frantically at me. I can't tell what she means. My ghost says my shield is down. Suddenly, my left shoulder lights up with pain from impact. I go to one knee. Shoulder stings and burns at the same time. Arc damage. Kittyy raises a rocket launcher to her shoulder and lets loose. Something behind me screams in agony. Everything starts to fade.
Jul 10, 2015
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:
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...!
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Jul 9, 2015
Phreelancerz pt.1
The mission brief is always simple, go defeat this, or collect this material. This one was no different. The Vanguard requires tactical knowledge of the area near the river for strategic deployment... Recon mission. As straightforward as it gets. You hardly ever listen to the end, it's always something about Reputation and glimmer. My ghost handles those details. There was something different about this brief, though. Hold and fortify position at river. Wait for reinforcement arrival at 22:30 hours Interesting. Scout and Control. I contact Ti Zwazo to see if he wants in on the mission. He's gearing up at the Tower. We link up in low orbit, then it's dropping in through the atmosphere, scanning for a space to park, and locking in the descent trajectory.
We're boots on the ground around 15:00 hours, plenty of time to trek to the river, scout out a spot and hold position before reinforcing Guardians arrive. After a quick gear check, we head off across an open plain, used to be some type of grassy common area. We make it close to the river before we contact the enemy. Fallen have have setup a blockade. Squads of captains and vandals patrol the area around the river, making it impossible to recon without being seen. Neither of us have cloaking and we can't afford direct engagement; their forces are too strong.
Tactical retreat, nothing wrong with that. Zwazo and I move back to the open plain and set up an uplink with the Tower to appraise the Vanguard of the developing situation. We're told to sit tight and wait for reinforcement. Typical. My ghost informs me that some of the Fallen have moved away from the river and towards our location. Maybe we were spotted. The plain is too open, we need to find a better place to fight. My ghost says the Fallen are two minutes away. I look at Zwazo, he nods and points off to the southwest.
"Abandoned settlements that way," he says. "Probably find a burned out house. Make for good cover." I nod, his idea makes sense. Fallen are less then a minute out and closing fast. My ghost is getting nervous.
"Let's move," I say. "Leave the uplink active. We can draw them away with gunfire." We take off in a dead sprint towards the abandoned settlements as the Fallen enter the far side of the plain. They spot the uplink and head towards it. Can't let them scavenge our tech. I boost jump, turning in midair and fire off three quick shots. The Vision of Confluence thumps against my shoulder. Twisting as I descend, I land in a run and follow Zwazo into the settlement. I can hear the Fallen unleash battle cries. I think I got their attention.
We find shelter in one of the buildings. The front has been sheared off by bombings and time, leaving overturned tables. It will work for our needs. I crouch next to Zwazo behind a table and reload. He's checking the rounds in Fatebringer. My ghost begins to tell me how close the Fallen are when their movement pings on my radar. Six Fallen, two dregs, three vandals and a captain. I nod to Zwazo, this won't be an issue.
As the dregs pass by the opening, I toss a flash bang. It bounces once and then goes off. The dregs' bodies cartwheel off in different directions. Two down. Zwazo stands, Fatebringer barks and vandals fall. One left. I vault the table bringing my shotgun to bear. As I the fit the stock in to the crook of my shoulder, I can't help but notice the inscription written down the barrel. Be the Bull. I chuckle and pull the trigger when the captain flashes across my HUD. The Matador roars and the the captain staggers away from me. Zwazo attaches a sticky grenade to the captain. Game. Set. Match.
We rifle through their bodies for glimmer and other materials. You never know. After picking up some engrams, we head back to the uplink and we're thinking the same thing. The Fallen weren't that difficult, maybe we can take them and move them off the river. "We need at least one more," Zwazo says. He's right. A fireteam of three will be enough.
"Let's check the uplink. See what Guardians are nearby," I reply. The next few minutes are spent checking Guardian profiles. Zwazo and I have standards. Gotta have fresh gear.
"This one doesn't have any exotic gear!" I exclaim. "Swipe right," Zwazo says. We send out a few messages and wait for a response. It's not looking good.
"Tower?" I ask Zwazo. He nods.
"Breakdown these engrams," he responds. I nod.
As we pass through low orbit and into space, my HUD blinks with an incoming message. It's MissezKitty.
