I barely made my flight. The drive from our house to the San Francisco airport with no traffic should take about an hour and 45 minutes. It took three hours with traffic. Then I had to dick around on the bus from long-term parking for a good 20 minutes before arriving at the terminal. Fast walked just one click under jogging to reach my gate (which was not only the last one in the terminal, I actually had to go down a floor to reach it) (that was weird).
Once seated and seat-belted in, I offered my neighbor a piece of gum. She couldn’t have been more rude as she said no. Then the b proceeded to cough the whole way here, and I’m worried she might have the ebola. Almost asked her if she’d recently come from Liberia but thought it a smarter tactic to dramatically turn my head every time she started coughing. I’m sure she appreciated that. Maybe next time she’ll take the fucking piece of gum.
This is my first trip to Boston, and the city is just as lovely as I expected it to be. Beautiful old buildings, lots of trees just beginning to change colors and plenty of stuff to check out. Way more than I could get to in a weeklong trip, much less one that’s only two full days.
In a weird case of immediately adapting to the time zone, I got up at 7 this morning (4AM California time) and headed out shortly after. Within a few minutes of leaving the hotel on foot, a lady in an SUV pulled up and asked for directions. Guess I blend in with the neighborhood. Not wanting to break the illusion, I gave her directions. She’s halfway to Canada by now. (Okay, okay, I didn’t really give her directions.)
There were a few places I wanted to hit today, and I managed to do them all, walking a total of 9.5 miles (yes, I used an app to measure my distance–figured if the gubment is keeping track, I might as well too). Love checking out a city on foot. For instance, I saw a well-dressed man who did NOT look like he was talking on a phone of any sort. Just as we passed each other, he said, “Let’s get the drugs ready.” I overheard a number of conversations (some between two people who were physically there, but many more were people on phones), and only every once in a while did I hear that stereotypical Boston accent. Guess it’s like how people expect all Texans to talk with a twang, when in reality most people sound like they’re from TV.
LET’S GET TO THE PICTURES
First up, Granary Burying Ground. I might have been inclined to try to eavesdrop on one of the people leading the tour groups through the cemetery, but they were all dressed like pilgrims or some shit. No thanks.
A number of notable people are buried here. I wanted to check it out for that reason, sure, but mostly I wanted to see what a cemetery that dates back to the mid-1600s looks like. You know, because I’ve spent most of my life in Houston where everything is new all the time.
most of the stones are too old to read
I’ll bet Frank had more going for him than just the one thing
I sent James and my brother pictures of tombstones that featured their birthdays as the deceased’s date of death – then I realized that was kind of morbid and quit looking for familiar dates
James found info on this epitaph, if you want to read what it says.
some of Ben Franklin’s peeps are buried here (though he is not)
this was the only Jackson I saw – guess we’re more of a southerly thang
winner of the best first name
lean on me, when you’re not strong, and I’ll be oddly moist, which will freak Crystal out
urban legend that this is “Mother” Goose’s grave – not a true fact, but I snapped a shot just the same (and realized as I was taking this that I was standing on top of her grave) (rude)
victims of the Boston Massacre (these stones are only slightly more legible in person)
Saw a lot of other cool stuff. Here are a couple more pics.
I don’t know who this Brooks character is, but he seems a little full of himself
Okay, so I need to dry my hair, grab a cab and go see The Singularity. Will report more later.