The other day I went looking for the editorial design supplies closet (specifically, these sweet graph-paper spiral notebooks), and I opened a door only to find something amazing. Fortunately, I had my digicam handy and caught the whole thing on video …
Can you believe it? At the Boston Globe?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Um ...
Franco. I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to leave you! Well, actually, I did …
OK, so I haven't driven my car in a month. It's been sitting at the Globe, in a secure parking lot.
I should really check on it. I'm curious to know if it A) is still there, B) starts, C) drives. Maybe I'll go in to work early and take it for a spin on the Turnpike.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
My birthday is only a few weeks away ...
The Canon EOS 1Ds Mark III.
Canon released a digital SLR that has a 21-megapixel sensor, which renders 61MB JPEG files.
A sample shot on Canon's Web site.
That same shot zoomed in at 100 percent.
That's an unbelievable amount of resolution, all for the bargain price of $8,000 for the body alone. So, should I start panhandling?
Excuses, excuses
It's confession time: I like coffee better than beer. If you put out a pot of dark coffee (or even this new "smooth" Trader Joe's blend I've been drinking lately) and a pitcher of beer — and it could be any beer, Guinness, Samuel Smith, whatever — I would choose the coffee hands down. I could drink coffee in the morning, afternoon and evening. Beer's benefits are plenty: It calms me and makes me feel lovey-dovey; but coffee has never made me sick to my stomach. In fact, coffee keeps me alert and focused. "Hey, Rob, let's drink the hell out of some beer," is a proposition that I'll take nine times out of 10. But if you tempt me with coffee, I'll take it no matter what.
Right, so it's obvious from the above paragraph that I had no proper lead for this entry, and I didn't want to start it off by writing, "So anyway, … "
So anyway, it's been a long week. "A long week of NOT POSTING ANYTHING," you might mutter under your breath, and it would be true. No, my dog didn't eat my iMac. That's a ridiculous notion, anyway: the dog lives in Florida and she's a vegetarian.
No, this all I ever do at my computer anymore:
Pose for pictures and drink coffee.
No, really, I look at photos, listen to music and compile dozens of playlists of music for Jenn that can't seem to say "I love you" as easily as I can say it over the phone. But there's something about that phrase that doesn't sound as good over the static of cell-phone signals as it does whispered in your ear. But anyway.
Why has it been a long week? Well, aside from a bout of homesickness that's come on, it's been long because I've been working like crazy. Because I'm the FNG, I had to put in seven days in a row. "And since you're the FNG, no one will miss you when you get blown away," my uncle told me, his head obviously in the jungles of Vietnam.
Aside from the long work week, the job has been going pretty well. I feel like I understand CCI, the horrendous pagination system the Globe uses. It's really the worst thing I've ever seen; almost as bad as the first version of DTI that the T-U used when I got there. Everyone seems to be happy with my work, but it's still going to be a challenge to reinvent the section like they want me to. The editors are entrenched in their collective mindset, and the notion of running only four (and not five) stories on the City & Region front still seems like a radical concept (Sunday is the exception). We'll see ... I just have to work hard to convince them to let me try new things, and I'm happy to take on that challenge.
I've been hanging out with my friend from high school, Tom, a lot lately.
He's the one on the left.
It's been great, and I'm happy that our friendship has picked up where we left off. Sadly, the virtual Bartlett's of Simpsons quotations we held in our minds has been replaced by practical knowledge. But we've just realized there are bigger and better things in life. Like The Venture Bros..
The weather has been awesome here. While my poor friends have been steaming in Florida, the temperature here hasn't cracked 70 degrees in the past few days. It's supposed to get up to the 80s tomorrow, but a rainstorm will push it back into the 70s. Paradise, right now. And believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to the fall and the winter. I've never had a true winter, but I think I'm cut out for it. We'll see, right?
Because it's so nice I'm starting to wonder what the hell I'm doing in my apartment, sitting at this computer, writing in a blog that probably causes most people's eyes to glaze over.
I think I'm going to go for a walk.
