Boston

One thing i miss most about Europe is spontaneity in it’s rawest, and most pure form.  This passed weekend, Eric and I were supposed to go to Fire Island to film some bizarre music video.  The only sketchy details he gave me were “space party,” and “fire island freak out.”  I asked few questions and when it came time to leave, my inaugural fire island freak out ended up being canceled.  My fluffy headed friend and I found ourselves sitting on my 20 year old blue leather coach deciphering what to do.  I have about had it with Jersey so I suggested a road trip.  I was cranky and looking for an escape.  Boston was mentioned and we were on our way in my car - Stefan.  

Brief side note, my first car was named Little Steven Van Zandt.  Not too sure why, but it happened that way.  My new car, of course needed a name because I’m a giant dork like that.  Eric actually came up with the brilliant name of Stefan.  My new Jetta is almost  identical to the old, just more sleek.  It’s got some stylin’ wheels, some leather, and some other feature’s that old little Stevie just didn’t have in him.  So - we arrived at Stefan, Urkel’s cool alter ego.

I grabbed my cute new Frye heels, a romper and some necessities and we were on our way.  Since I’ve been back in America, my google quota has resumed to it’s normal capacity.  It seriously irked me not to find a hotel before we left but I rolled with it.

We had no idea where we were going but we figured it out.  Between both of our iPods, there was a vast variety of dorky throwbacks, alternative, Frank Sinatra songs to get us from here to California.  Quite frankly, my favorite cruisin’ tunes when I’m with Eric are to put on his horrible past projects.  There’s something about scream-o high school projects that always get both of us to crack a smile (I think he dies a little bit inside though).

We got to Boston.  I’ve never been - ever.  It looks exactly like Philadelphia and nothing like my beloved New York.  It’s clean, Irish, and crawling with youth.  We meandered around and finally settled on a Holiday Inn.  

My Frye heels got stuck in every cobble stone that I passed by and the night was miserable.  The following day we parused the Quincy Market and got some incredibly fresh seafood and Italian goods at the Italian street fair.

Delicious!