Nealmeister

Nope, Neal didn't fall off the face of earth

I've been thinking long and hard for a while whether I really want to blog any more. Blogging was great as a student; the medium naturally dovetailed from my daily journaling habit--a habit that I started in the 5th grade. That was 1991. This is 2009, when, more than ever, the personal lives are becoming ever more public. Social norms are changing -- at least somewhat -- and the minds of that Zuckerman kid and the rest of the crew at Facebook are foaming at the mouth, waiting for the day that we all jump the private-public divide and provide people with all of the intimate consumer data that they've so desperately wanted. When that day comes, I hope I can take part in the Facebook IPO. And when that day comes, I'll be just a little sad, because it means that shows like "The Real World" and the idea of living a private life might be bookmarks in history.

I digress. Really, since the last time I've posted, I've moved to Chicago, feeling out the new bearings, training for (and successfully running) races, playing host and feeling great being hosted. I now have a beard -- that won't be lasting for much longer -- but I think the point that I'm trying to make is that I've outgrown blogging just like I felt as though I needed to grow out of Boston.

Alas, good things are too hard to give up. So I'm going to give this whole thing another try. Rework the medium. So stay tuned.

In the meantime, here's something that will do the trick: every single status update from yours truly on Facebook between the end of August (when I left Boston) and yesterday (when Jess and I finished up our nice little urban adventure in Chicago). My life is not any more interesting as yours. The thing is, I guess I'm willing to put it out there for you to judge.

On Facebook, Neal Boyle...