"Me and Boston are headed towards Earth from the Reef. Where should we meet you?"
"Tower. We'll resupply and head back out," I reply.
"Roger that. See you shortly," She says. I nod to myself. Phreelancerz Clan is linking up.
Tactical retreat, nothing wrong with that. Zwazo and I move back to the open plain and set up an uplink with the Tower to appraise the Vanguard of the developing situation. We're told to sit tight and wait for reinforcement. Typical. My ghost informs me that some of the Fallen have moved away from the river and towards our location. Maybe we were spotted. The plain is too open, we need to find a better place to fight. My ghost says the Fallen are two minutes away. I look at Zwazo, he nods and points off to the southwest.
"Abandoned settlements that way," he says. "Probably find a burned out house. Make for good cover." I nod, his idea makes sense. Fallen are less then a minute out and closing fast. My ghost is getting nervous.
"Let's move," I say. "Leave the uplink active. We can draw them away with gunfire." We take off in a dead sprint towards the abandoned settlements as the Fallen enter the far side of the plain. They spot the uplink and head towards it. Can't let them scavenge our tech. I boost jump, turning in midair and fire off three quick shots. The Vision of Confluence thumps against my shoulder. Twisting as I descend, I land in a run and follow Zwazo into the settlement. I can hear the Fallen unleash battle cries. I think I got their attention.
We find shelter in one of the buildings. The front has been sheared off by bombings and time, leaving overturned tables. It will work for our needs. I crouch next to Zwazo behind a table and reload. He's checking the rounds in Fatebringer. My ghost begins to tell me how close the Fallen are when their movement pings on my radar. Six Fallen, two dregs, three vandals and a captain. I nod to Zwazo, this won't be an issue.
As the dregs pass by the opening, I toss a flash bang. It bounces once and then goes off. The dregs' bodies cartwheel off in different directions. Two down. Zwazo stands, Fatebringer barks and vandals fall. One left. I vault the table bringing my shotgun to bear. As I the fit the stock in to the crook of my shoulder, I can't help but notice the inscription written down the barrel. Be the Bull. I chuckle and pull the trigger when the captain flashes across my HUD. The Matador roars and the the captain staggers away from me. Zwazo attaches a sticky grenade to the captain. Game. Set. Match.
We rifle through their bodies for glimmer and other materials. You never know. After picking up some engrams, we head back to the uplink and we're thinking the same thing. The Fallen weren't that difficult, maybe we can take them and move them off the river. "We need at least one more," Zwazo says. He's right. A fireteam of three will be enough.
"Let's check the uplink. See what Guardians are nearby," I reply. The next few minutes are spent checking Guardian profiles. Zwazo and I have standards. Gotta have fresh gear.
"This one doesn't have any exotic gear!" I exclaim. "Swipe right," Zwazo says. We send out a few messages and wait for a response. It's not looking good.
"Tower?" I ask Zwazo. He nods.
"Breakdown these engrams," he responds. I nod.
As we pass through low orbit and into space, my HUD blinks with an incoming message. It's MissezKitty.
"Me and Boston are headed towards Earth from the Reef. Where should we meet you?"
"Tower. We'll resupply and head back out," I reply.
"Roger that. See you shortly," She says. I nod to myself. Phreelancerz Clan is linking up.
Jul 8, 2015
The little Things
I've been back in Boston for about a month and I've loved being back. While I no longer consider it my "home," I can't help but appreciate the small differences that make Boston unique and wholly different than Dallas-Fort Worth. What is really interesting is how I have changed to adapt to Dallas living and how that makes me a bit of stranger in Boston. Let me explain.
Transporting the masses
I have to admit that I am a bit of a mass transit snob. Having lived in Boston and Chicago, two places were mass transit works well (most of the time), I have come to expect a certain level of efficiency, timeliness, and speed from my mass transit. DFW mass transit meets none of these standards. Sure, the buses are on a schedule, but if you miss one, you have to wait close to an hour for the next one. On top of that, the train system only seems to cover downtown Dallas and some of the near neighborhoods. I can take a train from south of Boston all the way through and north of the city on one fare. To do something similar in Dallas it requires transferring train systems and taking buses. There are other issues with DFW mass transit, such as the underlying racism behind why certain DFW Metroplex cities and towns refuse to connect to mass transit, that I won't go into here, but suffice to say, if a person can't get in to and out of a major city efficiently using mass transit, I don't think of the place as a city.