• • •
Right, so it's obvious from the above paragraph that I had no proper lead for this entry, and I didn't want to start it off by writing, "So anyway, … "
So anyway, it's been a long week. "A long week of NOT POSTING ANYTHING," you might mutter under your breath, and it would be true. No, my dog didn't eat my iMac. That's a ridiculous notion, anyway: the dog lives in Florida and she's a vegetarian.
No, this all I ever do at my computer anymore:
Pose for pictures and drink coffee.
No, really, I look at photos, listen to music and compile dozens of playlists of music for Jenn that can't seem to say "I love you" as easily as I can say it over the phone. But there's something about that phrase that doesn't sound as good over the static of cell-phone signals as it does whispered in your ear. But anyway.
Why has it been a long week? Well, aside from a bout of homesickness that's come on, it's been long because I've been working like crazy. Because I'm the FNG, I had to put in seven days in a row. "And since you're the FNG, no one will miss you when you get blown away," my uncle told me, his head obviously in the jungles of Vietnam.
Aside from the long work week, the job has been going pretty well. I feel like I understand CCI, the horrendous pagination system the Globe uses. It's really the worst thing I've ever seen; almost as bad as the first version of DTI that the T-U used when I got there. Everyone seems to be happy with my work, but it's still going to be a challenge to reinvent the section like they want me to. The editors are entrenched in their collective mindset, and the notion of running only four (and not five) stories on the City & Region front still seems like a radical concept (Sunday is the exception). We'll see ... I just have to work hard to convince them to let me try new things, and I'm happy to take on that challenge.
I've been hanging out with my friend from high school, Tom, a lot lately.
He's the one on the left.
It's been great, and I'm happy that our friendship has picked up where we left off. Sadly, the virtual Bartlett's of Simpsons quotations we held in our minds has been replaced by practical knowledge. But we've just realized there are bigger and better things in life. Like The Venture Bros..
The weather has been awesome here. While my poor friends have been steaming in Florida, the temperature here hasn't cracked 70 degrees in the past few days. It's supposed to get up to the 80s tomorrow, but a rainstorm will push it back into the 70s. Paradise, right now. And believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to the fall and the winter. I've never had a true winter, but I think I'm cut out for it. We'll see, right?
Because it's so nice I'm starting to wonder what the hell I'm doing in my apartment, sitting at this computer, writing in a blog that probably causes most people's eyes to glaze over.
I think I'm going to go for a walk.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
"Great catch," or, Robert strokes his ego
The biggest compliment you can give a copy editor is to tell him or her "Great catch." Those two words are music to our ears, and it's the only bit of gratitude we get in an otherwise thankless job. A copy editor lives for those words, and often shares stories about how he or she singlehandedly saved the paper from being wrong/looking stupid/getting sued, etc.
Last night I snagged one of the biggest catches in a long time, so indulge me as I share my story. (Now's your chance to hit the "back" button on your browser.)
The paper was running a story that focused on the bizarre gimmicks politicians are using to attract attention in a somewhat uninspiring House race. With no major issues galvanizing the campaign, few people seem to care what these guys have to say. That's why they're doing such bizarre stunts as challenging other candidates to a Wiffle ball tournament.
The story and its accompanying graphic that was a game ("Match the politician with the gimmick" and it had little photos of Wiffle balls and other stunts along with photos of three candidates) had been vetted by the metro editor, news editor, Page One editor, graphics editor and the designer. The slot (head of the copy desk) gave it to me to edit and headline about 8 p.m.
I'm meticulous for checking facts in copy. Unless the name is obvious, like George Bush, I check it. Even in wire stories. And when I started checking the names of the politicians in the story and graphic, I discovered a startling and embarrassing error: the photo of candidate Jamie Eldridge showed a smiling woman with long, brown hair.
The problem was Jamie Eldridge is a man.
I showed the Page One editor, and we jumped into the photo archive and, sure enough, the wrong photo was used.
He jumped up from his chair and walked over to graphics and asked "Who's in charge of bailing our asses out?"