1. walked 9.17 miles through Chicago with Jess Stankus today. Urban adventures=major success. (11 hours ago)
2. and Jess decided to go down and visit The Bean in Millennium Park at about Sunset. Then, we decided to walk to the Magnificent Mile, which lead to a walk to Rachie's Starbucks, and which finally resulted in a walk all the way back to Andersonville. 9.17 miles. 1320.5 calories burned. I'm impressed with ourselves. (Yesterday at 21:20)
3. will be putting some Charlie's Ale House into his belly. The sun is shining in Chicago. The Bears are owning the Browns. ND is climbing in the rankings. The occupants of 1350 West Winnemac are relishing in another amazing Halloween. So much to be happy about; so little space to express the glee.(Yesterday at 14:20)
4. Halloween has turned into something made for TV... seriously... (Sat at 22:35)
5. Go Irish! Beat Cougars! (Sat at 08:47)
6. Hands-down quote of the night @Bessye: "It's not about getting it right; it's about getting it easy." (Fri at 21:02)
7. feels and looks like he belongs on That 70s Show... and it's only B-list Halloween costume night!
8. (Fri at 18:06)
9. Evacuate the free weights floor, people! There is a Neal Boyle twin on the floor, and the real one will be damned to let the impersonator out-do him in the medicine ball push up contest... (Fri at 15:37)
10. has a yummy-smelling pumpkin... (Fri at 12:09)
11.  doing up more touristy Chicago stuff in the Loop with the East Coast girls. Sears Tower Skywalk it is!
12. (29 October at 13:22 )
13. called 312-867-5309 (29 October at 01:10)
14. This Boyle is (too shy to be) made for live Karaoke @ Cubby Bear... (28 October at 23:49)
15. @ Goose Island BrewCo w/the Boston (and VA) girls, doing up TGIW in Wrigleyville. Go Phillies!!! (28 October at 19:33)
16. Korean BBQ followed by Chicago Brauhause in Lincoln Sq = getting set up for a wicked amazing night on the far north side! (27 October at 19:28)
17. is happy that the 6-year old inside of him continues to live the dream and never grows tired of the way 2700 series Budd subway cars race along elevated tracks in the north side of Chicago...(27 October at 17:31)
18. clerked for a Bankruptcy Court judge. Is "Introduction to Federal Court" really necessary? Can someone please slam me with a Federal Rule Book? Ok, not really... but the hyperbolic Facebook nonsense is irresistible, especially during Illinois MCLEs! (27 October at 08:04)
19. earnestly awaits the arrival of Kristyn+Denise in the Windy City, but first, not without 10 more hours of Illinois CLE amazingness. If only Mitch from Old School would show up, too. Life would be nearly complete. (27 October at 00:15)
20. Oh, CTA, how you can't be trusted during rush hour. Thank God Neal got on the Red Line before it decided to run express to Lake... (26 October at 06:50)
21. wonders when the Red Line will ever roll on in to Argyle station... (26 October at 06:33)
22. thinks seasonal influenza is--like a couple of logs in the fire or a fresh Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip cookie--a special gift from God that Neal just needs to snuggle up with and enjoy. (25 October at 23:27)
23. along the brittle treacherous bright streets / of memory comes my heart singing like / an idiot whispering like drunken man / who(at a certain corner suddenly)meets / the tall policeman of my mind. (25 October at 09:56)
24. watching the Undertones at the Notre Dame Bookstore with Kev+Jess. Booyah! (24 October at 19:43)
25. Go IRISH! Beat Eagles! (24 October at 11:52)
26. Are you questioning my badassedness? I mean have you seen my guns??? (22 October at 23:18)
27. Thoughts+Prayers are with the Hoells and the Santosuossos right now... (22 October at 10:18)
28. has got two extra BC/ND tickets, courtesy of Jess. Anyone want to make a trip from Boston and/or any Domers in need? (21 October at 20:18)
29. can rock the beard in a pinstripe suit, a form fitting shirt and a Brooks Brother tie. Bad, Neal, very very very bad (albeit, delicious, haha)! (21 October at 13:34)
30. Are you a coffee, or are you a slice of pumpkin pie? You're too delicious to be just a latte. You're pie. I love you. (20 October at 17:41)
31. is looking for another race to train for. All you runners and triathloners were right: the adrenaline rush is... addictive. (19 October at 20:19)
32. might have run the Urbanathlon, but man, oh man, that massage followed by some old school pampering needs to be scheduled ASAP. Neal=can't walk="hilarious". (19 October at 00:41)
33. Notre Dame, what a shame. Whatever, I still am crazy in love with the alma mater... (17 October at 19:34)
34. Men's Health Urbanathlon 2009. What? WHAT! Thanks to all you folks who kept me running, to all the causes that kept me inspired, and all the other runners who kept things honest. Now, it's time to celebrate Domer style. GO IRISH! BEAT TROJANS! (17 October at 12:19)
35. Here it comes. 12-mile course. 1-mile Soldier Field stadium stairclimb. 5 challenging urban bootcamp obstacles. There's only one Neal. There's only one Men's Health Urbanathlon. And holy cow, racer #2081 is going to tear her up tomorrow morning! (16 October at 16:31)
36. Based on Facebook, I gather that (a) it's blizzarding in Boston, (b) everyone's traveling to South Bend (Go Irish; Beat Trojans!) and (c) Falcon is awesome because he hid in the box and not the balloon. Me? I'm Facebooking. (16 October at 07:22)
37. and Rach finally broke down and turned on the heat. It is a little chilly in Chicago, after all... (15 October at 18:01)
38. What? Bob Saget is the voice of "How I Met Your Mother?" But I've been watching HIMYM for how many years now? Doh! Neal, oh Neal... (14 October at 23:30)  
39. ...planning on a walk through Andersonville, right after CPK and Glee. Pre-MH Race, no-caffeine, no-beer Nealski = no funski. (14 October at 20:59)
40. Woot and Woot! The Townies are headed to the Windy City come December! Go Celtics! (14 October at 12:31
41.  Illinois plates on the Corolla. Goodbye Bay State; Hello Land of Lincoln. Next up: Illinois Supreme Court swearing-in... followed by plotting a strategy to acquire a Jeep Wrangler. (13 October at 16:24)
42. Tuesday, Tuesday, so good to me... (13 October at 08:38)
43. got to Chicago just in time for the 'L' fare hikes, which seem to be whole heck of a lot less merciful than those going on at the 'T'. (12 October at 11:32)
44. ...capping off a wicked awesome, random Columbus Day weekend marked by, among other things, a Bartling visit, a visit to Das Boot, and that little 26.2 mile race with some Phillies baseball (not really sure where or when I became a Phillies fan, but it seems to work), a little more meatloaf, and whole heck of a lot of grape soda... (11 October at 23:15)
45. cheering Jim+Colleen Bartling and the St Greg's HS kids on at Mile 8 of the Chicago Marathon! [p.s.--it's 29 degrees here!!] (11 October at 07:00)
46. So, The Cranberries are playing in Chicago @ The Riviera Theatre on November 25th. Anyone want to go with Nealski? You know you want to sing along to Linger followed by Zombie... (08 October at 20:59)
47. ...with so much going down, he often wonders what really is up... (08 October at 01:12)
48. forecasting snow in Chicago on Sunday. But wait, the foliage is still (basically) green! This is penitence for Neal's shortcomings... (07 October at 21:42)
49. Alas, networking and catch-up coffees. I've got Mr Holte and Ms Martinez to thank for the plenteous rain! (07 October at 14:46)
50. is witnessing music being made @Tonic Room, 2447 N Halsted. Chicago's music scene beats Boston. Sorry, kids, the Bean just don't compare... (06 October at 22:52)
51. Life as a Corporate Attorney on sabbatical is wicked stressful, thusly, I'm off to the gym (and later, to Tonic Room on Halsted, if anyone's interested or inclined). (06 October at 16:31)
52. can't decide whether he wants to keep the faux beard or lose the faux beard. These are times when polling the Clery's TGIW crew would be necessary and appropriate. (06 October at 06:43)
53. Lie to Me, baby (and Brett Favre, grrr, you're making Lauren Lynch go madddd)! (05 October at 22:27)
54. The Bears, followed by Lake Shore run, St. A's, and then legs day @ Cheetah Gym. Perfect autumn afternoon in Chicago... (04 October at 14:09)
55. Holy crap... squeaked that one by! Go Irish! (03 October at 18:46)
56. On the Indiana Toll Road en route to the 'Bend. Go Irish! Beat Huskies! (03 October at 10:00)
57. Great job, Rio! "Now the village elders can come home [to Chicago] and take care of the kids being killed on [Chicago's] streets and focus on getting [Chicago's] schools in order..." (02 October at 12:00) ·
58. Go Cubs Go! (Hopefully no rain delay) (01 October at 18:27)
59. When in Chicago, do as Chicagoans do!?!?! (01 October at 18:16)
60. It's official— I passed the Illinois Bar. Thankfully, because of the love + support of all you friends, family, fans, and even enemies. Y'all put up with a lot this summer, including that horrible prayer for perpetual summer rain . But, alas, ring in Fergie + the Black Eyed Peas... and Go, Cubs, Go (with John, Hillary + Alan)!!! (01 October at 11:42)
61. just wants to vomit. It feels less like Christmas morning and more like the moments before the elementary school spelling bee. C'mon Illinois bar examiners; post July's results already! (01 October at 08:21)
62. scored Cubbies tickets with John, Alan and Hillary Thursday night. Pittsburgh Pirates are going down. Go, Cubs, Go! (30 September at 15:11)
63. might not be as cool as Brody Jenner, but Chicagoland bromance applications are currently being accepted. Apply herein. (29 September at 12:52)
64. Second City... let that wind blow. (28 September at 20:40)
65. apparently swapped hurricanes for tornadoes. When in the midwest, do what the midwesterners do, one must suppose. Good times. Now how about those fried cheese kurds at Culvers? That sounds like a better midwestern treat (and a half)...(28 September at 00:15)
66. Old St. Pat's or St. A's? This church shopping thing is getting complicated... (27 September at 12:29)
67. Jesus Christ, God Loves Us! GO IRISH! BEAT BOILMAKERS! This is what college football is ALL ABOUT!!!! (26 September at 22:28)
68. Another Urbanathlon training run. Mostly flat, but with some rolling hills and also with good variety of surfaces: asphalt, concrete, gravel, sand and grass.(26 September at 11:16) ·
69. Go Irish! Beat Boilmakers! Go Hokies! Beat Hurricanes! Go Bulls! Beat 'noles! (26 September at 07:58)
70. "my crocs make that manageable." (25 September at 20:46)
71. + Rachel present Friday Night Game Nite. 1350 W Winnemac #3W, Andersonville. Be there or square. You know you want in... so bring it already! [ps--GO HOKIES!] (25 September at 17:35)
72. Met my match at Cheetah Gym whilst dirty-doubling: the dude (yes, dude) who planned on using the 125 lb. dumbbells and kindly asked if he could use my bench. First off: yes, sir, you may. Second off: Steroids much?!? Third off: You can kill me with one swipe of your paw. That would hurt. I take the steroids comment back... (25 September at 14:52)
73. Just found out that Tedy Bruschi is half-Filipino. Guess what? So is Neal! The day is officially complete... (24 September at 22:10)
74. will be saying 'Aloha' to Hamburger Mary's with the Castrop sistahs and Ms. Lauck. If you want in too, hit the digits... (24 September at 18:06)
75. can no longer listen to The Beatles. They used to remind Neal of Sunday Brunch with the Boyles... or even "Across the Universe." Those are good, nostalgic, feel-good associations. Now, The Beatles are just associated with being stuck in the makeshift office (read: Andersonville Starbucks) and the baristas that keep on glaring in his direction (read: sexual harrassment). Yarghhhhh! (24 September at 15:25)
76. is marketing his goods+services to all of Chicagoland. (23 September at 09:01)
77. thinks that 80s music after a night of Taco Tuesdays is the perfect way to end the 21st day in Chicago.... (22 September at 23:58)
78. is listening to Joni Mitchell, drafting cover letters, scheduling coffees, and plotting on how this Illinois Sub-Teacher's and Prelim Teaching Certificate should get used... Oh, and figuring which passport beer should get consumed tonite @ Crew (disappointed that he can't have another Rogue Dead Guy). (22 September at 14:17)
79. misses having in-unit laundry. But at least he's just figured out his next photography project! (22 September at 12:28)
80. Hospital Scrubs, Orange Crush, Chocolate Ice Cream, Elios Pizza + watching "Role Models." Neal may just have morphed into a chicita... (21 September at 23:20)
81. Didn't think anyone could beat Meg Hughes' "Tour de France" spin class, but alas, in Chicago reigns a spin instructor who has fine-tuned that form of torture... (21 September at 19:47)
82. Funny how whether you're in Boston or Chicago, the Red Line always has got its (endearing AND annoying) quirks. Woot public transit! (21 September at 08:56)
83. Bear Down, Chicago Bears! Craziness... (20 September at 18:18)
84. Beautiful fall day in Chicago=perfect sweatshirt weather, perfect Parish "shopping" weather, and perfect flag football weather... (20 September at 09:58)
85. Thank you, Lord. Irish fans will gladly take that (lucky+undeserved) ND win over MSU. Makes for an easier ride back to Chicago, too... (19 September at 20:27)
86. Got an extra ND/MSU ticket. Anyone want it? Let Neal know. Go Irish! Beat Spartans! (19 September at 10:48)
87. Oh, Notre Dame. What beautiful things my eyes see before me. Go Irish! Beat Spartans! (19 September at 10:24)
88. Go Irish! Beat Spartans! (19 September at 07:34)
89. is a tad homesick+missing boston, at least... (19 September at 02:38)
90. Chicago-style dinner party=success. Thank God (and Jewel-Osco)! (19 September at 00:28)
91. and Rach are hauling @$$ trying to get this dinner together. Woot woot! Go Game Night in Chicago!!! (18 September at 19:36)
92. After seeing "Across the Universe," rereading "The Year the Title Forgot to Come," and partaking in bike adventures w/the Citymate, I think MaryBeth Burke was right: being the candle in "Beauty the Beast, the Musical" is a noteworthy goal (even more so than being staff@ Crew). (18 September at 01:51)
93. Lake Shore-A'ville-Lincoln Sq run: 8.25 miles. Clark/Foster to Montrose Hrbr to Hollywood Beach to Winnemac Pk. 30 days to the Mens Health Race. Run, Neal, Run! (17 September at 19:14)
94. That's right, there're big waves, seagulls+plenty of sand at Lake Michigan. Oh, and a beach at the end of my street. Chicago=wicked amazing. Neal approves... (16 September at 14:42)
95. The Jehovah Witnesses found me at Starbucks. They are aggressive. I think they were sent. Someone confirm or deny these suspicions! (15 September at 09:56)
96. Good Morning, Chicago. The sun has yet to rise, but somehow, somewhy, Neal is already rarin' to go. Not sure what's going on here, but let it roll... (15 September at 05:17)
97. "You're too stupid to have a good time." Thank you, Patrick Swayze. RIP. (14 September at 23:19)
98. Tom Brady is back tonite! Anyone else up for Monday Night Football @T's Bar & Grill in Andersonville? Hit the digits... (14 September at 13:41)
99. Spending the morning working out of the Starbucks in Andersonville. How yuppie cliche of Neal... (14 September at 08:56)
100. Lauren Lynch wins, and she has Jay Cutler to thank for that. Grrrrrrr... (13 September at 22:50)
101. Inaugural Lake Shore Run. Clark/Foster to Belmont Harbor and back. Let's see how Chicago's trails treat old Neal's feet... (13 September at 17:58)
102. Got it, folks. Bear Down. Off to O'Hare with Lady Martinez... (13 September at 15:21)
103. Since I've moved Chicago, no drop of rain has fallen sky. Keep the blue skies shining down on me (oh, and Bear Down, Chicago Bears!)... (13 September at 14:43)
104. En route to U2... at Soldier's Field! (12 September at 19:43)
105. = p.o.'d Irish fan. Armando Allen was in bounds. Big Ten refs, Neal's got a bone to pick with you. (12 September at 18:19)
106. Go Irish! Muck Fichigan! (12 September at 00:14)
107. Calling Allen out of bounds was the worst official review I've ever seen. (12 September at 15:22)
108. The quest for a desk continues... and all these furniture stores in Andersonville do the trick (at least for ideas)! (10 September at 18:03)
109. Whether in Boston or Chicago, still finding myself listening to KISS-FM. Breaks up assembling all this stuff from Ikea... Oh, Neal! (10 September at 12:47)
110. The Chronicles of Narnia wardrobe is taking forever to reassemble.. Lucy better pop on out when I'm done with some Turkish Delight! (10 September at 14:08)
111. T's Bar+Restaurant in Andersonville w/the Castrop Sistahs! (09 September at 21:53)
112. can't get Green Day's "21 Guns" out of his head. Thank you, Mix 101.9... (07 September at 23:34)
113. Wine cups? Yes, Chicago! (06 September at 22:49)
114. after dropping Will+Chris off at O'Hare, this kid is kicking off his freshman year in the Windy City by unpacking (because boxes don't unpack themselves...) (06 September at 10:09)
115. Went up for push ups for 21 (again), courtesy Lynch. Irish 21, Wolfpack, 0. (05 September at 16:00)
116. Went up for push ups for 7, courtesy Lynch. Irish 7, Wolfpack, 0. (05 September at 15:22)
117. Go Irish! Beat Wolf Pack! (Obviously, in South Bend for the day...) (05 September at 10:29)
118. Crew in Uptown... with the Comiskey Field hopefuls... (04 September at 13:48)
119. ...hoping someone wants to help a Nealski and has got an extra ND-Nevada ticket... (04 September at 11:53)
120. is scouring for tickets for the White Sox/Red Sox game. And 1500 others things to be done in Chicago right now. (04 September at 08:53)
121. "#220, you have no game. But there's something cute and adorable about you. Make a move. --#113." Alas, life at Durkin's. Definitely an "I" + not an "E"... (04 September at 01:09)
122. Hopleaf with Chris+Will. Amen for Andersonville (which=new home) (03 September at 23:09)
123. made it to Chicago. Let the fun begin! (02 September at 23:52)
124. En route to Chicago, via I-90, with Chris+Will. ETA, 8:45pm CDT. So long, Boston. Neal will always love that dirty water. (02 September at 03:42)
125. Boston will always be home, but heading west, oh boy, this has never felt so good and so right. Chicago or bust, baby! (01 September at 06:14)
126. Oh, move to Chicago, Neal hopes his arrival to your grand city is nothing like his departure from Boston, which has been nothing short of wicked wicked WICKED aggravating. (31 August at 17:22)

