Day One

I am at my second day of work, an hour early because I can’t sleep. A lot has happened: Mostly food related.

I had a good week’s worth of send-off parties and packing in Chicago. The highlight was last Saturday night. We started at Sam’s, where we enjoyed a delicious grilled salmon meal. Then to Danny’s (ranked Chicago’s #1 bar) for a dance party that was started by none other than Kate E and myself. There was some intense dance offs between us and Danny’s patrons, and I am sure you know who came out the victor. Next stop–Green Mill. Where the house band called Sabertooth spews jazz all night long. I was pretty krunked at that time, luckily Kate E had her sketchbook, so it is all documented in writing. The sun came up and we went home.

For some reason I had a sharp headache Sunday morning… so after I recovered I had to do some serious packing which isn’t a topic people want to read about (moving sucks). Mark, Kate E and I had a great carribean dinner in the ‘hood. I have had lots of great food recently.

Monday. Time to fly out, the plane was packed, got to Massachusetts. My boss picked me up and we went straight to a pub called Man of Kent, I am guessing the propieter is from Kent, somewhere in GB. The place was coverd with Soccer jerseys and British memoriablia and we watched cricket or some messed up looking sport that isn’t baseball. I was surprised to see an establishment like this until I realized I was in New England. That is basically how everything here works, it is just like England, only newer. Where Old England is stale and crusty, our New England is fresh and polished to a shine.

Toured the facilities here after that. It is pretty crazy. It really is like they dropped this museum in the middle of nowhere. The art is amazing and everything is very relaxed compared to Chicago. There is really no formalities about the museum at all. The town is super po-dunk, way beyond what I had imagined. Possibly there is some non-po-dunk areas, but I haven’t seen them. The locals seem to enjoy scratch-off lottery tickets. People really do say “wicked.” Speaking of, that is a good segway to my living quarters. It is big old dumpy house, very similiar to old 1109 Tennessee in Lawrence, except not nice at all. It is yellow. My room looks like a room a nun or a mental patient would have lived in once, mostly because of the sketched out bed and bare hanging lightbulb. There are many different kinds of wallpapers throughout the house. So far I have 3 roommates who are all nice enough. Two little girls and this other dude. We spent the first night drinking wine and Keystones.

The first day at work was alright, no training, just straight to work. I don’t think I will have any problems or confidence issues here. Everyone knows my name, but I don’t know theirs. My boss took me out to lunch (because it was my birthday–thanks to everyone for the rash of e-mails!). I think I had fried clam or something, basically it was a platter of fried things that all tasted the same. Everyone kept going on about how good it tasted. While it was good food, there was little distinction between the french fries, fried fish and fried onion rings. For my birthday we went to the bar at the Holiday Inn for a couple drinks and food, then to this place called the Homestead. The Homestead is the type of place you want to go into, but you are a little afraid. All in all it is pretty sweet. Me and Shea (the other dude mentioned above) waltzed in like we owned the place and ordered a couple of Buds–pounders, none of that bottled piss. The barista delivers them with quickness and says “dolla feefty each” at that point I was hooked on the Homestead. Immediately this dude started talking to us, (mostly Shea, because I suck at small talk and don’t know anything about the Red Sox except the Nomar sketch on SNL, which I doubt they find funny) his name was Sloober, or Sluber (he isn’t sure on the spelling of his nickname, I think you can just pick the one you like better if it’s your nickname, Sloober/Sluber seems to think the givers of the nickname, his brothers (crazy sons-a-bitches), determine the spelling (Sloober is also unsure of the reason he earned the nickname, I thought maybe a combination to words that descrive a personality trait, but it didn’t seem to fit.)). Sloober had a lot to say. It was a great conversation, however I was cautious not to say anything at all that would challenge his beliefs as he seemed like he could fly off the handle pretty easily, especially when he would wave his empty drink around to gesture a point in his story, then take a sip from it.

Since I have been here, I have spent a total of about $10.00, all on booze or Gatorade. I buy the Gatorade when I drink too much booze. Sometimes I think I am going to die of boredom out here, other times I think it is alright. It should go by pretty fast though.