11.27.2006

It's true, you can't go home again

That's pretty common knowledge. In my 30 years, I've learned this the hard way. Going back to visit places I had once called a "home" always seemed to result in the same awkward and hurried meetings where nothing more than pleasantries were exchanged.

For example, when I was in college, I stopped back at my old high school to pick up my yearbook. I was received warmly, but it was clear life had moved on at the alma mater ... without me.

Since moving to Raleigh in late August, I have established a new home, and it was never more clear to me than during my visit "home" to Boston over Thanksgiving. It was my first return, and the city somehow seemed very different to me. It was distant. There wasn't the same connection with it I had once loved and cherished. I was now an outsider.

One of my colleagues here asked me about my trip this weekend. She, too, is a Yankee transplant, but by years rather than my mere three months. I told her, as I told a friend who asked by e-mail, the trip was strangely similar to a reacquaintance date with an old girlfriend. Not for the people. On the contrary, those bonds are still just as strong. It was clearly with the region.

Most have had at least one reacquaintance date. It's the one that follows some chance meeting in a mall or some other public place. Both exchange pleasantries, reminisce briefly about the "good times," and then someone gets the idea that it would be good to get together. Contact info is exchanged and eventually a date is set up. (This, of course, can happen between friends, too, but the former-lover scenario works better for this example.)

When the prearranged re-meeting comes, both are nervous and trying to put their best foot forward, just as if on a real first date, except in this case the stakes are higher because each knows the other's best. Things are usually a bit clumsy at first, and somewhere during the date one or both realize that whatever there was between them will never be again. They will part company for good this time, only to exchange pleasantries and quick life updates at the next chance meeting.

All that comes to mind in such an instance is the new colloquialism, "I am so over him."

I am so over Boston, and it's sad. I'm sad because of it. It was the only home I knew my whole life until three months ago, and if I never life another day there I wouldn't be upset. I feel like I owe her more than that, but I know that I don't. And that was reinforced on Sunday when I went to the Office Max about five minutes from my apartment down here.

I was talking to an associate about a computer chair and he mentioned something about the "ahms." I listened politely until he was done speaking but I didn't care anymore what came out of his mouth. I was dying to ask him where from in Massachusetts he moved. I had to wait because interrupting down here is a very rude thing. When he was done, I asked. He's from Natick. Just moved down this month. Same reasons as me. Tired of winter. Tired of traffic. Tired of the high cost of living. Tired of angry/self-important people who believe they set the rules in all instances. Guess what. He's only been here three weeks and he's not moving back either.

I should make a disclaimer here, and let it be very clear. I don't hate Boston. On the contrary. I love it for all that it is, and just as it is. But I can't live there anymore. I know that sounds like the contradictory dichotomy of, "I'm against the war, but I support the troops," but it's true. Now as a visitor, rather than resident, of Boston, I will have the benefit of a native's knowledge while there, and the outsider's knowledge that in a few days I will rest my head far away from Beantown. That is, of course, if my house sells.

Anyone looking for a three-bed Cape on a cul-de-sac in a residential neighborhood of Boston? It has a fenced back yard, front yard irrigation, granite counters and custom maple cabinets. Two full baths, including one with high-end Kohler fixtures and an extra deep soaking tub. The first floor has impeccable original 1941 hardwoods. Almost all rooms have crown molding, and there's a formal dining and living room. Oh, and a screened porch with a barbecue deck attached. This place is a perfect condo alternative with off-street parking. E-mail me at bostoncrazydriving[at]yahoo.com if interested.

The street also has three cops living on it, and has a nice mix of young families and retirees. Steps to Commuter Rail and Dunkin' Donuts. Short drive to 93 and 95 and downtown Boston.

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11.07.2006

Who the hell is Edmund L. Kennedy?

OK, I can understand that boston.com is run by a lot of non-native Bostonians, so while irksome, I can overlook the occasional miscue. Recently, I just shook my head when I saw a cutline on the front page referring to the Boston Commons. Anyone who is FROM Boston knows there is only one Common.

Tonight's F-up is inexcusable.

Under a breaking news banner, the site quoted the state's senior Senator Emund L. Kennedy from a post-election rally.

I copied the gaffe and I paste it here.

At a gubernatorial victory rally for Deval L. Patrick, Senator Edmund L. Kennedy said "victory's in the air, gang, victory's in the air.'' --Developing
A Google search for Senator Kennedy would have yielded the correct name.

It was corrected a moment later when I refreshed.

On another note, congratulations to Deval Patrick and Massachusetts. While it is significant that the state has chosen its first African American governor, it shouldn't be the only story of this election. I had the occasion to meet and pointedly question both Governor-elect Patrick early in his campaign and Lt. Gov. Kerry Healy during her last campaign in 2002. I had the impression that Patrick was the better prepared of the two for the job of governing.

On the off chance I move back to Massachusetts, I know I would return to a state in good hands.

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50,000 Watts of Power with a skip

I have the fortune of listening to Massachusetts election returns on WBZ 1030 AM while in Raleigh, NC. What? You say? Yes.

BZ's signal, beamed with 50,000 watts of power to cover most of the dead zones around Massachusetts and New England, reaches down here loud and clear.

How? Well a former member of the Army Signal Corps could probably explain it much better than I, but the basic idea is that radio waves travel like waves on the ocean. Radio waves get an extra boost from the phenomenon of atmospheric skip. Basically, the waves rise into the upper reaches of the amosphere, where the air is lighter, and the waves skip freely, like Tiny Tim in his tulips.

I discovered the power of this phenomenon, all 50,000 watts of it, on Sunday night. I was scanning the AM band down here while driving to a friend's house to watch the Patriots' JV team play the Colts. I was hunting for pregame chatter in hopes of finding the game itself for later because I planned to leave during halftime.

The radio version of 60 Minutes was playing on 1030, so I stopped to listen. I hung around for the commercial for a station ID and to listen if they did a promo for the game's broadcast. I was stunned that it was BZ, loud and clear.

Excited, I tuned in the next morning to listen to the morning news in Boston and the world, but I instead got a dose of hellfire from a preacher who wasn't going to yield to the gentle voices from Boston.

However, tonight, I decided to give it another shot. Sure enough, BZ was there for me on my drive home. I was so happy. The signal was worse thanks to the heavy rain we're having here in Raleigh tonight, but it was still as strong in some spots as it would have been in Boston.

Ahhhhh, a bit of home right here in Tobacco Country.

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