Edna R. Boyle

BOYLE Edna R. (Doherty) of Charlestown, July 24, 2009.

Beloved wife of the late William F. Boyle. Devoted mother of Deborah Darlas of Ohio, Lynn Zofchak of Hingham, Neal Boyle of Charlestown, William Boyle, of Tennessee, Kathleen Mortimer of Tewksbury, Theresé Tassinari of East Boston, Sean Boyle of Charlestown, Cynthia Boyle of Charlestown, and Mary Ellen Beauregard of New Hampshire. Beloved sister of Winifred Belanger of Florida, Bernard Lane of Stoneham, Daniel Lane of Charlestown, and the late Francis Doherty. Loving grandmother of 27 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren.

Funeral from the Frank H. Carr Funeral Home, 220 Bunker Hill Street, CHARLESTOWN, on Tuesday at 9:00 A.M. Funeral Mass in Saint Mary’s Church, 55 Warren Street, at 10:00 A.M. Relatives and friends are invited. Visiting hours Monday 4:00-8:00 P.M. Interment at Holy Cross Cemetery, Malden. Late Founder and President of "Mrs. Bee’s Garden." Kindly make memorial donations in Edna’s memory to The Building Fund of Saint Mary-Saint Catherine of Siena Parish, 46 Winthrop Street, Charlestown, Massachusetts, 02129. Parking area adjacent to Funeral Home. For Guest Book, obituary and directions visit www.carrfuneral.com

The 072409 Set List

I totally can't focus on the bar exam right now. I keep on telling myself that I can focus; that I should focus; that I need to focus on carrying on through and pushing forward. And I think I'll bring it on Tuesday, right when I need to, to take my crack at the Illinois bar exam. Right now, I just need to push through this with some music, even if it's at the risk of being completely emo.  That's just the way I roll.

Of course, as Hillary would say, "where there is Neal, so too are The Cranberries and Bic Runga". Here we go:

The 072409 List
1. Everything's Not Lost (Coldplay)
2. This is Your Life (The Killers)
3. The Great Escape (Patrick Watson)
4. Dream (Priscilla Ahn)
5. Sky Blue Sky (Wilco)
6. Lover Lay Down (Dave Matthews Band)
7. Linger (The Cranberries)
8. Chicago [Acoustic] (Mat Kearney)
9. The Heart of Life (John Mayer)
10. Do What You Have to Do (Sarah McLachlan)
11. Honest Goodbyes (Bic Runga)
12. Ungodly Hour (The Fray)
13. I'll Be There (Mariah Carey)
14. Both Sides of Now (Joni Mitchell)
15. One Red Thread (Blind Pilot)
16. Little Brother (Grizzly Bear)
17. Time to Pretend (MGMT)
18. She Left on a Monday (Bic Runga)
19. Winthrop (Indigo Girls)
20. Nicole's Song (Virginia Coalition)

 

In re: Edna, Mrs. Bee, Grandma, or just Ma

When Jess and I decided (or, maybe it was more like I decided, but Jess agreed) to host Thanksgiving at our apartment in 2007, I couldn't contain the satisfaction of being able to show off to three ladies that I could pull this thing off without messing up royally: My little sister Ro, my Mom, and my Grandma.

Now, the first two weren't too much to worry about. My mom being my mom and my sister being my sister, I was absolutely certain that they would jump in as needed. Mashed potatoes? "Nope, you're not doing those right..." and so my mom would jump in. Making a veggie tray? "You're kind of slow at this, let ME do it..." and so my sister would jump in. Always coddling me, the two of them.

My bigger concern was my grandma. I spent my whole life trying to impress her, so I had to prep Jess a little bit: "If you think I'm picky, if you think I'm intense, well wait until you meet my grandma. I'm basically fruit cut right off that tree!" Obsessive compulsive disorder eased in on my end and with that, Thanksgiving preparations began. I found myself at Johnnies Foodmaster making sure we had the perfect amount of light cream (not half & half, not heavy cream, light cream), getting the right kind of tea bags, and inspecting dozens of custard pies to find one that looked amazing, (hopefully) tasted amazing, yet looked homemade enough so that I can pass it off as something coming from the fruits of my labor. The pie was important; if there was one thing that I had learned over the course of my then-25 years in being, it was that custard pie at Thanksgiving meant a great deal to my grandma. If there wasn't one, I'd be sure to hear about it sometime, probably later in the summer or at my Aunt Lynn's Yankee Swap at Christmastime. I wouldn't be able to live that potential mess up down, regardless of how many cups of tea I'd make for her.

When my sister told my that my grandma died this morning, that Thanksgiving, oddly enough, was the first thing I thought about. I immediately thought about how lucky I was to have been able to host her at our place. And moreover, to have her let me know that I was doing a good job, that she was enjoying herself, that she was happy to watch me grow into a young man, and that I finally found myself a nice girl.

As to that last point, I let out a nice chuckle then and did this morning too. I had to explain to my grandma that Jess wasn't my girlfriend. So then she asked "oh, your soon new wife?" To which I responded -- shaking my head, muted laugh, all the while carefully placing sweet potato muffins, custard pie, and dark turkey cuttings into her take-away bag -- "Nahhh, Jess has Alex" but that she was one of my best friends from Notre Dame and, for the time being, my roommate while she was at Suffolk for law school.