Everyone on the desk was really happy I caught that, not only because it saved the paper face, but it reinforced just how important copy editors are. We're not just pedants who chase stray commas; we truly are the last line of defense.
"Great catch," the executive editor sent to me in an e-mail today. "You really saved the day."
Man, I love those words.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Hole in my sole
Boston's pedestrian life is fun and healthy, but it can be hard on the sole.
My Chucks and my Skechers.
Before Boston, the shoes above were getting close to retirement. They were 3 and 6 years old, respectively. But after a month of relying only on foot or subway, I rapidly expedited their entrance into shoe heaven.
My sadness is tempered only by one thought: Time to go shoe shopping! Clothes shopping is OK, furniture shopping is ... eh ... but shoe shopping? I actually love it. And if I didn't have as much will power, I'd own a lot more shoes.
But, mark my words, I will never, ever own a pair of these damn things:
Yes, they're all wearing Crocs. An obvious recessive gene at work.
More to come on this riveting story!
My Chucks and my Skechers.
Before Boston, the shoes above were getting close to retirement. They were 3 and 6 years old, respectively. But after a month of relying only on foot or subway, I rapidly expedited their entrance into shoe heaven.
My sadness is tempered only by one thought: Time to go shoe shopping! Clothes shopping is OK, furniture shopping is ... eh ... but shoe shopping? I actually love it. And if I didn't have as much will power, I'd own a lot more shoes.
But, mark my words, I will never, ever own a pair of these damn things:
Yes, they're all wearing Crocs. An obvious recessive gene at work.
More to come on this riveting story!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
A day in the life
C'mon, kids, let's go through a typical day this week:
I'm starting to wake up later, usually between 10 and 11 a.m. It's been a difficult adjustment, mainly because I feel guilty about sleeping through that much of the daytime. Then again, when you don't fall asleep until 3 or 4 a.m., the sleep schedule makes sense.
Mmm … coffee … and memories of E-Street …
I emerge from my bedroom and head straight to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee and toast a bagel (or pull out a skillet to start a proper breakfast.) As the machines are doing their job, I'll walk over to my desk and wake the computer to check e-mail, read a couple Web pages. After breakfast is ready, I'll either eat at the counter or sit at the computer and read the Times and whichever Globe sections I didn't get the night before.
Computer time could be short, or it could last several hours, especially if there are photos I shot the day before. (NERD WARNING: I recently upgraded the iMac's memory to 3GB, and the performance difference is amazing, especially with Aperture and Photoshop running at the same time.)
If the weather is nice, I'll go outside. If it's hot or rainy, I'll watch TV. Lately the weather has varied wildly. It could reach into the 90s one day and then stay in the 70s another. On Tuesday, the forecast was 87, but it never got above 72 and there was a strange foggy-while-sunny phenomenon occurring.
The entrance to Chinatown.
A great walking area. It's a little sketchy at night, though.
When I go outside, I'll usually walk around downtown, the North End or Chinatown/Theater District. Lately, though, I've started walking into the Back Bay or the South End, but it takes a while longer. Thankfully, my T pass is my new best friend. It cost $59 and allows unlimited subway and bus rides for a month, which is quite a deal if you ride the $1.70-a-ride T as often as I do.
The walks distract me from the loneliness. Working nights in a town where you know two people — 1/2,000,000th of the metro population — can be lonely, especially when those two people work during the days. Fortunately Boston is awesome, and there are always things to do and see. I haven't even scratched the surface of the city's history tours, for instance. So there's plenty to keep me from being sad, but on some days it still gets the best of me.
On a side note, I have cable for the first time. This is a good thing for the hours between when I arrive home and when I finally feel like falling asleep, but I'm starting to watch TV during the days. I need to stop that. Not now, when the weather is nice and the sun is out; save that for the cold, gray days.
Anyway, I'll walk and walk and walk until either my feet hurt or it's time to go to work.
