I need to find a good used bookstore in Boston. And I wish I had a really high quality pair of earmuff headphones so I could listen to my Horrorpops album in peace and clarity. Promising interviews aside, I’ve had a terrible week. I feel constricted here like I knew I would. Not enough energy. I bet I inherited bad mitochondria from mom.

I’m managing the fish tank in Merle’s brother’s room now that he’s away at college in Salem. He only had one fish in there, the cichlid, but now I’ve made some additions and it’s a dysfunctional community of five. The Cheat is my favorite. Blueberry might die because of constant harassment from the three-spot gourami.

2025 me here: Looks like I had pictures of fish here.

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Mystery Cichlid, “Hercules”

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Clown loach, “The Cheat”

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Turquoise dwarf dourami, “Blueberry”

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Three-spot lavender gourami, “I need a name still”

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Plecostamous, “Puckers”

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My private comedy of errors continues. Turns out the man who crashed into me from behind is a lawyer and has filed a claim and is lying about which lane he was in to shift most of the liability on to me. So I have to go to the police station and give the details now. Officially I’m just visiting here but Merle’s mom told the insurance woman I was living here, which is a mistake because then I’m not an occasional driver and the insurance wouldn’t cover me. Then Merle later told them I was on the way to a job interview which cements the living here story. And the Harvard guys now want my references which means there’s a solid chance they want to hire me but they stipulate I must include a research mentor reference. But I had a frosty relationship with my research mentor at best and he’s always impossible to get a hold of. And I left my cherry chap stick in my shorts and Merle did laundry and it stained a whole bunch of her clothes with red streaks. And I have to mow the lawn but can’t get the decrepit family lawn mower to start and my hand blisters hurt still. The End.

Guess who crashed Merle’s Civic in a three car accident on his way to Harvard (but still got there on time)? 

I wisely didn’t bring it up during my interrogation. Would you hire the guy who crashed on the way to the interview? I figure I’ve got a 20% chance on landing it, I wasn’t terrible but didn’t nail it either. Some of my personality came out at the end which was a good thing. Now I have to prep for another one at 3. The fun won’t begin until I pick Merle up at 6 in her smashed up car though. 

I’m feeling the pinch of stress over a couple of upcoming interviews. One tomorrow at Harvard, the other a phone interview for Northeastern that could commence at any moment. It’s gratifying to have been contacted for a few interviews after less than two weeks of serious searching, but also a jolt. These two are the first interviews I’ve ever had for something relevant to my career. I’m a little intimidated that one’s at Harvard too. I don’t feel prepared to sell myself and all my references aren’t in. I suppose I should look at them as more of a learning experience than a legitimate shot. The deck’s already stacked against me because I don’t have a green card.

I’ve been on a major Beatles kick lately. They always cheer me up. I need a little of that.

There are large blisters on my digits and palm. I applied something called mercurchrome and now the wounds blaze a gory, festering red. They came from the axe handles. I chopped wood for a few hours yesterday. A diseased Maple. I think I’ll creep downstairs and watch the Patriots play. Go, local sports team. We’re better than those other guys from somewhere else… I’m having trouble writing here. Maybe I’m falling into a routine. Oscar Wilde says that consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.

I wish I had a better sense of the big picture. Not a global worldview, just more insight and direction in regards to my future. I don’t know what I’m doing here in this house, this city, this country, this relationship.

There’s an ice cream shop in/around the Boston College campus called White Mountain Creamery. I wondered if the place was a franchise because it certainly didn’t feel like one. It has the atmosphere of a favorite student hangout. Wood floor, tables and chairs. A B.C. Eagles banner hangs from the ceiling. At 10pm last night it was filled with students. They had the look of freshmen reluctant to let the orientation week mentality go. Two guys, one in a straw cowboy hat the other in a trucker cap, were playing chess with plastic men. Posted on their, “today’s specials” board was banana coconut ice cream. So I ordered two scoops of that in a waffle bowl and asked for whipped cream, cookie dough and hot fudge on top. Merle ordered a ridiculously large chocolate whipped cream sundae with nuts, brownies and everything else. We sat in between a large group of Chinese students and three loud girls with one very bored looking guy. Half of them were talking of cell phones. Merle ate about half of her monstrosity, I finished all of mine with the exception of three cookie dough balls. It was delicious. The End.