She didn't believe me. Amidst all of her hard-headness, she still had this playful side that border-lined tricky mind games: "Oh, that's what you say now. You don't have to lie to me. Here." She'd palm a $20 bill to me "for the date and for the dinner" when we dropped her off at her apartment in the Charlestown Projects. I ended up buying a couple of bottles of Red Truck Wine with that. I never really told her (and I guess I can't now) that I wasn't dating Jess. I still laugh because here my grandma was, trying to set me up with my roommate! Unbelievable.

 

• Page from Mrs. Bee's Gardens public service booklet, 1984

The last time I saw my grandma at the Winthrop House -- when I finally mustered up the courage to get out the car in the parking lot without hoping to God that she was asleep -- my grandma couldn't place me immediately. Was I William or the other William or was I Sean?  But she sure remembered that Thanksgiving, apologized profusely, and then continued on about how much of a great time she had at our place.

The custard pie came up. She didn't care too much for the sweet potato muffins, but man, with that custard pie, she relayed to me about how she kept on cutting smaller pieces of the pie until it was gone. She indicated much she really wished she could have a piece of it now. We got decaf tea (although I don't think she knew it was decaf) and I pushed her around in her wheelchair. She asked "what was cooking," so I told her about my many trials and far more prevalent errors related to my spring gardening venture; about how the Illinois bar exam was in 72 days and that I was secretly praying for a cold and rainy summer; about how I was finally doing it -- moving to Chicago -- but that I secretly had butterflies about leaving Boston and my friends and family and everything I knew here; about how I wish I could do more for my parents because I secretly cared about them and loved them immensely, even though I never told them that nearly enough. I told her about how I had a couple of her pamphlets from Mrs. Bee's Gardens at my house and that I was planning on getting a set of them framed because, for one reason or another, the whole thought of those gardens in the Charlestown Projects influenced me in more ways that I imagined. Those gardens planted the seed of humanity inside of me and helped me remember -- in a metaphorical sense -- the roots and sacrifices from which I was able to spring forth and stand where I was standing today.

I was getting too nostalgic. She immediately changed gears: "so, now you're still an attorney, right?"

"Yup," I said.

"Good, because I need a good lawyer. I always thought your father would be a good lawyer. I think Stevie Pothier became a lawyer. Do you remember Stevie Pothier?" I kind of nodded, and she pressed me on to carefully pushing her and her wheelchair. "Now, here, wait a minute."

Now if you didn't know my grandma, she had this way of carrying herself as the Queen Bee; the penultimate politician; a generous caregiver to others who was often a relentlessly tough nut to her own kids and grandkids; the quintessential dreamer; a woman who still thought about some day owning a horse farm in the rolling hills of Connecticut so that all of her 27 or so grandkids could some day learn to ride; the baker of the most amazing Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies I've ever experienced to date; the curious storyteller of Charlestown urban legends, which, even though I now know are not true, still haunt the 10-year old inside of me. Sometimes, I honestly thought that she was crazy. Other times, I knew that she knew what she was doing. And most of the time, even though I knew that I wasn't her favorite grandchild, I was thankful that I got to know at least one of my grandparents.

"I want you to meet my grandson. He's a big shot lawyer in town."

I grinned and sheepishly waived, shook my grandma's friend's hand, and Mrs. Bee kept on going. "He made me this custard pie last Thanksgiving that beats what crap-ola they feed us here. Next time maybe he visits, his wife will make him bring one with him." She turned to me and offered me her trademark grin--the grin that made me pretty certain that she still had the kicks in her. I just shook my head and laughed a little bit. Unbelievable, grandma. Unbelievable.

Edna Boyle, Charlestown, Mass.

1929-2009

In re: Mrs. Bee

"Every spring, the children knock on Mrs. Bee's door to ask her if they can plant gardens again this year. With your help, she'll be able to answer them 'yes'".

Edna "Mrs. Bee" Boyle
1929-2009

In re: Tory Row

This week, Illinois BarBri gave us a chance to be tortured on Monday (practice Multi-State Bar Exam) followed by two days worth of (sometimes painful) 9 hour review lectures.  I'm not complete stressed out about the mock MBE. I felt like I scored right where I needed to be and in a good position to nip this thing right in the bum. Just a little more work, and life will be good come July 29th at about 5:15 Central Time. So no need to worry, kids.

And as for the lectures? Well, I started to bust out the index cards to make a new set of my ever-famous "knowledge cards."

The whole purpose of this post, though, is to gloat about a new bar find for Neal here: Tory Row. It's right in Harvard Square where that old breakfast place use to be, kind of kiddie-corner from Out-of-Town News. To be truthful, I found the place completely by accident; had the logo not been reminscent of the London Underground been smacked right on the front facade (which, by the way, has tidy clean lines and is a bit reminscent of a darker mock version London Underground 1992 Stock--not sure if intentional, but works for me), I probably would have passed by not given a notice.

As for point of truth number 2: I really just wanted a couple of beers and a burger during our BarBri lunch break, and Tory Row had all of the cliche things that I really had been looking for: an underwhelming, sweep bar that had enough room for me; a bit of eclectic taste of music booming [coincidentally, MGMT had been playing when I walked on in]; and -- as a nice bonus -- Fisherman's Brew on Tap. I was immediately sold, facebooked about it, text messaged a bunch of random folks, and stuck around to talk with the bartender. I had their loaded cheeseburger and can honestly say that it was a bundle of tasty goodness and totally reminded me of the awesome hamburgers that my dad would hand-press and grill for us when we were little kids living on Lexington Street.

Now, is Tory Row the the most amazing place in the world?  Not so sure about that one. If I have friend from out-of-town coming to Cambridge, or if Janine is on a recruiting trip, I can be sure that we'd be headed to Grendel's Den.  But Tory Row is pretty solid and good to keep in my back pocket. Great lunch spot. Good for people watching. Easy of the eyes. An inevitable tourist trap. A place to be making my Harvard Square mini-bar crawl list, along with Shay's, Red Line, and the like.

Now here's the weird thing. I remember being in Tory Row and thinking to myself "wow, this is like a light version of Middlesex or Miracle of Science, I like this place a lot!" (the latter of which is my secret date spot, well, not so secret anymore). What's the word? I think Tory Row is owned by the same guys...

Finally, afternoon BarBri was amazing on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thank you, Tory Row.

On Track: B
Tory Row, 3 Brattle Street, Harvard Square, Cambridge MA US www.toryrow.us

 

Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours [The Soundtrack to My Life Game, courtesy of Facebook]

Thought it was significant enough to include and duplicate as one of the lists.

Facebook's Directions:
1. Put your iTunes on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 friends who might enjoy doing the memo as well as the person you got the memo from.

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Breathe (2AM) – Anna Nalick

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Do What You Have To Do – Sarah McLachlan

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Dragostea Din Tei – O-Zone
… … This is hilarious, although T.I. and Rihanna did sample this song for that “So Live Your Life Song.”

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Oboe Concerto in B – Bach

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
My Neck, My Back (Lick It) – Khia … I have no comment here…

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Living for the Weekend – Hard-Fi

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Ode to My Family – The Cranberries
… … How ironic; this just perpetuates the whole “I’m having a Neal nostalgia moment….”

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Desperately Wanting – Better than Ezra
… … hmmmmm

WHAT IS 2+2?
Girl on TV – LFO
… … I probably shouldn’t even be admitting to the world that I have this song on my iPod.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Lovefool – The Cardigans

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
West End Girls – Pet Shop Boys

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Lovers in Japan / Reign of Love -- Coldplay

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
When I Grow Up – The Pussycat Dolls
… … hahahaha!!!

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
You Don’t Know Me – Michael Buble

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Womanizer – Britney Spears
… … nice! no comment!

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Stars are Blind – Paris Hilton
… …. Oh God, this is amazing….!

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Umbrella – Rihanna
… … I wouldn’t mind that so much, seeing as there have been way too many great memories associated with this song!

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Halo – Beyonce

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
I’m Sensitive – Jewel
… … actually, that’s not really quite a secret now, is it?

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Angel – Natasha Bedingfield

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
I’m Gonna Find Another You – John Mayer

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat major, op. 73 (II. Adagio un poco mosso) – Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
… …. Wow, to Beethoven! I certainly hope so!!

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Cantique de Jean Racine - Chorus and Organ. Op.11 (Gabriel Fauré) (1865) -- Choir Of King's College, Cambridge, James Vivian & Stephen Cleobury, Academy of St. Martin in the Fields & St. John's College Choir
… … this certainly is pretty intense. Man, I really would have loved to had such amazing music talent to sing in the Choir of King’s College!