It takes almost exactly 30 minutes to get from my door to my desk at work when I take the T. Walking down Beacon Hill through the Common to the Park Street station takes about 10 minutes; the nine-minute subway ride takes me five stops; and it takes about eight minutes to walk from JFK station to the Globe.
From home to the T.
From the T to work.
If the Globe still worked out of its office on Newspaper Row on Washington Street, the commute would be eight minutes by foot! Too bad they had to move to Dorchester in 1958.
A view of the building from the north.
A third of the Globe newsroom. This is where business and metro are located. The news copy desk, where I sit, is at the far end of the room and it's hard to see here. The other two thirds of the newsroom are sports (one-third) and Living Arts, the magazine and the design department (one-third). The investigation team and the editorial page are on the floor below the newsroom.
I'll look for an open desk on the rim when I get to work; after Labor Day, when the vacation-spurred staff shortage is over, I'll have my own desk in the design department as well as a desk on the rim.
Work is work. It's hard and it's intense, but I love it. The stories are so interesting and there's always something going on in Boston. Is it the city being an interesting place or are the reporters just really good? Probably both. It's just a stark difference from Jacksonville's news pages, which seem to be dominated by an odd ratio of sap-happy "special kid/man/dog does special thing" and murder/mayhem/misery. Is Jacksonville a boring town, or are the reporters just so overextended that they go only for the low-hanging fruit? Perhaps both.
In order to make the last inbound T, I have to leave the Globe at 12:25 a.m. This usually isn't a problem when I'm doing copy editing or wire layout, but if I'm designing metro I usually miss it and have to call a cab. Lately, my cab rides have been expensive: $16-$17 each time. But last night I altered my route and actually ended up getting dropped off closer to home for $11. (That's the wonder of downtown Boston streets: A route that seems shorter is actually much longer due to the insanity of one-way streets.)
Where's my car? Oh, it's at the Globe, where it's been since July 24. It's not registered in Massachusetts, so I don't have a Beacon Hill parking permit — or any other parking permit for that matter. Downtown Boston is a motorists' nightmare.
I hate you, resident permit parking only sign.
Unlike New York, where luck can land you a parking space on the street, you need a little sticker on your car that says you can park in the neighborhood — and every neighborhood has its own. So I can't just park my car in the Back Bay or the South End or the North End and just hike home. I've received two parking tickets so far, and they're $40 each. That's only slightly more expensive than a parking garage, which is $30 a night. I have free parking at the Globe, so I intend to use it until I decide to either pay the thousands of dollars a year to register the car (insurance, inspections, registration, excise taxes = thousands of dollars) or just get rid of it. The T is fast and convenient, so I have no plans to start driving any time soon.
Back at home, I'll fix a small dinner and either veg out or surf the Internet until I'm tired. Then, off to bed.
Take all of the above, throw out work, extend the walks' time and range and throw in a restaurant. Boston has thousands of restaurants, and I'm happily up to the challenge of sampling the amazing food. Highlights so far are:
• The best burger ever: The 21st Burger at the 21st Amendment in Beacon Hill. A former JFK hangout, this neighborhood bar and restaurant has inexpensive beer and a burger that has both caramelized onions and onion rings on it. Awesome!
• The $9 Thai feast at Dok Bua in Coolidge Corner. So much food for so little.
• Dino's subs in the North End. Dino makes 16-inch subs (read: lunch and dinner for one price!) with huge slices of mozzarella and fresh plum tomatoes.
• Peking Ravioli at King Fung in Chinatown. Many Chinatown restaurants also have a fabulous (or dubious) secret: Many that are open after 2 a.m. (when all the bars close) will serve you a pot of "Magic Tea" (beer) if you ask for it. Yay!
So that's it. Hey, I didn't claim that I lead an exciting life.
THE MORNING
I'm starting to wake up later, usually between 10 and 11 a.m. It's been a difficult adjustment, mainly because I feel guilty about sleeping through that much of the daytime. Then again, when you don't fall asleep until 3 or 4 a.m., the sleep schedule makes sense.
