October 29th, 2007

Make Mine Moxie

Boston, you are the only only only

From the way the crowd outside was hollering, you'd think the Sox had just won the World Series or something. Of course, I knew it. Abbie the Game-Winning Cat, who sauntered into the room at the top of the 9th, knew it. (Where other cats can foretell impending death, Abbie's appearance is a sign of a victory.)

The customary bottle of red wine was uncorked at the top of the 9th. The glass was poured at the bottom of the 9th, and drunk after the third out. Up on the shelf by the new home office space are four Unibroue bottles, one for each game of the series. (The Maudite is there, of course, as well as the Chambly Noire, which I enjoyed, and the Terrible, a 10.5% buzzjob that tastes good while it gets you enjoyable toasty. Vive la biere Quebecoise!)

The bottle of dry red (which, with a little victory added, tasted very sweet) will probably be finished tomorrow night after the first Tomes of Terror II performance.

Outside we went. You could hear the celebration sounds even three blocks away. Called Dad on the cellphone; he answered with "They did it!" Indeed they did. Walked down College Ave. At one point I could hear celebrations from over on Elm Street as well as slightly up Holland, probably near the Orleans bar. The Tufties were in full force, some of them not yet out of high school when the Sox reversed the Curse in 2004. I thought how interesting it was that three years ago I watched the final World Series in the same house, only then it wasn't yet my house. Maybe this is a lucky house.

The crowd on Elm wasn't as packed as it was in 2004. Back then, the victory was inconceivable. Folks had waited decades for that moment and when the moment came, all of Davis Square, it seemed, had turned out to pack Elm Street from one side to the other. We were all clustered in, cheering and cold but happy and finally getting the chance to share the fact that WE'RE #1 with everybody else who already knew about it but maybe kinda coulda used a bit of reminding.

Now, well, we had won again, and it was all fine and dandy, damn fine and dandy, but the crowd was certainly thinner, albeit rowdier, than last time. It was mosly the younger Tufties who were dancing and flailing about in the streets; us older folks stood on the sidewalk and smiled benevolently. I do admit my smile was with slight chagrin since it was clear that, unlike 2004, this was not a victory that had been anticipated and then savored well and sweet; this was a victory that had been chugged. Maybe with even a kegstand.

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Then the police came by and forced everybody back onto the sidewalk. Some folks cheered the sirens; others booed as if their fun had been taken away. Of course, once the police passed it was back to the streets as normal. That's about the time I went home.

I still think Ellsbury shoulda been named MVP, though Mike Lowell and his bushy RBIbrows did indeed do amazing things.

(no subject)

"We're dancing on the ducks down Boylston" almost sounds like a Jonathan Richman lyric. Should be, at least. Someone get me three chords. We'll hammer something out.

Other news that came 'round the bend this weekend is that Coney Island's Astroland has a new lease on life. At least, a new lease for 2008. The park will be run by the Albert family, who sold the land to Thor Equities for a cool $30 million. Thor's initial goal was to turn Coney Island into Condo Island, but after buying up most of the land in the former amusement zone and then running into opposition from Brooklyn locals and Brooklyn city officials, found themselves with a bunch of empty, un-rezoned land -- plus one amusement park -- that weren't going to be condofied any time soon. However, Thor has this habit of buying up parcels of land (such as one of Andy Warhol's Factory buildings) with declared intent to rebuild anew, only to demolish the site and flip the empty lot for a nice tidy profit. Would they do the same to Astroland once it closed "for good" in September?

Apparently not. Thor's still got plans for "the New Coney Island", which of course sounds about as awesome as "The New Scooby-Doo and Scrappy Hour" but with less actual entertainment ("C'mon, Uncle Scoob! Let's help design a lifestyle center on the newly-rezoned abandoned amusement park! Ta-ta-ta ta ta taaaaaa!") However, as they're not gonna be building for most of 2008, I guess Thor decided to let the Alberts run Astroland another season (but not, one hopes, with the outrageous $3 million rent that Thor originally demanded in an attempt to scare Astroland closed.) They've already got enough vacant lots in Coney, yanking out venerable institutions such as the independent concessionaires only to surround the empty lots with plywood fences. They might as well keep some form of color around.

So Astroland will be open for its Second Last Season in 2008. Here's hoping they not only stay open in 2009, but stay open for good. A Third Last Season would turn the park into the used furniture store of the amusement park industry (you know, the one that's been "Going Out Of Business" for years now. EVERYTHING MUST GO!)

Borrowed time is always nice, if a bit nerve-wracking. I hope the time was borrowed well.
Tom Lehrer is Smug

last one: This is for a certain Aussie

Well, Mr. Burns had done it
The power plant had won it
With Roger Clemens clucking all the while
Mike Scioscia's tragic illness made us smile
While Wade Boggs lay unconscious on the bar room tile

We're talkin' softball
From Maine to San Diego
Talkin' softball
Mattingly and Canseco
Ken Griffey's grotesquely swollen jaw
Steve Sax and his run-in with the law
We're talkin' Homer... Ozzie, and the Straw
Tom Lehrer is Smug

Forget it, Jake, it's b0st0ntown

Here's a charmingly tasteless story from b0st0n, where this post originated:
i had a halloween party.


so here is my question:

has anyone here ever used a local private investigator? what are the prices like? any recommendations?

It was a cold and windy day in the City of Beans. Temperatures dropping to near-freezing, the Sox had just won the Series and I slowly regained consciousness to find myself lying in a pool of potato-scented drool. I grunted, glancing about to ascertain my whereabouts: the underside of my desk. A popular and familiar destination. Also familiar was the feeling of a tugging at my shoe; it was my trusty secretary Tessie giving me the usual 1:30 pm wake-up call.

"Time to get up, Charlie," Tessie said with a graceful urgency that betrayed her Roslindale hairdo. "You've got a client. Hand me the bottle of Kappy's vodka and watch your head as you get up. You managed to get yourself under your chair again, too."

I slowly extricated myself from underneath the chair and its treacherous casters. Staggering to my knees, I found the task of standing fully up too much for my dehydrated, hungover senses and after a few failed attempts, slipping on the slick linoleum floor, I managed to grip the edge of my desk and slowly pull myself up to a near-standing position. Tessie helpfully wheeled the chair out of my way and then pushed it back just in time for me to collapse in it and sprawl over the desk. My arms flopped down first, scattering pens and paperwork about; my blotto head second, making a forehead-shaped imprint on the cushy blotter.

I blearily saw her as I finally worked up the strength to hold my head up. The sight was definitely energizing. The dame was gorgeous: an amazing blonde in a black dress, black stockings, black shoes I think I saw on Sex And The City and a black veiled hat to match. Definitely Newbury Street. Not a hint of Filene's Basement about her. She looked across the office at me, perched as she was on the red naughahyde couch, keeping a cigarette smoldering simply by holding it close to her lips. A road sign appeared above her that read "CAUTION: LEGS CROSSING." She gazed into my bloodshot eyes with a predatory look of vulnerability. She was all over the map, and her topography was breathtaking.

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