Oh, Boston how I miss you… I’ve been kicking around here in LA since I left you last August but I just can’t get you out of my head. It’s always right around now… the end of April… the longing starts to take over. I can hear you calling. You’re like a siren beckoning from the briny depths and I’m a lovesick sailor ready to plunge into your dirty waters. It’s all I can do to stay focused. I’ve got work to do, after all. It’s not summer yet. I need to get you out of my head. When I was back in college my BFF used to describe our situation in her thick Boston accent as, “Mar - we got the fever!” Oh hell, that’s the truth. I’ve got it bad. I’m dreaming of those cobblestone streets, that East coast ecstasy.
I’m counting the days. Fifty four until we’re reunited. You and me, Boston. Massachusetts. New England. We got this. And then…eight weeks! Eight glorious weeks together and I’ll get to celebrate all that is you! I’ll gorge myself on D&D, clam chowder, Sam Adams and lobsters, steamers and freshly shucked oysters. I’ll bathe in the warm, salty Cape Cod waters and sun my fat ass on her beaches. I’ll sit in traffic on 93 and listen to cars honking and watch people flip each other off and cuss in that mellifluous and colorful expressive way that only happens in dear sweet Boston. It’s that kind of energy, that kind of artistic honesty that I crave. And Fenway… oh sweet green girl… I’ll see you, too. I’ll cram my nearly six-foot body into your century-old seats and I’ll sweat away the flat beer and chomp on peanuts and scream about how much the Yankees suck. I cannot wait.
I dream about you all year, about getting back together with you. I write about you. You are my muse. I soak up all the research I can when I’m with you and I pour you into every line I write. No, Matt Damon and the Afflecks haven’t yet cornered the market on all that you are. The Kennedys, Whitey Bulger and Wahlburgers aren’t the only game in town. No, I’ve got the female perspective. It’s bursting out of me and I’m excited to share your story, our female story, with the world. All that Boston and Massachusetts is and what it means to be a tough, street smart Boston female with a thick accent and a story all our own. Talk about Boston Strong - some of the bravest people I know are Boston gals, and I’m not talking about the witches. I’m just out here in LA, (which I love too), and you know I love me some Will Hunting. It’s just I’d love to share my story, and hear some Masshole stories with more of a feminine point of view. You know? They seem curiously hard to come by. After all women have been rocking it hard in Boston and all over New England for more than a few centuries. Ms. Gardner, Ms. Dickinson, Ms. Alcott, etc. And, ahem, Ms. Elizabeth Warren is keeping things realllly real these days.
Or, I don’t know, maybe they’re out there and I’m just having a hard time finding them. Or maybe I’m just going nuts - I mean I’m making bird house sculptures for crying out loud I think its safe to say something’s corroding my mental state.
Suffice to say sweet ol’ lady Boston, MA we’ll be reunited soon. Fifty four days. I’m focused. There’s a lot to say between now and then...