Mmm … coffee … and memories of E-Street …
I emerge from my bedroom and head straight to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee and toast a bagel (or pull out a skillet to start a proper breakfast.) As the machines are doing their job, I'll walk over to my desk and wake the computer to check e-mail, read a couple Web pages. After breakfast is ready, I'll either eat at the counter or sit at the computer and read the Times and whichever Globe sections I didn't get the night before.
Computer time could be short, or it could last several hours, especially if there are photos I shot the day before. (NERD WARNING: I recently upgraded the iMac's memory to 3GB, and the performance difference is amazing, especially with Aperture and Photoshop running at the same time.)
THE AFTERNOON
If the weather is nice, I'll go outside. If it's hot or rainy, I'll watch TV. Lately the weather has varied wildly. It could reach into the 90s one day and then stay in the 70s another. On Tuesday, the forecast was 87, but it never got above 72 and there was a strange foggy-while-sunny phenomenon occurring.
The entrance to Chinatown.
A great walking area. It's a little sketchy at night, though.
When I go outside, I'll usually walk around downtown, the North End or Chinatown/Theater District. Lately, though, I've started walking into the Back Bay or the South End, but it takes a while longer. Thankfully, my T pass is my new best friend. It cost $59 and allows unlimited subway and bus rides for a month, which is quite a deal if you ride the $1.70-a-ride T as often as I do.
The walks distract me from the loneliness. Working nights in a town where you know two people — 1/2,000,000th of the metro population — can be lonely, especially when those two people work during the days. Fortunately Boston is awesome, and there are always things to do and see. I haven't even scratched the surface of the city's history tours, for instance. So there's plenty to keep me from being sad, but on some days it still gets the best of me.
On a side note, I have cable for the first time. This is a good thing for the hours between when I arrive home and when I finally feel like falling asleep, but I'm starting to watch TV during the days. I need to stop that. Not now, when the weather is nice and the sun is out; save that for the cold, gray days.
Anyway, I'll walk and walk and walk until either my feet hurt or it's time to go to work.
LATE AFTERNOON
It takes almost exactly 30 minutes to get from my door to my desk at work when I take the T. Walking down Beacon Hill through the Common to the Park Street station takes about 10 minutes; the nine-minute subway ride takes me five stops; and it takes about eight minutes to walk from JFK station to the Globe.
From home to the T.
From the T to work.
If the Globe still worked out of its office on Newspaper Row on Washington Street, the commute would be eight minutes by foot! Too bad they had to move to Dorchester in 1958.
A view of the building from the north.
A third of the Globe newsroom. This is where business and metro are located. The news copy desk, where I sit, is at the far end of the room and it's hard to see here. The other two thirds of the newsroom are sports (one-third) and Living Arts, the magazine and the design department (one-third). The investigation team and the editorial page are on the floor below the newsroom.
I'll look for an open desk on the rim when I get to work; after Labor Day, when the vacation-spurred staff shortage is over, I'll have my own desk in the design department as well as a desk on the rim.
Work is work. It's hard and it's intense, but I love it. The stories are so interesting and there's always something going on in Boston. Is it the city being an interesting place or are the reporters just really good? Probably both. It's just a stark difference from Jacksonville's news pages, which seem to be dominated by an odd ratio of sap-happy "special kid/man/dog does special thing" and murder/mayhem/misery. Is Jacksonville a boring town, or are the reporters just so overextended that they go only for the low-hanging fruit? Perhaps both.
HOMEWARD BOUND
In order to make the last inbound T, I have to leave the Globe at 12:25 a.m. This usually isn't a problem when I'm doing copy editing or wire layout, but if I'm designing metro I usually miss it and have to call a cab. Lately, my cab rides have been expensive: $16-$17 each time. But last night I altered my route and actually ended up getting dropped off closer to home for $11. (That's the wonder of downtown Boston streets: A route that seems shorter is actually much longer due to the insanity of one-way streets.)