Gentleman, Start your engines
Obviously you need a car to travel around DFW. That is a given and I commend DFW for having multiple highway systems that allow fast, fairly easy and non-jammed (except 365) travel around the Metroplex. This is an area where Boston is lacking. The streets are narrow, especially downtown, there always seems to be construction happening, and I forgot how rude drivers can be. I know Boston was originally designed as a "walking city" meaning you could walk from one end to the other with ease, but as it grew, it never seemed to adopt the idea of becoming drive-able. As far as construction goes, it's gotten better, but I'm pretty sure the "Big Dig" project has been going on my entire life and I'm not certain I'll outlive it...! I think driving in TX has made me more timid. I've read too many stories about road rage incidents turned violent because of weapon carrying laws in TX to really mess with other drivers on the road. When I drive in Boston, I get honked at a lot, presumably because I'm not turning fast enough, or pulling away off from a green light quick enough for the guy behind me. Sorry (I'm not sorry).
These are small things, but I find that they create major change in me and the way I view things around me. One of my TX buddies joked with me that once I've lived in TX for five consecutive years, I'm officially Texan. It's been four years since I moved, and maybe he's right. I find myself missing certain Texan comforts, like 24-hr drive thru, cheap gas, and inexpensive bar tabs. Still, I love Boston and will always relish being a Carpetbagger.
Transporting the masses
I have to admit that I am a bit of a mass transit snob. Having lived in Boston and Chicago, two places were mass transit works well (most of the time), I have come to expect a certain level of efficiency, timeliness, and speed from my mass transit. DFW mass transit meets none of these standards. Sure, the buses are on a schedule, but if you miss one, you have to wait close to an hour for the next one. On top of that, the train system only seems to cover downtown Dallas and some of the near neighborhoods. I can take a train from south of Boston all the way through and north of the city on one fare. To do something similar in Dallas it requires transferring train systems and taking buses. There are other issues with DFW mass transit, such as the underlying racism behind why certain DFW Metroplex cities and towns refuse to connect to mass transit, that I won't go into here, but suffice to say, if a person can't get in to and out of a major city efficiently using mass transit, I don't think of the place as a city.
Gentleman, Start your engines
Obviously you need a car to travel around DFW. That is a given and I commend DFW for having multiple highway systems that allow fast, fairly easy and non-jammed (except 365) travel around the Metroplex. This is an area where Boston is lacking. The streets are narrow, especially downtown, there always seems to be construction happening, and I forgot how rude drivers can be. I know Boston was originally designed as a "walking city" meaning you could walk from one end to the other with ease, but as it grew, it never seemed to adopt the idea of becoming drive-able. As far as construction goes, it's gotten better, but I'm pretty sure the "Big Dig" project has been going on my entire life and I'm not certain I'll outlive it...! I think driving in TX has made me more timid. I've read too many stories about road rage incidents turned violent because of weapon carrying laws in TX to really mess with other drivers on the road. When I drive in Boston, I get honked at a lot, presumably because I'm not turning fast enough, or pulling away off from a green light quick enough for the guy behind me. Sorry (I'm not sorry).
These are small things, but I find that they create major change in me and the way I view things around me. One of my TX buddies joked with me that once I've lived in TX for five consecutive years, I'm officially Texan. It's been four years since I moved, and maybe he's right. I find myself missing certain Texan comforts, like 24-hr drive thru, cheap gas, and inexpensive bar tabs. Still, I love Boston and will always relish being a Carpetbagger.
Jul 6, 2015
Random Thoughts pt. 9
I'm not a betting man, at least when it comes to real money. I've been to a casino once, and after winning several hundred dollars from a slot machine early in the day, I was ready to go home. That being said, I love to place wagers on random things, especially over/under odds. Over/under odds feel like the best and most fun way to predict potential outcomes and add a humorous layer to social engagements. Here are a few I've done recently.
Black People at a Kenny Chesney Concert - over/under set at 6.5
While working the Kenny Chesney concert at AT&T Stadium, my buddy and I decided to pass the time counting black people. The rules were simple: how many black concert goers could we see without leaving our stand? Employees don't count. Must have double verification. You might be wondering about the .5, well, sometimes we see someone who might be black, or some other ethnicity, but we can't tell. Half credit. I picked the under and lost. We ended up seeing 14.5 black people. Go figure.
