“You have the worst Boston accent ever.”

Greetings, comrades! I have some downtime, so I figured I would tell you about our post-wedding (but not a honeymoon) trip to Boston. It was an adventure filled with intrigue, romance, and danger! By which I mean cannolis!

First of all, my friend Deborah  (name changed) lives in Boston, and when I spoke to her in June, she invited us to come out and stay with her for a few days. I checked ticket prices and bought a pair of round trips for less than $200 a piece via Spirit Airlines from O’Hare to Logan. Even with gas prices, we saved $150 versus flying from Grand Rapids.

However, Spirit Airlines is a piece of garbage that flies out of a garbage airport (O’Hare), and we were sorely tested before our journey even truly began. Our flight was delayed 3 hours, so we drank away our sorrows in the airport bar.

“This beer tastes like it has vodka in it.” I remarked to Kyle upon sipping Goose Island’s Matilda. A warm sensation traveled from my now-numbed tongue down to my stomach, giving me the somewhat unpleasant feeling that I had just consumed the brewery’s equivalent of pure gasoline. Nonetheless, the gasoline beer made reading the poorly ghost-written Michael Crichton novel, Micro, seem to be of as great literary merit as Ulysses or surely Great Expectations. I finished my glass.

After a relatively uneventful flight, we landed in Boston and were immediately transported to MIT by Deborah who was late for orchestra practice. Left to our own devices for two hours, Kyle and I wandered MIT, and I did my best to impress him by showing off my superb Boston accent as we toured the streets.

“Go pahk the cah.” I instructed him nonsensically as we wandered afoot past a building dedicated solely to the study of memory.

“You have the worst Boston accent ever.” He retorted. Miffed, I pouted and practiced saying “Bahstin” quietly while he asked a passerby if we were correctly en route to a nearby restaurant.


The next day we awoke early and began extensive sight-seeing (upon later calculations, we determined that we walked 8 miles this day). We visited the Boston Museum of Science and viewed the Dead Sea Scrolls. I was about to attempt convincing a fellow museum patron that I was fluent in Greek and Aramaic when I was retrieved by Kyle who discovered I had strayed away from our trio.

Deborah then guided us to the Prudential Center which features a 52 story building culminating in an expansive (and expensive) view of the city in the Top of the Hub restaurant. Smoothly lying to the hostess that we were headed to the bar, we avoided the $25 per person fee for picture-taking and snapped several quick panoramas before a waiter began heading in our direction to ask us to leave. We deftly darted between tables and maneuvered around the waiter with great precision, racing back to the elevator and safely evading the fee.


On Saturday, we slept in till an extravagant hour (10am) before embarking on another adventure, this time into Cambridge territory (5 miles this day), where Kyle informed me that I am lactose intolerant upon my adverse reaction to ingesting a large amount of ice cream. Shocked and annoyed that he was probably right, I proceeded to make him knead my stomach like a large cat in an effort to disperse the ice cream periodically throughout the day.

At the Harvard Museum of Natural History, Kyle and I stared in awe at the skeleton of a giant sloth. Deborah explained to us that the skeleton (roughly twice the size of an H3 Hummer) was the South American equivalent of an elephant thousands of years ago. Simultaneously perturbed and excited by the idea of elephant-sized sloths, I spent the remainder of the museum visit in silence.

We ended our evening in Little Italy, where we purchased cannolis and ate one of the most delightful pasta dishes I have ever had the good fortune of consuming. The next morning, we lingered around Deborah’s apartment before reluctantly heading to the airport and beginning the long trek home. All in all, we had an excellent trip.


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