Bosstone

The eyes burn. That means I didn't satisfy the daily slumber requirement set forth by the cells in my body.

I'm slumping today, working out of necessity where I would have otherwise called in. Too many other days to not be here for that are coming up.

Went to Boston to play and celebrate America's birthday yesterday. Had no sense of direction, no idea of the street layouts, no idea what to expect. It was a dreary day at best, but not too hot. I took the Chinatown bus, because of the cost, there and back.

The thing is, I do not understand Chinese people and culture, far beyond the language. The food we bought before we left was from the Chinese bakery, and while it was really cheap, the bread was stale, the hot dog loaded with nitrates, and even the bottled Snapple tasted like crap. Everyone else on the bus was content with their purchases, and it makes me wonder if W.A.S.P.s like me just don't have the stomach that others may have. Anyways, before I knew it I had abdominal pain and heartburn, on a non-stop bus to Boston. I know the Chinese supermarket near my house smells like rotting fish, and I cannot bear to enter it again. I don't get their sense of humor. It is so closed-off, and other times it's blatant enough that I've seen someone point and laugh at a perfect stranger. I dunno, I'm just saying I guess.

Boston is a ghost town, at least from what I saw. Even Quincy Market and the state house, popular tourist attractions, seemed sparsely populated. I was expecting more urban sprawl, since everyone I've ever met from Boston likes to talk it up, saying how great it is. I don't know, I mean, you can feel the history in the city when you arrive, and everything is really clean, with new buildings interspersed with old colonial ones, but I think people make a place have a pulse, and there was none to be found. Zuppe told me once that it's like Albany, but cleaner. Touche.

I played at Revolution Rock Bar, for about 10 people, early, so the bar could close 'cause it was so slow. The people I knew in Boston weren't able to make it, and a few strangers-turned-fans stayed to hear me play, and then bailed when I was finished. I played well, and the bar enjoyed my music, and apologized for the lack of people. We gotta go back on Friday or Saturday night and show them what we're made of.

I opened with the new song, "Ophelia," a bit faster, with new voicings and lyrics over the bridge as per Zuppe's constructive criticism. He mentioned that Ophelia walks into the river and drowns after going mad in Hamlet, and this was an interesting perspective to bring to mind. I wrote the bridge, then, on the bus ride down. Everyone keeps saying it is my best work to date, and I really think it could be. It's not 1000% complete yet, so we'll see how the days and the ways shape it.

Corning, NY tomorrow, meeting up with Lindsay and playing. Then she and I drive back Saturday, and spend the weekend finally relaxing. Yankees game and another show on Sunday, leading up to a week of Maine, Buffalo and Indiana next week. I jump at the prospect of travelling so much, so many miles under my belt, so much Americana unfolding before my eyes. It will be my third and deepest trek in New England, with each time testing the waters further and further. Every little waterside community I see seems to be a portent of my future. I want a little girl and a son. I want a wife, and I want Sunday afternoons on a boat. I want to wash the sea salt out of my clothing every Sunday night; to wake up at dawn, make breakfast for my family, and hold them tighter as the weeks go by.

All this is very fleeting
But my spirit is strong
And I look skyward
To know I have come correctly.



Boston sucks.
Go Yankees.