Reasonably priced parking in downtown Boston on the 4th of July - over/under set at 35%
My father claims that my family has special powers when it comes to finding parking spaces near events we attend. He calls it "Dashiell Luck." He says you have to believe in it for it to work. I'm an agnostic at best, but I may yet be converted. That day, I found parking in front of my buddy's apt on three separate occasions, once during the day, in the early evening, and then later at night. I parked at the Boston Common underground lot while we were downtown for the festivities and I found a spot on J.F.K. Street in Cambridge. Dashiell Luck indeed! I lost this one too. I was pretty convinced we wouldn't find parking. Obviously, I know nothing.
No longer liking our gaming buddies after meeting them in person - over/under set at 40%
Gage and I hung out with our gaming buddies, BostonWins and MissezKittyy on the 4th. Let me say first that it was awesome. Though, at one point, before we met them in the flesh, I remarked to Gage that it would suck if we met them and didn't like them. He laughed and asked me what the over/under would be for that chance. I said 40% and asked if he would take the over or the under. He said would take the line, meaning he agreed that 40% was an accurate percentage. We both laughed again and went back to playing video games.
How many views will this post generate - over/under set at 30
This one is up to you, dear reader. The last "Random Thoughts" post has generated 41 individual hits as of this update. Will this one do better?
Black People at a Kenny Chesney Concert - over/under set at 6.5
While working the Kenny Chesney concert at AT&T Stadium, my buddy and I decided to pass the time counting black people. The rules were simple: how many black concert goers could we see without leaving our stand? Employees don't count. Must have double verification. You might be wondering about the .5, well, sometimes we see someone who might be black, or some other ethnicity, but we can't tell. Half credit. I picked the under and lost. We ended up seeing 14.5 black people. Go figure.
Reasonably priced parking in downtown Boston on the 4th of July - over/under set at 35%
My father claims that my family has special powers when it comes to finding parking spaces near events we attend. He calls it "Dashiell Luck." He says you have to believe in it for it to work. I'm an agnostic at best, but I may yet be converted. That day, I found parking in front of my buddy's apt on three separate occasions, once during the day, in the early evening, and then later at night. I parked at the Boston Common underground lot while we were downtown for the festivities and I found a spot on J.F.K. Street in Cambridge. Dashiell Luck indeed! I lost this one too. I was pretty convinced we wouldn't find parking. Obviously, I know nothing.
No longer liking our gaming buddies after meeting them in person - over/under set at 40%
Gage and I hung out with our gaming buddies, BostonWins and MissezKittyy on the 4th. Let me say first that it was awesome. Though, at one point, before we met them in the flesh, I remarked to Gage that it would suck if we met them and didn't like them. He laughed and asked me what the over/under would be for that chance. I said 40% and asked if he would take the over or the under. He said would take the line, meaning he agreed that 40% was an accurate percentage. We both laughed again and went back to playing video games.
How many views will this post generate - over/under set at 30
This one is up to you, dear reader. The last "Random Thoughts" post has generated 41 individual hits as of this update. Will this one do better?
Jan 9, 2012
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.
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.
Aug 2, 2010
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
All over
I spend a fair amount of time at
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?
Jul 24, 2010
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
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
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.
Jan 29, 2010
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.
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.
Apr 27, 2009
New Blog!
Hey, I've been working on a new blog, Boston's Cool Spots. Check it out at wwww.bostonscoolspots.blogspot.com. If you know of any cool spots in Boston let me know, I'll add them to the blog.
Apr 6, 2009
Riding the Train
I love the MBTA. There is something about public transportation that I find fascinating. Despite the fact that standard operating procedure for a train ride is to rudely ignore everyone and everything around until you reach your stop, I still enjoy riding because there is so much to see. As the 5th largest mass transit system it averages 1.1 million riders daily. I see that as 1.1 million potential stories. Like this one:
I was riding the T this past Friday, on my way to the Banner. I got on the train at Park Street. At Downtown Crossing, two women squeezed into the train car next to me. One of the women was white with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She looked to be in her mid to late 30s or early 40s, with a stud on her upper left lip, the same place as Cindy Crawford's mole.