Where's my car? Oh, it's at the Globe, where it's been since July 24. It's not registered in Massachusetts, so I don't have a Beacon Hill parking permit — or any other parking permit for that matter. Downtown Boston is a motorists' nightmare.
I hate you, resident permit parking only sign.
Unlike New York, where luck can land you a parking space on the street, you need a little sticker on your car that says you can park in the neighborhood — and every neighborhood has its own. So I can't just park my car in the Back Bay or the South End or the North End and just hike home. I've received two parking tickets so far, and they're $40 each. That's only slightly more expensive than a parking garage, which is $30 a night. I have free parking at the Globe, so I intend to use it until I decide to either pay the thousands of dollars a year to register the car (insurance, inspections, registration, excise taxes = thousands of dollars) or just get rid of it. The T is fast and convenient, so I have no plans to start driving any time soon.
Back at home, I'll fix a small dinner and either veg out or surf the Internet until I'm tired. Then, off to bed.
THE WEEKENDS
Take all of the above, throw out work, extend the walks' time and range and throw in a restaurant. Boston has thousands of restaurants, and I'm happily up to the challenge of sampling the amazing food. Highlights so far are:
• The best burger ever: The 21st Burger at the 21st Amendment in Beacon Hill. A former JFK hangout, this neighborhood bar and restaurant has inexpensive beer and a burger that has both caramelized onions and onion rings on it. Awesome!
• The $9 Thai feast at Dok Bua in Coolidge Corner. So much food for so little.
• Dino's subs in the North End. Dino makes 16-inch subs (read: lunch and dinner for one price!) with huge slices of mozzarella and fresh plum tomatoes.
• Peking Ravioli at King Fung in Chinatown. Many Chinatown restaurants also have a fabulous (or dubious) secret: Many that are open after 2 a.m. (when all the bars close) will serve you a pot of "Magic Tea" (beer) if you ask for it. Yay!
So that's it. Hey, I didn't claim that I lead an exciting life.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
In Sight, Aug. 8
Boats sailing on the Charles (Cambridge is in the background).
Free concert at the Half Shell on the Esplanade.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
All the News That Fits
The Grey Lady slims down: Sunday, Aug. 5 (above), and Tuesday, Aug. 7.
The Times broke my heart a little when it lost an inch and a half earlier this week. With the new 12-inch width, it's just like nearly every other paper in the country. Although I'm sure I'll get used to the new look, right now it's hard to look at both of these papers as being the New York Times. The Times' front page had impact because of the size, impact that I just don't see anymore.
But aesthetics aside, the reduction in width, although saving millions in newsprint costs annually, just goes to show how increasingly irrelevant the print product is. The New York Times is setting the standard for journalism in the digital age, and it deserves all the praise it gets. But, as a newspaper lover, it's hard to see the print product literally shriveling up.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Next stop: The beach
Because I have such an interesting and stimulating life, I often pore over maps of Boston and its subway and train routes. The reasons are varied: The first and most obvious, is that I want to be a good tour guide for Jenn and anyone else who comes to visit; the second is for reasons of vanity: There's nothing cooler than showing off helpful local knowledge to tourists. (Tourists are everywhere downtown and in Beacon Hill. Oddly, they haven't begun to annoy me yet.)
So as I was studying, I noticed that the Blue Line appeared to run right next to the beach north of the city. "Subway to the beach? That would be awesome!" I thought as I pulled up Google Maps. Sure enough, it did. I needed to see this for myself, so I grabbed my T pass and left.
The train ride takes about 30 minutes, but from where I was coming I didn't have to make any transfers; just a straight shot out there and back. Once you get past the airport stop, the train emerges and runs above ground the rest of the way. Looking out the right window, it seemed odd to be sitting on a subway car, staring out into the Atlantic Ocean.
"Next stop Revere Beach." This was it. I exited the train, walked up the stairs and looked right — the beach was right there across the street.
It's no Florida beach, but it will do.
