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)

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

This is My Song

It's not too often that, when prepping for my cantoring gig at St. Mary's, I have a flashback to an Indigo Girls concert in Indiana, circa 2000 or 2001. But alas, that nostalgia switch has been tripped, this time to Finlandia. I'm not talking about Finlandia University, but rather, the symphonic poem by the Finnish composer Jean Sibelius. Most of the poem is rousing and turbulent (and when you get a chance to hear the London Symphony do it, trust me, it's rousing), but towards the end of the symphony, the orchestra calms and Sibelius wrote this beautiful, melodic hymn that evokes a great sense of serenity and peace -- The Finlandia Hymn. 

Now, if you've ever been to an Indigo Girls concert, you'd know that perform the Finlandia Hymn a cappella towards the end of their concert. Needless to say, when I was a little bit of a sheltered kid from Boston coming out of his shell at an Indigo Girls concert at Butler University, I couldn't help but flashback to those (beautifully remembered tree-lined) streets of Charlestown. I remember turning to one of my friends at the end of the Finlandia Hymn and, with a hint of tears in my eyes, proclaimed that the Indigo Girls "performed that church song" so beautifully! She told me I'd make a great lesbian. Touche...

Well, we're singing this hymn tonight as our preparation hymn. I really think that the hymn will offer the congregation a powerful reminder on this Fourth of July Weekend, that as wonderful as we believe our nation to be, as much as we may believe that we are blessed, we got to remember that as much as we may believe our skies to be blue, but so do the folks in every other nation.

This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine;
But other hearts in other lands are beating
with hope and dreams as true and high as mine.

In re: Valentines

The Rant:

>   As part of my anti-Valentine's day gig, I want to
>   remind you all that today is Frederick Douglass'
>   birthday.  Yes, the same Frederick Douglass that
>   appeared in your sixth grade English class in a
>   Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An
>   American Slave.  So, while ya'll are whimsically
>   enjoying candies and dinner and kisses and the like,
>   consider a moment of silence to reflect upon the
>   birth of one of the most influential figures in US
>   History.

Then...

Just before I head out on the anti-Valentine's Day pub tour, I visit my mom and dad.  My mom calls me shy.  My dad says I'm oblivious (and recounts how some non-cougar eyes were following me at church).  I say that I don't care.  I'm "single by choice," or so goes my cop-out, and besides "if I get married now, I'm just going to get screwed... royally" screams that jaded side of me, that won't give love a chance.

So, I remembered.  I can give, today.  And this I give to you: Obama for Valentine's Day...  sexy obama loves you too. [ via Hill and Bluntest ]

I guess I'm not so good at this "bitter-anti-lover" thing either. I'll enjoy my yam fries and cherry wheat sam now.

Errr another one down

They're going down like flies.  I literally just went to bed and woke up.  Damn.  So long, Rudy Giuliani.

Goodbye to You

Well, well, another fallen soldier.  John Edwards says goodbye to his bid for the presidency.  I feel like a little bit of Michelle Branch should be playing in the background; the guitar strumming in the background ("[a]nd it hurts to want everything and nothing at the same time").  The word out on the street is that Edwards won't be endorsing either Hillary or Obama any time soon.  I wonder if his endorsement would make much of a dent in what is basically a two-person race for the Democratic nomination... just in time for Super Tuesday!

According to the Nation, in the Florida primary Clinton was at 50 percent. Obama was winning 33 percent. Former North Carolina Senator John Edwards was at 14 percent. And Dennis Kucinich, who is out of the race, pulled 1 percent.  But what I thought was interesting was what lay in those small Florida towns -- J.E. pulled 31% of the vote in those towns.  And even more weird, what J.E. demonstrated was that, with his "of the people" attitude and appeal, he could pull off a strong turnout in rural areas in states where he didn't even campaign.  So, what's to come of states like Oklahoma, Tennessee, Minnesota and those states with vast rural stretches? With J.E. saying aloha, it looks like the heat is off of Clinton in rural areas that aren’t exactly an urban base for Obama.  I like Obama/Edwards, but we'll see... we'll see...

A SAGging Profession of Love

I'm having trouble watching the State of the Union address with my complete and undivided attention.  Something about being tired and "having ADD" and instead being distracted by some of the fotos from the 2008 Screen Actor Guild Awards.  Let me tell you, some hideous clothing and hairstyles draped the bodies of our friends in Hollywood.  But, some things don't change (completely).  That includes the eternal hotness of Jeremy Piven and Eva Longoria.