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Just Dance – Lady GaGa & Colby O’Donis

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Can’t Take It – All American Rejects

WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) – Beyonce
… … if that’s not a message, well then…

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Sway – Big Runga
… … As Hillary would say, “what would a mixed CD from Neal Boyle be without Sway ?”. Oh wait, but that’s not the query…

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Ur So Gay – Katy Perry
… … ok, then… not really sure what this is supposed to mean! But see Katy_Perry

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Swing, Swing – All American Rejects

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Shimmer – Fuel
… … Wow, that’s somewhat depressing (She says that love is for fools that fall behind/And I'm somewhere in between/I never really know/A killer from a savior/'Til I break at the bend)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours – Stevie Wonder
… … Hmmm, mmmm, gotta love that Stevie Wonders and the feel good oldies!

When it's this cold outside

The windchill in Boston this morning is something like negative 16 farenheit.  Brrrr.  This is totally what one would want to expect in Boston, though.  After all, what good would New England winters be (and all the lore around it, from something about Walden Pond to something about ski towns that want to secede from the States) without a couple of shots and blasts of Arctic cold?  And besides, it has been much too warm this winter, even though it's snowed a bit.  Winters back in the day were always colder and snowier... oh wait, I think that's my "bare foot walks in the snow uphill bothways" gene starting to kick in.

Seriously, though, crisp cold weather makes me daydream on the way to the bus stop.  I love breathing out of my mouth to try to form a little smokestack--a throw back to being 5 or 6 or so--and all the while, conjure up the warm, green thoughts of how distant and askew summer time and canobie lake rollercoasters and cranes beach seashores fade in my head.  The cold and the walk make me appreciate the MBTA bus when it shows up, even if it is late.  The walk in the cold makes me second think the whole iPod and sappy music thing because (a) the earphone chord seems to freeze on up, and (b) missy elliot and nelly furtado and other booty-shaking music works a lot better.

Snow's coming, too.  Snow.  And with that, the crisp cold bright sunny morning seems just perfect in my mind, because I know that tomorrow (or really the day after), I'll be hauling ass trying to shovel the longest driveway in Charlestown.  Yay!

A Month Back (and Charlestown Shots)

While on the bus this morning, I thought of two things:
(1) it's been a month since I've been back blogging, and gosh, it does feel good, because the frustrated writer inside of me -- the frustrated, creative person inside of me -- really loves to do this;
(2) I forgot how great it feels to find a photographer that you like, because the frustrated photographer inside of me -- the frustrated, creative person inside of me -- really loves to be surprised by surprising interesting photographs.

 

What it means, I think, is that I need to write some more and I need to shoot photographs again.  And I need to write a note to a certain woman and her husband and child at the University of Utah, via Longmont, Colorado.  I need to _______.

[Photos via Alex Ward shot in Charlestown, Massachusetts]

Change is Inevitable II [In re: United States Gypsum Company]

I went to the 6pm Mass Young Adult Mass at Saint Mary's with my parents, and sat up near the front with my mom and my dad.  I really didn't say much to my parents.  I happened to bump into them on the way to church as I rushed down Main Street, and with our coat collars up and wool hats pulled down near our ears, I abashedly asked my dad up what he was going to do.  So we talked, and there was a lot of "I think, I feel, I'll figure" it out type of conversation going on.  Finally, we happened upon the great granite and brick structure that is Saint Mary's, and felt obliged to walk in.  When we got to the pew, my dad commented on my shirt: "Varitek" he said.  Then my mom asked, with Filipino accent and all: "oh, why, honey, you're not cantoring tonight?"  I kind of shrugged it off.  It was the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, and the first reading, from Isaiah chapter 8, verse 23 or so. 

Anguish has taken wing, dispelled is darkness:
for there is no gloom where but now there was distress.
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom
a light has shone.

I let the reading sink in my head and the thoughts process the matrix of my mind.

Now there comes a time when you really do begin to worry about your parents.  I don't know if it's part of the natural life cycle or what, but it seems like, in the midst of weddings and engagements and pregnancies, talk of the parents is the next in line hot topic among my friends and my junior associate co-workers; we're either tackling the fact that some day, our parents will get old and die, or we're avoiding the topic because we're too scared to confront the change and the love-anguish associated with the idea.  I always thought I'd be long off from thinking about my parents in that way, and luckily, I think that's a far ways away still.  But somewhere admidst the homily and the Nicene Creed during Mass, I started thinking about the United States Gypsum Plant at the end of Terminal Street in Charlestown.  I really couldn't comprehend that USG was going to idle a good portion of the Boston plant come the end of March; that all these employees, who watched me and my siblings grow up, were being W.A.R.N.'d under the Workers Adjustment and Retraining Notification Act; that, even though all of these people survived USG's Chapter 11 reorganization and crazy USG company picnics at Canobie Lake and even crazier times working just beneath the Tobin Bridge, in an instant, they were all suddenly being let down and let off.  I'm sure, for some, this was like the miracle in the works waiting to happen.  And I can assure you -- there will be many a commuter who will be happy when they don't have to drive over the Tobin Bridge through the steam from the USG Plant's steam stacks. But I, I felt like a piece of me -- even though I didn't work at USG (my sister, though, worked in the lab all through undergraduate and graduate school summers) -- was dying off.  And I felt like, suddenly, I was worried about what my dad was going to do.

I'll always remember when I got into Notre Dame.  It was my birthday in 1999, and since I had been feeling a bit nauseous at school, I dodged my friends after seventh period, called in sick to work, and just went home (I didn't know, at the time, that I ended up missing my own surprise 18th birthday party).   I came home to find a thin letter from the ND Admissions office.  And so, you know how the urban legend goes "if the letter's thin, there's no way you're in."  Well, I eventually mustered up the courage to open the letter.  The rest is pretty much history, but I did call my dad and hiked down to Terminal Street to the USG plant to show him the letter.  And in lockstep Rudy style, I put on a green hard hat and walked through the USG plant with my dad.  "Little Neal's going to Notre Dame" he'd announce proudly.  And of course, all of the familiar, tired faces at USG lit up a bit -- whether congratulatory or a bit bitter -- and extended manly hands to shake my soft  adolescent paw.  I remember the way the fine dust from crushed gypsum rock felt with every shake; it dried the hands and crusted in the same way thin layers of overly diluted plaster crusts on the surface of a spackling spade.  I recall the tears that were in my dad's eyes when he read the letter at the front entrance of the plant.  And I'll always remember the thought I had standing there under the bright, orangish lights inside the factory: "thank you, USG, for helping our family pull through.  And thank you, USG, for making sure I didn't end up throwing cement bags for the rest of my life."

As with any good post, I guess I don't know where this is heading.  But what I do know is this: with the USG Plant idling along the shores of the Mystic River, another piece of middle America, industrial America as we know it in Greater Boston, will move into askew memories of an (industrial) time that once was.  Another opportunity for some middle-class, blue-collar, working-class family to live on the hope of getting ahead -- much like the family I was born and raised from -- and subsist on at least a half decent living, will ride away on the waves of what is, to many, a vibrant and transforming economy.  And with that, I'm left to wonder what else is left for the working-class folks of Greater Boston to do.  I wonder, with pause, what my dad will do.

Change is Inevitable [In re: St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Charlestown]

I've been swallowing a pill that I knew was coming and have spent the past five years or so avoiding: St. Catherine's closing.  There are tons of pros, tons of cons, tons of opinions and tons of facts.  And I don't mean this post to really get into any real, in depth analysis of any of those things. 

What I wanted to get off my back, though, was that I'm hurting a bit over it.  Nothing to be worried about; no need for suicide watch.  But over the past week, I've been in a really pensive, deliberating, nostalgic mood.  To sum it up, it's been downright sucky. And it's all-in-all, a personal coming-to-accept-it experience.  It prompted dinner with Natalie, Carrie, Geoff and Amelia, but dissuaded me from attending any of those "info" meetings.  I can handle numbers and logistics, so when I need them, I'll turn to them, I thought.  The personal truth in this all is that St. Catherine's is home for me in a number of ways: coming of age experiences, believing in faith experiences, friends, family, love.  At the same time, I know that, but consolidating a worshipping spot into one church building, the whole community will benefit in the long run (the whole John-esque gathering/communion experience). 

What I'm experiencing, though, is what happens when you've stocked so much in the material place: you leave yourself open to being let down.  This isn't new, but as it relates to Charlestown, I think me, personally, I let this whole gentrification thing get wrapped up in the personal and the emotional and the nostalgia -- the wants, the needs, the feelings, the longings.  I think I knew it when the Boys' and Girls' Club did the whole Piece of Peace book back in the 90s. [Related link: 9 Lexington Street]  And now, Karl Rhaner and the wisdom and lessons from undergraduate catholic philo classes becomes useful again.  I'll use Nicole's Song [by Virginia Coalition] to get through the thinking, I guess.