There was a boardwalk, part of which was covered, and a long patch of sand leading to the water. Even though it was a Friday afternoon, there was still a decent crowd. I didn't have my swimsuit (it's in Jacksonville) and I was wearing shoes, so I stayed on the boardwalk. It was hot; almost 97 degrees (this is New England?) and I really wanted to dive in the water. Next time.
Perhaps if it's still warm in a few weeks when Jenn visits, we'll hit the famous Massachusetts beaches. Right.
So as I was studying, I noticed that the Blue Line appeared to run right next to the beach north of the city. "Subway to the beach? That would be awesome!" I thought as I pulled up Google Maps. Sure enough, it did. I needed to see this for myself, so I grabbed my T pass and left.
The train ride takes about 30 minutes, but from where I was coming I didn't have to make any transfers; just a straight shot out there and back. Once you get past the airport stop, the train emerges and runs above ground the rest of the way. Looking out the right window, it seemed odd to be sitting on a subway car, staring out into the Atlantic Ocean.
"Next stop Revere Beach." This was it. I exited the train, walked up the stairs and looked right — the beach was right there across the street.
It's no Florida beach, but it will do.
There was a boardwalk, part of which was covered, and a long patch of sand leading to the water. Even though it was a Friday afternoon, there was still a decent crowd. I didn't have my swimsuit (it's in Jacksonville) and I was wearing shoes, so I stayed on the boardwalk. It was hot; almost 97 degrees (this is New England?) and I really wanted to dive in the water. Next time.
Perhaps if it's still warm in a few weeks when Jenn visits, we'll hit the famous Massachusetts beaches. Right.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Destination: Newburyport
On my Saturday, which is Wednesday to you normal folks, I decided an adventure outside the city was in order. Yes, there is plenty to see here and I've only cracked the surface, but I was also interested in the MBTA's commuter rail, which operates trains from the North Shore (near New Hampshire) all the way south to Providence, R.I.
There's a tiered fare system and rides range from $1.75 to $7.75. I decided to go to Newburyport, a small, historic fishing town on the North Shore, which is about 40 miles away. So $15 bought me an 80-mile trip, which is slightly more expensive if I had driven, but it offered a stress-free ride with no traffic, parking issues or wear on my car. A bargain, if you ask me.
I made my way to the North Station, which is a 12-minute walk from my apartment, and boarded the train. (Note to self: You can bring bicycles on the train when it isn't rush hour!) It was relatively empty, but a strange man decided to sit next to me anyway. For about 45 minutes of the hour-long ride, he carried on a conversation (with occasional breaks to sing) with the seat in front of us.
I'm glad I had headphones and a copy of the newspaper.
Despite the odd man, the ride was pleasant, even if it wasn't that scenic, unless you count industrial sections of small towns and the occasional field. Oh, well.
Upon arriving in Newburyport, I discovered something that a little more research would've told me: the T station is a 30-minute walk from downtown. No worries; I had nowhere I needed to be.
Downtown Newburyport.
Shops in Newburyport.
Festival!
The downtown itself is quite charming: small blocks of brick buildings and a square in the middle of the city. There was a festival going on that week, the Yankee Homecoming festival, which I discovered purely by accident. The square was set up like most festivals are: A ring of tent-covered eateries converging around a center stage on which the ubiquitous blues band composed of middle-aged white guys played songs Eric Clapton and B.B. King recorded (much better, too).
On the waterfront in Newburyport.
On the waterfront in Newburyport.
Past the festival is a waterfront park, which is buttressed by a cool rehab project: Mills, including a tannery, and wharves that were converted into apartments and shops. The project looked nice, but it would've been a lot cooler if those original plants were still there (and I'm sure the people who used to work in them would agree).
I stayed and wandered around the town for a few hours and then made my way back to the train. The ride home was a little more eventful than the ride out: Outside Beverly, Mass., the drawbridge got stuck in the up position. At 6:15 p.m., that isn't going to do anyone any good. (Hey, at least it didn't collapse like that bridge in Minneapolis.) So we sat on the track for about an hour before the bridge was fixed and we were able to continue.
