MOONINITES ATTACK!

I forgot to mention, before leaving the Quincy Market, I fell down again, this time down a very short flight of stairs.

I went back to get evidence of their steepness and/or disrepair, but found them to be perfectly normal, which made it kind of hard to justify falling down them...especially after running into that poor woman.

It's okay, she was very nice and understanding. You see, there were two steps between the ground and the building, and at a glance, I thought there was only one. My first step landed halfway between two steps, vaulting me forwards, into that poor nice lady. Man, I wasn't even drunk.

I drank more caffeine, just to be sure, and checked out Paul Revere's house. There was a huge line, and he never completed that famous ride anyway, so I decided to skip it.

In case I've never mentioned it, Paul Revere started the ride with two other men, Prescott and Dawes. Shortly after starting, they were intercepted by British troops, who called for their surrender.

Paul Revere surrendered.

Seriously.

Prescott and Dawes rode on, braving the possible hail of bullets, and completed the famous ride that surrender monkey Revere gets credit for. Why does Revere get all that undeserved praise? The poem only mentioned him, and the poem got famous. Either the poet liked him more, or as Amber says, Revere just sounds better in a poem than Prescott or Dawes.

Afterwards I ran into Boston's massive Italian district. You know, I expected a large visible Irish presence (there wasn't), but it was the Italians that worked the hardest at making their presence known, with a very large number of Italian restaurants (I wonder if they still had clam chowder? I'm pretty sure it's mandatory, by Boston law).

A neat, spooky old graveyard was the next stop, and it was there I found one of the most interesting pieces of history I've ever discovered...but I'll wait to tell you about that another time. I want to properly give it justice (also, I left my notes on it at home, so I don't remember the details). Let's just say: it's awesomely spooky.

Before long I was tracing the harbor, passing strange abandoned buildings, all with the signs 'government property' on them. I don't know why the government is calling dibs on Silent Hill locations, but that's their deal. I got lost amongst those weird buildings (and kept an eye out for guys in pyramid shaped hats) and...I FOUND ONE!

The navy!

It was the U.S.S. Constitution, in all its glory!

Wow!

So I wasted no time, and marched right into a Starbucks.

What? It was like 9 billion degrees! I was nearly melting onto the pavement, and only non-stop liquid refreshment from the best corporate coffee retailer kept me from perishing right there on the sidewalk.

The U.S.S. Constitution (or Old Ironsides as it's often called) is a perfectly restored 1800's era ship, that was used to fight the British in the war of 1812, and remains in perfect condition to this day. Of course, now it's permanently harbored in Boston as a floating museum, its Limey killing days far behind it.

Old Ironsides never lost a single battle, never retreated, and got its nickname when a cannonball struck its wooden side dead on...and bounced off, harmlessly. DAMNNNNNN.

Of course, to get to the ship I had to go through a security checkpoint that had all the trimmings. The female navy officer made me dump everything I had into a tray that went through an x-ray machine, while I stepped through a metal detector.

She even asked me to take off my belt, which if you're a guy, is always nice to hear from a woman.

The ship was absolutely amazing, as was the nice, cold beverage at their snack stand afterwards. With that, I was beat. I took a look at the WW2 warship they had next door, but I was too tired to go inside.

That was it, I was spent. It was time for dinner.

And what an unbelievably mediocre dinner it was! Granted, it started with an absolutely wonderful bowl of Clam Chowder, served by a procession of gorgeous waitresses, each wearing a low cut, short black dress, but the 'Shepard's Pie' was absolutely pathetic. I forget the name of the place, but it was a short name, only a few letters long. The people inside seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I can't see why (unless they didn't order entrees).

Imagine this: hamburger, taken directly from the package, minced and cooked with no sauce. Add chopped up generic veggies. Do not season it in any way. Overcook it a little. Throw it into a bowl. Toss generic mashed potatoes on it. Melt on a little cheese. Presto. Crap.

I am not exaggerating when I say they did not flavor it in any way. No sauce, no gravy, and no spices. Christ, I would have settled for salt and pepper at that point.

Still, I was on vacation, and in no mood to fuss. I took two bites, paid the bill, walked across the street, sat in another restaurant, and ordered dinner.

Hot Pots (or something to that effect), was a wonderful Thai restaurant (no clam chowder though). I ordered the duck soup with sticky rice, and this was some of the stickiest rice I've ever had. I almost needed a chisel (it's a good thing). The soup itself was immense in proportion, and had a mini-lantern below it (the kind used for indoor smores), which kept it warm. Despite the several small pieces of bone I had to be on the look out for, it was delicious, a cross between tender duck and sweet, onion soup.

It was then that I came upon my theory for Boston:

The restaurants in Boston can either have good Clam Chowder, or good entrees, but not both. The theory was proven on Sunday, when I ate the last meal of the trip at the wonderful legendary Union Oyster House, where I was treated to a Samuel Adams beer (mediocre, but surprisingly alcoholic), two magnificent Crab Cakes, and a mediocre bowl of clam chowder.

True, it was still the fourth best bowl I've ever eaten, but I was shocked that a restaurant famous for their fantastic seafood would serve up a mediocre bowl of Boston's most legendary dish. It's either one or the other, and frankly, I far preferred the crab cakes. Boston can take it's Shepard pie and shove it.

Well, that was about it. Boston. Wow. It's like a city they made before they knew what cities were supposed to be. At no point was it completely revised or reconstructed. It just started as a small port city, and as the years passed, they just added more and more.

Churches, colleges, wars, politics, businesses, tourists, cartoon aliens and soup.

Boston, I salute you.

Just enough with the Red Sox already. I'm sick of it. Which reminds me of my favorite conversation overheard during the trip, at the Oyster House:


GUY 1: "I love the Red Sox! We should make a band completely based on the Red Sox!

GUY 2: "Well, I really like fruit punch. Are we going to make a band about that too?"


Guy number two, I salute you...for keeping it all in perspective.