So now I've been forced to give advice/
On a matter in which now I've become involved/
Should I stop my thoughts and close my eyes/
Play the lover's role in the beggar's disguise/
And beg God to give me/
Solomon's wisdom

In the midst of this, my brother Sean contributed a decent piece to the January 17, 2008 edition of the Charlestown Patriot-Bridge, which I'll just copy and paste here:

The Spirit of St. Catherine's
By Sean Boyle

To the people of the one-square mile that we know and love: In February, my church, Saint Catherine of Siena, will close.

When our ancestors emigrated from Ireland and other countries, they found it hard to be accepted. In storefronts, there were signs that read “No Irish need apply,” and riots broke out, one of which led to the burning of the Ursuline Convent in Charlestown. But our ancestors made Charlestown their home, street by street, house by house. This became our town, where we celebrated our culture, spoke our native tongue and created everlasting traditions. Charlestown was home to the second Catholic church in all of Massachusetts, Saint Mary’s. When our ancestors came here, the only thing they had that kept them going was their faith. It was the only thing in America that they could claim was theirs. As years went on, we built three vibrant Catholic parishes, we had a tight-knit community, traditions that would hopefully never end and our own unique culture in America and Boston.

But as 2008 arrived, I realized that traditions are disappearing, culture is being lost and that once tight-knit community is breaking and now forming a committed community made up of old and new residents. I am not old enough to remember the “old” Charlestown, but I hear stories about it all the time — stories of when the Bunker Hill Day Parade was the biggest day for Charlestown, with parties in every house and everyone filled with pride and happiness. Now, on the beloved parade days, I see fewer parties, fewer American flags waving in the crowd and streets that barely have any spectators. I hear stories of mothers, 400 deep, praying the rosary on Bunker Hill Street and marching against forced busing, marching for the love of their children and a cause that was worth fighting for in their eyes. I hear stories of the whole town watching Charlestown High’s football games, how Charlestown had the most pubs and sent the most people to World War II than any other one square-mile town in America. Other stories tell of looping, the Charlestown Rose, Ancient Orders of Hibernia, the Knights of Columbus, funeral marches with Irish women wailing, Saint Catherine’s “little Townies color guard,” mothers sitting on the stoop, CYO meets, stores and pubs that are gone, stories of the Bunker Hill Hillbillies and the Majestic Knights, tournaments and memorial services and, most of all, packed Masses.

When I was in eighth grade, I started an organization called FACES – Fill A Church Every Sunday. This was when Saint Catherine of Siena Parish was supposed to close (before it merged with Saint Mary’s). I was desperate and I wanted to save my parish, my church and my faith. I went from door to door in Charlestown; I got doors slammed in my face by people whom I knew, people who did not bother to answer and others that really did not care about church. I asked people to come to church and told them that my goal was to invite people to church and have them invite other people in order to fill a pew and, eventually, a church. I told them the Mass schedules at Saint Francis de Sales, Saint Mary’s and Saint Catherine of Siena. People used excuses such as: “I have a hockey game to go to,” “It is too far,” “I don’t have time,” “It is boring” and “I have to watch my television show.” My argument was all the hours of the Masses were spread over different hours of both Saturday and Sunday, so maybe you can make time. “Why can’t people spend an hour with God?” I thought to myself. I eventually gave up and lost hope. I was sad because this was a tradition that had been going on in the world for 2,000 years, a symbol of hope for our ancestors when they came here. This was our ancestors’ blood and sweat being thrown out the window.

I yearn for that old sense of community. I yearn for that tight-knit community, I yearn for those disappearing traditions, and I yearn for the culture we bestow upon ourselves. How can a shamrock be the town’s symbol when no one goes to church anymore? Do people forget what the shamrock symbolizes? Do people know why they’re wearing a Townie sweater with a big shamrock on it? Well, if you’ve forgotten what it symbolizes, here it is: Saint Patrick used the shamrock to show the Irish the sacred Trinity, three in one, one in three. The shamrock will be a tradition that will live on forever and a sacred symbol that represents Ireland and our faith.

To the People of Charlestown: WAKE UP! We are losing traditions and culture that we created and fought for. New traditions are being created, which I hope never die. But we must keep our old traditions going and teach them to future generations and future neighbors, because without the memory of the past, we are nothing. Traditions, such as passing a church or hearing an ambulance and then making the sign of the cross, hearing the church bells ring and not complaining or even simply going to church, are essential. These traditions are what make us who we are, a people who lived here for generations, a people who have just moved here, a people often misunderstood and put down, a people who fight for what they believe in, a people who have strong traditions and a historic past, a people who call themselves Townies and a people who live in a diverse, vibrant, urban and tight-knit community. We (old and new residents) know what it means to be from Charlestown. There is always a sense of pride and comfort in your heart. But we need to keep traditions going — keep the faith, keep the community and keep our culture, as well as share it.

As much as I do not want Saint Catherine’s to close, as much as I want to fight to keep it open, I know it is for the better. I am grateful for memories like Fr. Coyne’s Charlie Brown robes, midnight and six o’clock masses, CYO meets, shows and all the memories from Charlestown Catholic. I hope that I am able to raise my children in a town with never-ending traditions, with the people whom I knew when I was growing up and the new residents, and that sense of a tight-knit, diverse and unique community. I invite you all to attend mass at either St. Mary-Saint Catherine of Siena churches or Saint Francis de Sales Church. I invite you, Charlestown – both old and new residents, to keep the tradition of going to Mass alive. I invite you to keep other traditions alive and even though our neighborhood is changing before our eyes – to give new neighbors a warm welcome to “God’s country” and pass/share our traditions on to them.

I extend a warm welcome to the people of Charlestown to celebrate the last Mass of Saint Catherine of Siena Church on Feb. 10 at 11 a.m. (There will only be one mass for Saint Mary-Saint Catherine of Siena Parish on that Sunday). Join the people of Saint Catherine’s in tears, laughter and hopefulness, even if you are from a different church. I hope that through out the years the “spirit of Saint Catherine’s” will live on forever in this town. I also hope that more people keep the tradition of celebrating the Eucharist alive. Let us be united in Christ and united in Charlestown, and let us show our ancestors that we did not give up on the faith they once had.

Sean Boyle is a 16-years-old Charlestown native, and a  junior at Boston College High School.

So where does this leave us?  I'll quip from Meredith Grey's clichéd narration at the end of the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy:  Change.  We don't like it.  We fear it.  But we can't stop it from coming.  We either adapt to change or we get left behind. ... It hurts to grow.  Anyone who tells you it doesn't is lying.  But here is the truth: sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Sometimes, change is good.  Sometimes, change is everything.

Ode to Them

When my sister was back home in Massachusetts over the Christmas holiday, I told her that, for some odd reason, I felt like I didn't have any good pictures of mom and dad just together.  Sure, I had graduation pictures and party pictures.  But you know how, you know how your dad (or my dad) seems to always wear a blue shirt -- almost indicative of being a USG, blue collar, steadfast kind of guy -- and has the same half smile half discerning look that you grew used to seeing as you tumbled down the stairs in the morning (half awake, of course)?  And you know how, you know how your mom (or my mom) seems to always have the permanent smile -- whether something's wrong or something's right -- and can imagine, even hear, every time you look at her that sort of filipino accent?  Well, maybe you would, or maybe you can't, but my sister did.  I didn't have any of "those pictures," and I desperately wanted one to put in a frame in my office.

So, my sister emailed me this awesome picture that her fiance took of my parents out in Seattle.  I think it's perfect.  I think they look so good in the Pacific Northwest.  And I think, even after all of these years of marriage, that they still totally love each other.  And I do love them.  And I thank them for loving me.

America Runs on Dunkin (Round 3 starts now)

My mouth can't form these words...

So I totally got screwed out of Patriots' tickets.  I totally got screwed out of a Christmas grab present.  And I totally got screwed out of a free coffee at Dunkin Donuts.  But I can't hate on the last one, and it won't make it to the Bitch List compilation that will come out at the end of 2008. 

Between my undying loyalty to Dunkins and my unfettered love for Dunkin's commercials [like  Bleachers ("I'm freezing at peewee hockey"), or Fritalian ("My mouth can't form these words"), and yes, all tracked to They Must Be Giants courtesy of Hill Holiday] and the entire "America Runs on Dunkin advertising campaign," I come upon upon an epi[/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]

Are They Might Be Giants 'freezing at Pee Wee hockey?' We're pretty sure. [via: AdvertisingAge]

Grey's, Skipping on the Gym, Skipping on Football

Well, my roomie isn't even home from winter break yet, and yet... I've reverted into the typical semester routine: skip out of work at about 8:25pm; take the Orange Line home and quickly exit at Community College; pick up a half-gallon of Breyer's ice cream at Foodmaster; contemplate going to BSC (and thinking: "nah... legs days are meant to be skipped!"); and then slog home and quickly strip off all of the lawyer clothes, plunk on the DePaul sweatshirt, and turn on Grey's Anatomy. 