I've professed my mancrush before (scroll down to 'Piven my Pivens').   I still haven't upgraded my Comcast package to include HBO, though.  That's too bad, since I'm missing all this Entourage.   

Ok, maybe I should pay attention to the SOTUA a bit more closely.  I'm a Government major for Christ's sake!

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.

Grendel's Den (I KNEW I knew it from somewhere!)

Jess and I trekked over to Harvard Square to meet up with Janine, Paula and Aaron for some late night snacks and well-deserved pints of Original Sin Cider.  Of course, we showed up at Grendel's Den (after parking on Church Street, the site of an apparent water main break), ready for some good, live college music.  Now, I've gone from lame to insane lately, so it was nice to just kind of chill and have one pint with a quesadilla, and have the singer/guitarplayers make fun of us a-la acoustic cafe, instead of molesting us a-la columbus ave karaoke.  Not that I'm hating, I'm just saying.  Plus, the eye candy was very gentle on the eyes.  Just saying there, too.

Now, what happens when you get a bunch of law school students, attorneys, and D.A. staff involved?  You remember that, in land use class, you've read something about Grendel's Den.  And you're right.  In 1982, Grendel's won an historic court case in the US Supreme Court, which enabled Grendel's to use their liquor license and changed existing laws in 9 states.  Read the decision by clicking here. [Larkin v. Grendel's Den, Inc., 459 U.S. 116 (1982)]

“Injustice Anywhere is a Threat to Justice Everywhere”

Yes, I am lifting from a Peter Lattman post on the WSJ Law Blog (you should go read it here).  But as today is MLK Day (observed), let's skip the hooplah and cut to the chase:

Here are a few MLK, Jr. legal gems, courtesy of the “Yale Book of Quotations” by Yale Law librarian Fred Shapiro:

Government action is not the whole answer to the present crisis, but it is an important partial answer. Morals cannot be legislated, but behavior can be regulated. The law cannot make an employer love me, but it can keep him from refusing to hire me because of the color of my skin.

– Stride Toward Freedom: The Montgomery Story, ch. II (1958)

Judicial decrees may not change the heart; but they can restrain the heartless.

– Speech, Nashville, Tenn., 27 Dec. 1962

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

– “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” 16 Apr. 1963

I'm just a young, single male (and totally available)

Could the reason why I'm not following lock step with some of my friends and contemporaries is that I'm an unsophisticated bachelor?  Well, the Wall Street Journal's got some words for me.  Actually, I'm a little scared.  Maybe I should go ahead and buy a house, dismiss dreams of being artistic and creative, work even harder, get married and have 3 kids and work even harder, and wake up -- after I forgot I existed for 30 or so years -- to find out I'm 56.

That wasn't a bitter rant, was it?

Read on: "Young Single Male" is Urged to Grow Up" on The Informed Reader Blog brought to us by the folks at Dow Jones and the Wall Street Journal.

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.

When you have a "I Hate My Job" day... Try out an Urban Legend

My little buddy K-Ro down in NYC sensed that I, we, me (among others) were having the "we're 26 and having the January blues... boy, only being able to afford Natty Lite seems like a great position in which to be" mode.  So, what I better suggestion than to try an urban legend and see if it works:

On your way home from work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the thermometer section and purchase a rectal thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson.  Be very sure you get this brand. When you get home, lock your doors, draw the curtains and disconnect the phone so you will not be disturbed.

Change into very comfortable clothing and sit in your favorite chair. Open the package and remove the thermometer. Now, carefully place it on a table or a surface so that it will not become chipped or broken.Now the fun part begins Take out the literature from the box and read it carefully.

You will notice that in small print there is a statement:"Every Rectal Thermometer made by Johnson & Johnson is personally tested and then sanitized."  Now, close your eyes and repeat out loud five times, "I am so glad I do not work in the thermometer quality control department at Johnson & Johnson."

"Have a nice day and remember, there is always someone else with a job that is more of a pain in the ass than yours!"  '

Ok, that was cheesy.  But it's the weekend, kinda, sorta!

The Bitch List

Reason to Bitch #1: I definitely was not planning on staying at work this late.  But whatever, I should be happy I have a job, right?

Reason to Bitch #2: I still can't hold down food.  Uughhh.  I am hungry and tired, and did I mention, yeah, I was at work way longer than I want to be tonight.

