Life In A Northern (College) Town

I thought of one good thing about living in Boston the other day. Because of my lack of friends here I am doing a better job of keeping in touch with old ones. No friends except for my wife anyway. And I wouldn't trade living with my wife for anything. I just can't wait until we're living together in a town where some of my friends are too. But for now I play catch-up with some of my oldest and closest (or formerly closest) friends. And that is a good thing about living in a cold, soul-less town like Boston.

Had a great phone call with an ex-roommate from college. Well, from college and 3-1/2 years sharing apartments in Seattle. We certainly wore on each other after that much time sharing living space in our early-mid twenties. Growing animosity finally had us finding separate places in Seattle and we only occasionally chatted after that. Then I moved away. We spoke every few months or so, but not often enough for old friends. So I gave him a call the other day and had a great long conversation. Years melted away as we caught up. Good times, good times.

This sense of nostalgia maybe was sparked by some bad nostalgia my wife and I experienced Saturday night. We decided to go out for a drink in the neighborhood. Now, finding a bar in Boston to go to and not get annoyed can be difficult. Boston is flooded with so many colleges that walking into a bar can seem like walking into a frat party. Worse yet, on this night, it seemed like walking into a frat party sometime in the early 90s. Complete with blonde-dyed poofy haired sorority girls. And the music rotation coming from behind the bar, oh fuck. At one point I heard an eerie, familiar sound. It can best be described as an electronic voice sounding "woah, woah, woah....". I though I was going to go into convulsions.

"What?", my wife asked.

"Fucking Bon Jovi Living On A Prayer"

And once the song got past the pseudo-Frampton effects and kicked in the crowd suddenly went nuts and started screaming along with the song. Loud. Really really loud. And I was sure that someone had put acid in my wine and I was having a flashback to a white suburban Chicago high school circa 1987, and I wanted to jab myself in the eye with an icepick. Which is pretty much how I felt everyday in 1987.

Shrieks of "I love this song" and yelling along, off key, continued through such Gen-X faves as I Touch Myself and Like A Virgin.

The best part about this was looking over and seeing my wife roll her eyes as this spectacle as well. I love it when the same things annoy us both. Makes me feel even closer to her.

And the search for a cool, laid back neighborhood bar in Boston continues....