Despite the snafu in the evening, I still think the MBTA commuter rail is a cool way to explore the region without a car. I think my next trip will be to Rockport, also on the North Shore, or maybe Providence.
There's a tiered fare system and rides range from $1.75 to $7.75. I decided to go to Newburyport, a small, historic fishing town on the North Shore, which is about 40 miles away. So $15 bought me an 80-mile trip, which is slightly more expensive if I had driven, but it offered a stress-free ride with no traffic, parking issues or wear on my car. A bargain, if you ask me.
I made my way to the North Station, which is a 12-minute walk from my apartment, and boarded the train. (Note to self: You can bring bicycles on the train when it isn't rush hour!) It was relatively empty, but a strange man decided to sit next to me anyway. For about 45 minutes of the hour-long ride, he carried on a conversation (with occasional breaks to sing) with the seat in front of us.
I'm glad I had headphones and a copy of the newspaper.
Despite the odd man, the ride was pleasant, even if it wasn't that scenic, unless you count industrial sections of small towns and the occasional field. Oh, well.
Upon arriving in Newburyport, I discovered something that a little more research would've told me: the T station is a 30-minute walk from downtown. No worries; I had nowhere I needed to be.
Downtown Newburyport.
Shops in Newburyport.
Festival!
The downtown itself is quite charming: small blocks of brick buildings and a square in the middle of the city. There was a festival going on that week, the Yankee Homecoming festival, which I discovered purely by accident. The square was set up like most festivals are: A ring of tent-covered eateries converging around a center stage on which the ubiquitous blues band composed of middle-aged white guys played songs Eric Clapton and B.B. King recorded (much better, too).
On the waterfront in Newburyport.
On the waterfront in Newburyport.
Past the festival is a waterfront park, which is buttressed by a cool rehab project: Mills, including a tannery, and wharves that were converted into apartments and shops. The project looked nice, but it would've been a lot cooler if those original plants were still there (and I'm sure the people who used to work in them would agree).
I stayed and wandered around the town for a few hours and then made my way back to the train. The ride home was a little more eventful than the ride out: Outside Beverly, Mass., the drawbridge got stuck in the up position. At 6:15 p.m., that isn't going to do anyone any good. (Hey, at least it didn't collapse like that bridge in Minneapolis.) So we sat on the track for about an hour before the bridge was fixed and we were able to continue.
Despite the snafu in the evening, I still think the MBTA commuter rail is a cool way to explore the region without a car. I think my next trip will be to Rockport, also on the North Shore, or maybe Providence.
Whole (lot of money for) Foods
How much are these four items worth to you? How about $27?
In the photo above, you'll see four items: Whole Foods brand olive oil, WF brand organic un-cured ham and turkey, and WF brand colby cheese. Price for all four items: $27.
Seriously.
Whole Foods is the only major supermarket in the neighborhood. It's close and it has a million awesome things. Unfortunately its market-fresh, organic goods are priced accordingly. Sure, I expect food that hasn't come within a syringe-length of preservatives to cost a little more, but the markup here is extraordinary.
I think that speaks to one of our country's worst problems: It costs much more to eat healthy food than it does to eat junk. Think about $1: How many calories can you buy with that $1? You'll see a wide gap grow between Chips Ahoy cookies and carrots. Is that right? Hardly. Is it reality? Sadly.
Who's to blame? The government, most likely — it subsidizes crops that fuel the junk food-industry (like corn) while neglecting farmers who grow healthier crops. That money has a profound impact not only on Americans' waist lines, but also on developing countries whose crop prices are driven down by American prices, which is an unfair advantage against people, particularly Africans, who are constantly ensnared in the punishing cycle of famine and death.
Anyway, back to Whole Foods — I really didn't intend to launch into a critique of American agribusiness. I'm at an ethical dilemma now: Do I continue to shop there, pay outrageous prices for organic, vegan dental floss, or do I seek out another preservative-shilling market? I'm still undecided on everything except this: So far, I haven't been able to taste the difference between Publix pasta and Whole Foods' organic, handmade pasta.
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