I know what's coming my way.  The ritual perpetuates a whole number of long running jokes, among them: (i) since when did you become a woman? (ii) since when did you grow a flappy v ____jay (iii) since when did you become a lesbian? (iv) since when did you come out?  It resounds wholeheartedly of Captain Marino.  Personally, I prefer to proclaim that I'm pregnant.  But that whole discussion is for another day.

Reality for today: it was wicked wicked freezing out in Boston today.  I was supposed to meet up with some folks at the Pub99 after work to watch the Orange Bowl and grab some beers, but I was wicked wicked freezing when I got out of the O-line at Community College and my body literally shuddered at the thought of alcohol.  Yes, shuddered.  Once I got home, I thought the gym would be an option... that is, until my blackberry started buzzing (you know I had to answer; I can't disconnect from work). Next, I quickly realized, once I got to my parking spot, that the door to my Corolla was literally frozen shut.  Shuddered, Buzzed, Frozen Shut.  That left me with one option: watch Greys.

Now, I haven't been as die-hard of a Grey's fan as last year this time.  Between the writers' strike, a newfound love for Brothers and Sisters, and certain longing for Dr. Burke and Addison Montgomery-Shepherd, I just have been missing Grey's more.  But tonight, I shed a couple of tears for Dr. O'Malley (dude--I would give my heart to save my dad too) and found a nice new song for the "Shitty Day" playlist [Get Well Soon/by the Perishers].

Anyway, my apartment is a mess.  I need to devise a way to clean it up before Jess comes home on Sunday and Kevin lands in Boston later that day.  My Christmas Tree is still up (pictures coming soon--"December Vacation Album" style on Facebook), the floor really needs to be vacuumed, and I have a whole pile of bills that need to be filed.

Plus, I need to email back the realtor dude from Otis & Ahearn who was reading all of my house-hunting obsessed emails and has since tracked me down.

Gosh, that was quite the devigation.  What I really wanted to say was... I came home to watch Grey's Anatomy tonight.

Mass at Midnight

What's a Neal Boyle Christmas without "A Charlie Brown Christmas"? (My sister, Ro, would disagree and place Jean Shepard's "A Christmas Story" right up front)  I'm not really sure.  But what I am sure of is this: among the Christmas shopping (stories on spoiling my nephew to come) to getting the Christmas plague (it always happens: compromised immune system + no push to bill hours for a few days = perfect storm for the plague to set in) and making my way through the multitude of yuletide parties (this year, without the alcohol), it's the Christmas story that still really gives me the chills.  "Now there were shepherds in that region living..." 

I can't help but thinking what the times must have been like back in the day.  The census; the shepherds in the fields; the slightly snowed upon rolling hills in the eastern Mediterranean.  In my head, I kind of imply familiar, worn rolling mountains of Maine and the quaint, colorful hills of Cinque Terre to the setting; or, clearly, if the trek to Bethlehem wasn't like that, it must have been a little bit akin to the Oregon Trail [MECC-inspired Apple II/e graphics and hideous Catholic elementary school uniforms included].  Clearly... clearly... riggght.   

In any case, whatever the place, the Christmas story hits a ripe spot for nostalgia and logic and hope and love and controversy and questioning to mix and mingle and come out with something good.  This year, during the sermon at the Mass for the [Roman Catholic] Fourth Sunday of Advent, I sat there at the cantor booth thinking to myself "Hmmm... Joseph was a really solid guy.  A guys' guy.  I would have been been like 'awww hells no' too... but I think I would have roughed it out.  I would have said 'don't go. I'll raise that child growing.'"  At least I would like to think I would have.  Upon second thought, perhaps I'd need the Angel Gabriel to come on down and whoop my ass into shape!!!

What a digression.  What I really wanted to say, amidst the "O Holy Night"s and "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen"s is Merry Christmas to you guys, whereever you are.  From the small villages clinging to the coasts of the Canadian Maritimes, to the far reaches of China at an American School some X many miles away from Shanghai, Merry Christmas to you...

Charlie Brown Christmas. Watch it:

Read along via IMDB):

Charlie Brown: [shouting in desperation] Isn't there anyone out there who can tell me what Christmas is all about?
Linus Van Pelt: Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you. Lights, please.
[a spotlight shines on Linus]
Linus Van Pelt: "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the lord shone round about them, and they were so afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is born in the City of Bethlehem, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men'". That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie brown.

Moving, Lonergan, and Seventy-Five Days

An agent through which vital powers are exercised.

Fall is finally becoming fall in Boston, in November.  Crisp and cool, just the way November should be.  I always thought that this type of fall weather lends itself to the nostalgia that replays inside my mind and supports the frustrated writer that lingers inside of me.  That's what I thought about when I was walking up Walker Street after I got off the bus this evening.  I was thinking about how much I really love my street, and how cool but strikingly red the fireball glowed from the utility pole at the top of my street, and how much I really loved what I do--even though I bitch and complain about it at times.  It's that new slug of a slog that I have to fight out and figure out.  I could quit.  But I love the playing field.

Beneath that fireball, though, I bumped upon Todd and Meg's U-Haul.  Todd and Dan were in it, amid all of the Todd and Meg's life that was getting squeezed into a 17-foot U-Haul.  Now, I always get really funny with change, especially moving.  I play things off like I'll see someone tomorrow.  I try to keep things "normal."  I laugh a bit and [/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]

The iPhone Commercial [ORD/SBN/MRY]

This is going to sound really weird.  But every time I hear/see the iPhone commercial, that little nostalgia button inside of me gets triggered.  It's like the music and the iPhone voiceover voice are really soothing.  At the same time, the shots -- I don't think I can call it cinematography -- have this flow that puts me into the Rudy/Skipping class for the BrewCo with Hill/Doors of Notre Dame/"walking across South Quad at dawn after pulling an all-nighter" kind of feel.  Everything's in soft, clean, incandescent-boosted hues.

And it all begs another question that I'll just answer.  I really miss Notre Dame.

I guess that's why I'm wicked excited to be making the trek on the third week of vacation.  Instead of celebrating a year on the job, I'll be celebrating the ND Perpetual Keggers, ND Football, ND Wedding.  And I really can't wait to go to the Grotto.  It's my favorite spot on campus, especially late in the summer when the Indiana humidity, 1000 chirping crickets, and faint sounds of the lake culminate in just one really surreal experience.  Just thinking about it makes me sigh.  And when I close my eyes and just think about it, the feeling of being relaxed pours over me.

Perhaps this is a little bit of hyperbole.  Perhaps it is.  But I think it answer's Erin's question from a few weeks ago.  I still think about that place.  And it still matters.  It matters to me.

Thank you, iPhone.

Dog Days of Summer

What a better way to ponder the dog days of summer than a slowdown at work, some weird coastal coolness (try highs in the mid-60s in Boston), and a nice little roommate field trip to the Pub 99.  The last rommate field trip that we had resulted in a total buy-in on Smirnoff's P-Unit advertising gig for Raw Tea.  This one?  Nice full belly filled with hamburgers, french fries, and toasted raviolis.  And now, I totally want to "take a nap"... until tomorrow.  The thing is, the Real World Sydney is on demand.  The drama is too good to pass over.  Drama.  Dog days of summer.  It doesn't get any better than this...

[So Long], Sweet Summer

I got an unexpected call from Barbara this morning. I was in the middle of finishing up drafting a release at work and found myself really looking for an excuse to take a 6 minute break. Barbara became it. And I was wicked delighted to take her call.

As things turned out, I cleared my early afternoon schedule to get Chacarero with Barbara and her dog. Even though the original Chacerero is now closed (victim to the filene's shuttering/downtown crossing gentrification), we made do. After a bit of waiting at Rico's, we hit up the patio at the Boston Anthenaeum to soak up the mid-summer splendor that is

Boston

. So, looking over the king's burial ground -- straight for our alma mater law school and the urban mountain that is the financial district -- I let barbara do most of the talking. We kind of relished over that feeling that you have inside of you when the bar exam is done. We chatted about conservatives and Gordon Brown. I nostalgized about how I felt when I cleared out my law school locker, and she told me about the relief she felt when she could get out of that law school.

