tis here that truth is known

Professor Coldheart’s Keys to the Game
Ravens games don’t usually get picked up by New England stations. I could go to a sports bar and ask someone to switch a TV over, but this doesn’t always go over well. Also, it ties me to that particular bar for three hours and twenty dollars worth [...]

and I don’t know if you don’t know your better half don’t act right

Saturday started off early with some tumultuous and epic gaming that ran until 4:15 PM. Afterward, Serpico and I took the Red Line to Park Street. Underground, we ran into Kate C., waiting for a train of her own to whisk her off to Carmina Burana. “Did you know Bruce Campbell’s in [...]

he’s walking around like he’s number one

After the final Gorefest show on Friday, we disassembled the set. I sum it up in one sentence but it took a little over three hours of solid labor. Mopping up two weeks’ worth of fake blood. Striking the backdrop (I punched a hole through the canvas on a dare). Detaching [...]

nobody’s right ’till somebody’s wrong

My weekend started properly at about 11:00 AM on Friday. I looked up from some proofing to find the Chief Operations Officer grinning at my desk. “I owe you a game,” I said.
“Yes, you do. Are you free?”
“I’m free right now,” I said, so we went to the break room to play [...]

in the streets I’m well known like the number man

I went out drinking with coworkers on Friday – George, A.A., Z. and a handful of others. The notion of enjoying myself with the people I work with, especially outside the context of the office, still hasn’t settled in my brain yet. We watched the Phillies knock one out against the Dodgers, then [...]

she never been to texas, never heard of king kong

On Friday Mariateresa, one of my dearest friends in the world, had a 5-hour stopover in Boston en route to Paris (her final stop being Trieste). I picked her up at Logan and drove her down to Faneuil Hall, where we had lunch at an outdoor cafe. “I haven’t had lobster in so [...]

oh, how I burn for you

This weekend’s theme: overheating.
I caught up with Grace on Friday, taking her to Redbones for Somerville’s best barbecue. She ate about three-quarters of her pulled pork sandwich, thwacking me on the head whenever I stopped paying attention to her anecdotes (“ow, Indian wedding, right”) and making fun of my beer selection back home. [...]