Reason to Bitch #3: Weddings. Weddings. And more weddings. Everyone's getting married, and I should be happy, but people, wtf is going on? Everyone's getting married in 2008! There's only so many weekends in a year!

Reason to Bitch #4: I never got to go to New Hampshahhh.  Booo.  Oh, and did I mention, yeah, I was totally at work for 17 hours today.  And I'm tired.  And I'm hungry.

Reason to Bitch $5: Having "a mind conservative and a heart liberal." Unfortunately, that typifies me... and that person... word.

This is Why I'm Hot

No, I'm not the rapper Mims.  But it seems like the second Kevin got to Boston, things started to get all hot up up around here in New England.  Now, I'm used to a nice little thaw at the end of January (or was reminded of it by Kevin Lemanowicz, Chief Meteorologist at Fox 25 News), but this is kind of crazy.  When I was hanging out with Kevin in the South End, I was out and about in a sweatshirt and jeans.  It's January people.  It's supposed to be wicked wicked cold in Boston right about now!  I should not be wearing crocks without socks!

Then, there's the New Hampshire primaries.  My near and dear friend Crystal is working the Obama campaign up in New Hampshahhh, and my near and dear friend Shane is working the Romney campaign, so I feel like, between Facebook and random text messages and spur of the moment blog updates, I'm right up there in the middle of the action.  The whole presidential campaign thing continues to get me all excited this year.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that both parties -- Democrats and Republicans -- don't have a clear front runner yet.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that each of the candidates, regardless of the party affiliation, happens to have a some sort of depth, a whole lot of quirks, and a bit of admirable conviction.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that I'm stuck somewhere in between Obama and Mitt (but people know where I'll be voting), somewhere between hopeful and jaded, somewhere between being really young and naive and getting old and stuck and stubborn in my ways.  Whatever the reason, things continue to stir up in New Hampshire.  Politics are getting fun again.  And the commercials -- yes, because Boston is right on the cusp on New Hampshire, we get all of the crazy pitches from each of the candidates, trying to woo voters between segments of a really lopsided LSU/Ohio State game (go Buckeyes!), the rebirth of American Gladiators (Go Helga!), and yet another rerun of How I Met Your Mother (Go... Go) [/ALT LINK/CBS Corporation site].

Anyway, I'm not quite sure where this post is going, except that it's January 2008 and I didn't even get a chance to wear my reindeer winter hat to work today.  The snowmen are melting.  And I'm feeling all hot and bothered about everything going on...

 

hawt(i)ness

This is where we separate the hot from the haughty.  I love presidential election years.  They make me love the game of politics again. And don't worry, I'll vote even if the election department makes it a pain to do so.

Beware presidential debates at St. Anselm's.  Nealmeister and Party Animal are coming!!!

Wanted: Miracle Workers?

The story posted on facebook today, from the Boston Globe:
Overwhelmed teachers face harsh realities at English High - The Boston Globe

[http://www.boston.com/news/education/k_12/articles...

An udpate on The English High School and its year with new teachers, longer school days, and a tougher curriculum...]

• My cursory remarks:

Reason number 1039 that I can't teach and should just keep on billing hours as an attorney: teaching in Boston Public Schools is clearly a job for miracle workers, and I clearly would not be a miracle worker teaching in Boston Public Schools.

• Comment from my friend, Amelia:

Disagree. Deeply. The Globe feels to report about the reasons behind the struggle of BPS teachers and the disconnect structurally that lies in the BPS system. The sad fact is that many of these teachers could be miracle workers if they had the type of leadership and village(it takes a village mentality) to do the work that is asked of them. The cycle continues...

• My reply back:

 

I agree with your point (and I re-read that H.R. Clinton book every once and a while). The result of the missing support element receives some cursory attention in the feature article: teachers dropping out. The greater effect is that talented people -- whose passion either lies in teaching, or further, lies in teaching in an urban school system like Boston -- shy away from the vocation and calling. Indeed, the cycle continues...

So...
Teachers, non-teachers, friends, foes... here's your chance to chime in.  Do you agree with the Globe?  Is there any hope for Boston Public Schools and the kids inside the system?  Would you quit your job tomorrow to teach at English High?  In public schools, do miracle workers just show up, or could they be made?

 

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.

Jesus, Holla Back

I thought my return to blogdom would be eloquent.  After all, I had all of these inspirational, good, half-scribed posts in "draft" on typepad.  But alas, time.  Time, you are always a problem and recently, if I couldn't bill you in 6 minute increments, then I was worried about why that was so.