I realized, though, that I really do miss academia... Or at least the freedom of having "hang out" time while getting things accomplished. Of course, that feeling is only amplified by the sunny weather and New England summer, by people wearing cargo pants and t-shirts and reef flip flops, to everyone else's stories of frozen margarita happy hours oceanside... on a Tuesday night. I decided, then, that I wanted winter to come. Soon.

Just think people. Christmas is less than 5 months away....

Fast Forward Rewind: Summer 2007

[Gate at Nate & Sue's Family Cottage, Little Compton, RI]

It is really hard to believe that Summer 2007 has nearly half-way completed.  I'd like to think that I'm a glass is half-full guy, but this summer, I'm thinking that more than half of the things that I wanted to do won't happen.  The second rafting trip up in Maine has already fallen through; trips to Hampton Beach or surfing at Salisbury or beach bumming on Plum Island have been talked about; and my sister and Chris are moving to Ohio next week. 
One thing is for certain, though: for the times that I have been able to enjoy the summer and everything it's got to offer, the times have been high-flying and wicked neat.  Jackman 2007 was full of hits.  Having Hillary and Travis come out from Illinois and Ohio -- only to partake in scorpion bowls, amble about Perkins Cove in Ogunquit, and ride the rides at Canobie Lake (all those pics I really do have to upload soon).

Nothing, though, kicked things off better than heading down to Little Compton for what's becoming an annual trek to Rhode Island.  Sue finally posted her pictures.  Now, I can quasi-relive inside jokes of "that's what she said" or nostalgize about my constant napping.

What's cool about Rhode Island, though, is that it's got everything you'd expect in Maine, plus a tinge of what you'd expect in the Carolinas.  I guess that's uniquely Rhode Island.... and now, I'll let the pictures say the rest.

Some hosts are great.  Others are awesome.  But these guys are wicked awesome!  Plus, they're photogenic, as evidenced by yet another glamour shot down in Sakonnet Point.

Peace and tranquility.  Little Compton Harbor.  You'd never guess, though, that it was an abnormally chilly Memorial Day weekend...

They still got it in them.  Able to walk without blackberries.  Able to laugh at wicked stupid jokes.  Able to not stare at the camera during ST's candid shots.... well, some of us like to smirk a bit!

Or, in realizing that you're from Maine, perfect your ability to have your eyes shut when the camera lady's saying "the sky is perfect.  Don't blink on me!"  Oh well.  I guess this makes the picture a bit more memorable...

I'm beginning to realize, more and more in these contemplative pictures that involve one of my 27 hoodies and one of their 27 pairs of sunglasses, that (a) I really like my hoodies, and (b) I really need to get contacts so that I can finally wear sunglasses.

And, oh yeah, as time goes on, I'm realizing that I look less and less like my mom, and more and more like my dad.  Wow.

Re: emails from friends

The email message:

It's weird how reading your reply to George made me realize how I never hear you talk about Notre Dame that much anymore. Either corporate indentured servitude is stifling your nostalgia or I'm just not around you in a social setting that much anymore!

Nealmeister's response:

Oh, I do think about it a lot. I think about Notre Dame, and the ocean, and the woods in Maine, my parents and Sunday morning bruch, and that four of swords card from the tarrot card deck four years ago (or five summers ago). I think I'm just not around many people in a social setting anymore (unfortunately), and as such, all of the nostalgia gets kept to myself. The things that make me laugh with my friends, the things that I really love discussing, the things that I really love spending my time doing, there's really just not that time anymore. It's somewhat sad; those were all the things that made up my personality. But it's amazing how once you get to the real world, your "personality" no longer becomes relevant. Well, at least in the corporate world. It's all about cash. Nobody really much cares about what I think (or the brilliant things in life, for that matter, like the ways clouds form on the eve of a thunderstorm in the middle of the summer; or how beautiful the congregation sounds at church when they try to sing, even though they're somewhat out of key and sound somewhat shrill; or the sound of the tires to my corolla when I'm driving through the less congested roads around the Middlesex Fells), unless it has to do with a transaction. Which is hard. I'm sounding like a frustrated writer...

The reply back:

Damn, that was intense! Brilliant! I just had to check and see if you still had it in you. But I hope I didn't open a can of worms on you.

Re: Love from the Roomie

Well, I emailed my roomie to let her know that (a) all of this mail was piling up for her from my grad school alma mater, and (b) that Facebook was looking for corporate general counsel, but alas, I needed to have graduated from law school around 2003 or so (too bad for me--and, I guess it's too bad it is in Palo Alto, California).

Anyway, here's some roomie love for ya (via Gmail):

On a lighter note, the Facebook job does sound kinda fun.  Also, I did get your vmail from last week.  Funny story ...

I was out with friends when you called.
I looked at the caller id on my cell and didn't recognize the number.
I said (outloud), "Hmm, 617, I wonder where that is ..."
Emily told me she thought it was Boston.
I felt stupid.
I listened to your message.
I realized you had called from our home phone.
I felt even stupid-er-er-er.
Oops.

I've programed that one into the new phone now.

Bring on back sick days

Well, it's a gloomy and overcast Saturday here in Boston.  The only thing that I can think: how fitting.  As I was telling my roomie (who is now in Richmond, VA working at the Bankruptcy Court), I'm feeling "kinda sick" and "somewhat congested."  That couldn't be further from the truth; I am definitely sick, and by the looks of the nast phlegm that I keep on luging up, things can't be too good.  I've been working off of a couple of theories to keep myself a bit sane here... 

First- the weather in Boston has been crazy.  One day it's 85, humid, and I'm wearing a dark suit (which, as much as Jim Bartling wants to deny, I was definitely kind of hulking out of).  The next day?  It's 55, raining, and I'm wearing a polo shirt and no jacket.  Now, at least part of that equation I can squarely rest upon me.  But I don't think that I deserve a summer cold... result: attempt to mitigate cold by denying that I have a cold, and blaming it on the weather, allergies, maybe even the utter lack of smog (the argument being "Neal's body is used to summer smog.  If it's not here, Neal's body goes whack!)

Second is a little more plausible.  People keep on getting sick at work.  This one woman down the hall from me was wicked sick this week.  As cool as she is, one part of me truly desired to blame my allergies/cold/plague on her.  But after conferring with one of the guys down the hall, it turns out that our symptons can't be any further apart.  So, you know how that goes: can't pass the buck, must find another reason.

Now, reason the third might hold some water.  I comes straight from Steve's mouth, straight from Sue and Nate's porch down in Little Compton: "Man, you've been working so hard.  Now you're going to take two days off, and you're going to get awfully sick."  I can't tell you how many times I thought about regretting even taking a break from work while I was sitting in work, congested and nasty, wanting, literally, to die.  Granted, nothing can really replace memories of Little Compton (or "lack" thereof).  But still, the theory seemed to hold up; and dang it, if I did keep the adrenaline going, I probably could have billed an extra twenty or so billable hours Memorial Day weekend, which would have streamed into wanting to stay at work longer between then and now.  But still again: who the hell am I kidding?  I can't blame being sick on actually taking a holiday...

So, after citing all of these reasons -- none of which completely hold up -- why is it perfectly fitting for it to be cloudy and overcast and somewhat damp on a Saturday afternoon in Boston in the month of June?  For starters, I don't feel like so much of a loser eating chicken soup and lounging around my apartment in hospital pants and a way-oversized T-shirt as I mope around about "being sick."  I could talk to my mom -- on her way to Seattle and on a layover -- and kind of express (read: whine) how nice it would be to have homemade chicken soup and not the progresso stuff.  I can turn up Kiss 108 and sing along to Stacey Ferguson, because as much as being sick turns out to be at least somewhat physical, I don't think that there's nothing better for my soul than to sing along to top-40, belching out why "it's personal, myself and I" in my own, one person, one apartment musical (not pushing aside "Coal Miners: The Musical" of course). 

And finally, it's my own de facto sick day.  Those tasty little perks don't really exist anymore after you get out of high school/undergrad/grad school/bar prep.   You've just got to bring it, to work and no where else, 137.8% of the time.  But as it turns out, I guess I really did need one sick day, and it couldn't come at a better time.  At least today, I can bring it 137.8% of the time for me.  Because being congested sucks.  And there's no one to really blame, aside really from the weather, but me for this one...

lite poetry

two lane driving

middle of the night pass on the left and drive on the right

count the markers; just you and the moon

i drift. expresso and sunrise.

BarBri is Done!

Don't know why this was still in draft, 10 months after the fact.  I mean, the original posting date (in draft) is 12-JUL-2006.  And it wasn't even a real post...  just a picture of the Suffolk-AM crowd, minus Mr. Murphy of course.

But we can let nostalgia continue, I guess, for it brings visions of hope for the law school/barbri class of 2007.  Kids, there is hope.  Just wait until August...