“I moved here from Canada, and they think I’m slow, eh?” -Gordy, The Simpsons.

Sorry everyone for not keeping up and commenting. I made a couple feeble attempts since the move but there is just too much for now. I really don’t understand how people with a zillion subscription contacts keep up with them. Currently I can’t manage what I have. In the past I found I needed about an hour for a good entry and another hour to read my subscriptions and leave a zesty comment wherever I went. Two hours every two or three days doesn’t seem like much but I’ve been making a strong effort to get organized and my career started. That kind of work is mentally draining. On top of that, I’ve got household chores to do which include all kinds of mundane energy sucking tasks.

First, I want to write that it feels truly bizarre not to be starting school in September. Junior Kindergarten, Senior Kindergarten, Grades one to thirteen. Seven more years of University. That’s 22 straight years of school. I am haunted by a feeling that I am perpetually skipping class and falling incredibly behind on a vast array of assignments.

So, I’m in Newton, a Boston suburb. I’m living with Merle and her parents. Yes, the dysfunctional couple is reunited in cohabitive glee. Nothing has changed between us. We occupy a state comprised of regular intervals of intense murderous fighting interspersed with short periods of light hearted fun and mischief. Probably nothing will ever change until one of us kills the other one. Other than that.. let me see. It’s not so bad living here I suppose. Everyone is gone all day. Merle works until six. Her parents work until late. Her two brothers are off at University. So I’ve got their big historical, colonial home all to myself all day. I’ve been getting up early, heading downstairs in my blue pin striped robe and pajama pants, making a hazelnut coffee and doing the sudoku puzzle while I groggily sip my coffee and everyone rushes out. Then boring job searching and cover letter writing. Blah blah. I’ve been painting and grouting for Merle’s papa a little. I’ve got a nightly struggle going on with raccoons over the trash bins, it’s reminiscent of the Great Outdoors. Yup. Life’s about as exciting a slice of provolone cheese.

I’ve been enjoying the city though. If I had to pick a place to live in the U.S.A., I’m sure Boston would be top ten. It’s a different environment and cultural mix, but one that’s not very different. The accent still catches me off-guard though. I’m going to pawwwwwwk my car. Let’s go for a wawwwwwwwk. That buwwrd sure can squawwwwwk. What? There’s nothing wrong with how I tawwwwwk. It seems to me that Americans in general talk louder and deeper. More baritone and flat pitched. I admit this may not be a fair assessment though because 90% of my USA experience comes from three states,

Bonjour mes amies!

I can’t breathe here. However, I am learning lots of francais.

Yesterday afternoon was my last day working at my concierge job. There was a nice send off, much well wishing, cards, a special going-away muffin and even a few gifts. I worked there since the fall of 2000 and it was a mostly enjoyable experience. A very social one, perfect for a student wanting to support his way through university. I won’t miss the job, the pay was laughable, but I won’t forget many of the people there.

For anyone wanting an update on Mrs. Cowing’s situation, she is still at the hospital and has had two relatives check in. I’m glad they came for her, so she at least has that. I’ve been contemplating a visit. It’s something I should at least do now that’s it clear that she won’t be able to go out for lunch with me like she wanted to.

Anyway, here’s a picture of the front of the building (A ritzy condominium complex):

Inside, by the billiards room, is a minitature model of the whole property. It’s quite elaborate and apparently was quite expensive to make. The realtors like to show it off when they have clients with them. It’s encased within a big clear plexiglass cover to prevent children and mischievous individuals from playing with the little plastic people and cars inside.

Here’s a picture the model:

Yesterday this model was….

ATTACKED BY DINOSAURS!!!!!!! ROAAAAAAAARRRRR!!!!!

There’s a T-Rex headed for the courtyard! RUN!!

Oh no, it’s got a car!

Hey! That’s my Civic!!

A shot of the carnage from the channel 4 news chopper.

So yeah, since it was my last shift, it was a unique opportunity to have a little fun. I hope no one notices the dinosaurs for a while, or that the people that do just laugh and don’t say anything about them. Now it’s on to a new place and fresh challenges…