She struck me as a working mother. The type of women that did no more than a year or two at a community college, married her high school sweetheart and lives in Quincey or South Boston. A blue collar woman, working as a secretary or receptionist, married to a construction worker, with two kids no older than 13.
Not wealthy by any standard, but making a living nonetheless, the lip stud a relic from a wild youth spent drinking and partying.
The other woman was black, slightly heavyset, with a shaved head. She had a tattoo of an ankh on the left side of her head. The black women, head tattoo notwithstanding, struck me immediately as gay, the white woman not so much.
The white women spoke about work, and the black woman spoke about getting off the train at South Station to catch the commuter rail to a south shore, working class neighborhood, perhaps Abington.
The two women chuckled to each other, seemingly enjoying each other's company. As the train pulled into South Station, I heard the unique noise made when people kiss quickly on the lips, my visions of a blue collar wife and mother vanished in that sound.
As the black woman exited the train, the white woman spoke up. "Tell them I say what up nigga! Say it just like that. What up nigga!"
The expletive hit me like a person bumping me on a crowded bus. The black woman turned her head and nodded, the tattoo shinning in the fluorescent lighting of the train car.
The white woman's use of the n-word was jarring but I guess when you date a black person you get a pass on using that word. Still, it struck me as odd that she would use the term in public. I can only imagine that in the privacy of their home the word is bandied about with regularity but in public? A little inappropriate.
The point of this story, besides the fact that it is a story, an incident that I happened to witness, is that the MBTA is a place where millions of people from a thousand different walks of life converge.
The beauty of the MBTA is that it is a microcosm of life in Boston, from suburban travelers on the commuter rail, to city dwellers using the red and orange lines. I love the "T" because you can see all types of people and experience all types of situations.
At the time, I felt like there should have been more of a reaction from other black people on the train with me. But, like any good mass transit rider, we ignore those around us and focus on our music or book until we arrive at our destination.
I was riding the T this past Friday, on my way to the Banner. I got on the train at Park Street. At Downtown Crossing, two women squeezed into the train car next to me. One of the women was white with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She looked to be in her mid to late 30s or early 40s, with a stud on her upper left lip, the same place as Cindy Crawford's mole.
She struck me as a working mother. The type of women that did no more than a year or two at a community college, married her high school sweetheart and lives in Quincey or South Boston. A blue collar woman, working as a secretary or receptionist, married to a construction worker, with two kids no older than 13.
Not wealthy by any standard, but making a living nonetheless, the lip stud a relic from a wild youth spent drinking and partying.
The other woman was black, slightly heavyset, with a shaved head. She had a tattoo of an ankh on the left side of her head. The black women, head tattoo notwithstanding, struck me immediately as gay, the white woman not so much.
The white women spoke about work, and the black woman spoke about getting off the train at South Station to catch the commuter rail to a south shore, working class neighborhood, perhaps Abington.
The two women chuckled to each other, seemingly enjoying each other's company. As the train pulled into South Station, I heard the unique noise made when people kiss quickly on the lips, my visions of a blue collar wife and mother vanished in that sound.
As the black woman exited the train, the white woman spoke up. "Tell them I say what up nigga! Say it just like that. What up nigga!"
The expletive hit me like a person bumping me on a crowded bus. The black woman turned her head and nodded, the tattoo shinning in the fluorescent lighting of the train car.
The white woman's use of the n-word was jarring but I guess when you date a black person you get a pass on using that word. Still, it struck me as odd that she would use the term in public. I can only imagine that in the privacy of their home the word is bandied about with regularity but in public? A little inappropriate.
The point of this story, besides the fact that it is a story, an incident that I happened to witness, is that the MBTA is a place where millions of people from a thousand different walks of life converge.
The beauty of the MBTA is that it is a microcosm of life in Boston, from suburban travelers on the commuter rail, to city dwellers using the red and orange lines. I love the "T" because you can see all types of people and experience all types of situations.
At the time, I felt like there should have been more of a reaction from other black people on the train with me. But, like any good mass transit rider, we ignore those around us and focus on our music or book until we arrive at our destination.
Apr 4, 2009
K'Loni Sky Interview
I got a chance to sit down with K'Loni Sky, a local aspiring singer and song writer. Check out the clip!
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