Anyway, enough with this junior associate banter.  I was shopping on palmercash.com and I came to the realization that there are just too many good t-shirts to be owned.  If I won the lottery, I don't know what I'd do.  Buy one to frame and one to tumble dry for 5 hours, perhaps.  This one up above has got to be most awesome of them all, wicked pissah, if you will.  If I were trailblazing or apostlizing or ministering or door knocking or whatever, I'd have to wear this t-shirt to get the point across.  I mean, this is the way I pray most every day.

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/]

Absentee Voting Made Easy

One would think that, once you get to an election department's webpage, that planning your move to vote absentee would be fairly simple.  Maybe I'm just not bright or something, but I felt like I was being crucified by a certain city's election department to find out (a) when the special elections were happening in my state senate district (like "September ___"), (b) when city council elections were happening (like "September ___") because I was going away on vacation. 

Now first off, the webpage isn't exactly clear.  It looks nice, and there's tons of information.  Yet, I really could not get what I exactly wanted or needed.  I looked at both candidate's webpages and found nothing there.  Then, my separate yet related telephone journey to the elections department was equally as frustrating (from "what do you mean you don't know?" to "you can't vote absentee if we can't mail an application to you" and "we have you registered in two places, so you need to register again before you can vote absentee" and finally "we don't know how to help you.")  Now, I know there's the "age-old" axiom from the Rolling Stones. But with all of this trouble, I began to think: "I'm trying.  Do I really need to vote?  Is this even going to matter?"

I know the answer should be yes.  Voting does matter.  I've been drinking the kool-aid for quite some time now: sat through middle school American Civics, volunteered on campaigns, talked about government and politics because I found government and politics to be fun, voted with friends, voted with family, majored in Government in undergraduate school, cut class to vote, even paid the United States Postal Service some obscene amount of money to Express Mail my absentee ballot back to Boston in 2002 after it took forever to get to me in Indiana (it arrived the day before the election). 

But now that it seems like I barely even have time do my laundry -- let alone have a semblance of a life -- the kool-aid seems to be less sweet and I almost, just almost, decided to throw in the towel.  That is, until I realized that I'll be back in Massachusetts to vote -- September 11 and September 25 to be exact.  That meant only one thing: I could vote at my trusty polling station, get harrassed by friends holding campaign signs, and still believe that, by voting, I've made a difference.  Democracy prevails.  Problem solved.  I guess...

That's absentee voting made easy for ya!

[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....

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.

One Month Later

Well, Jess kindly informed me that it's been a month since I've last blogged.  I've been meaning to, I swear.  But somewhere between friends moving, and work, and Easter, and just being tired, I've only been able to draft what I've been feeling and thinking.  All of those squibs, and nothing that has been presentable.  Indeed, I think If I had posted all of the stuff that I've written between Quiznos and now, people might think it's all one inside joke.

Then again, some people think this IS one big inside joke.  Maybe, the joke's on me!

Needless to say, I will backdate.  In between March 27th and now, I've had some great posts.  The writer's voice inside my head has whispered tones of love, loss, laughter, and nostalgia.  The nostalgia, perhaps, has been the greatest force working inside of me... I notice that happens when I'm under either a lot of stress (think: work) or remembering (think: london).  Hillary and Ys and Crystal, among others, know full well what that means: "Neal descriptions" and the sounds of Sarah McLachlan wafting in the background.

I guess, too, that I felt motivated to write again because there's all these weird new beginnings marked by remembrances of old ends around me now.  Tomorrow, I make the last move out of the bankruptcy corner.  I'd be a liar if I didn't say that it marks a bittersweet feeling in my heart.  I thought that, by now, I'd be over my post 3-13 moments.  But I think I'm still feeling like I'll come back to work and the bankruptcy corner will be intact again.  One can only hope, I guess.  Not that I don't like Private Equity or anything.  I guess really miss Business Finance and Restructuring.  I miss the people, and the bankruptcy code, and having a specialty that is marked by equity and contracts and fairness and finances.  I don't know of many other specialty fields that could bring so many quirky ideas together.  No wonder it (being Bankruptcy) was a fit for me.

So, among other things, here's to the Bankruptcy Corner.  To A.T., C.M., A.C., K.M., and N.B.  And here's to blogging again. 

I owe you guys all of the updates from the past month now...