Nonphenomenal Lineage

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Archive for October 2005

Pictures of My New Apartment

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well, i’ve actually been living here for two months, so it’s not so new now. but i’ve been meaning to post pictures.

i forgot to take a picture of the outside of the building, but it looks pretty similar to the buildings in the picture below. this picture is the view from our balcony. we’re on the fourth floor.


here’s where i sleep


here’s the living room

living room

here’s part of our nice, brand new kitchen


here’s the dining room

dining room

here’s the study (that’s my roommate)

computer room

and the blue bathroom



Written by pocheco

October 30, 2005 at 7:02 am

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Exit Light, Enter Night

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one time, about six years ago, i was walking, by myself, late at night, through a small street in a little tropical beach town on isla margarita (a tiny island just off the coast of venezuela). it was almost midnight, so the streets were pretty much deserted, save the stray mongerel dogs darting in and out of my peripheral vision, which, at the time, seemed ghost-like. at one point, i turned to my left, and about 20 feet away, behind a white, adobe, low wall, i saw a local man, dressed in a white linen shirt and pants, standing there, swathed eerie green light from back-lit palm trees. he stared me down for about five seconds, and then, without breaking eye contact, began to sing metallica’s “enter sandman”

true story!

Written by pocheco

October 21, 2005 at 7:03 am

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The Fine Art of Mechanical Bull Riding

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bull, originally uploaded by elasticpiglet.

Well, it was Saturday night…I guess that makes it alright???

My little buddy Jasmin was in town from Florida. It was midnight. We were out on the town. We went to some club on Boylston called the Liquor Store. The DJ was playing some stupid, thoughtless drunken dance sex music. We tried not to make eye contact with anyone there. Because we weren’t there for the shitty Top 40 or for the desperately horny idiots. We were there for an express purpose:

To drink and ride the mechanical bull.

We dodged through the gyrating musky masses and the red and green disco lights to a circle of people crowded around the bull.

Now, before I go any further, allow me to introduce myself: My name is Sarah. I am from Oklahoma. And sweetheart, I know how to ride a horse. I grew up around horses, riding horses, getting bucked off horses, bossing around horses. I can even use a lasso. So, I knew this skill would come naturally. After all those years riding horses, a mechanical bull would be a cake walk. This was going to be easy. I was going to impress everyone in that bar with my skills. I was going to get on that bull, and nothing short of an earthquake was going to knock me off that metal fucker. I bust through the ring of people surrounding the bull, sauntered up to that beast, and jumped on. At that very second, in a moment of god-like clarity, the dance music was broken by the first few beautiful notes of Jon Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.” Oh, YES. Full of confidence and vodka, I was ready to show those Bostonians just what kind of urban cowgirl I was.

Yeah, I was immediately thrown off—needless to say. Well, not immediately. I lasted about 10 seconds, before I was unceremoniouly dumped, or rather, sloughed off, of the side of the bull on to the ground below.

Upon contact with the ground, I heard something snap. It was my leg.

After all that posturing, all I can say is that I sprained my knee on a mechanical bull ride that was on the “easy” setting. Truth be told, the whole experience was mildly humiliating. But, damn, I _am_ proud of the fact that I wrestled with the beast and walked away with a battle wound. Even if the beast was made of metal and leather.

Written by pocheco

October 17, 2005 at 7:04 am

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The Freemasons Begin Here

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Grand Masonic Lodge, Boston
As we approach the corner of Tremont and Boylston, I stare at the wall on the Freemason building, and try—for the 100th time—to decipher the cryptic seal depicted in the ornate mosaic. Just below the seal is written “Since 1733″—simply another of the myriad reminders of how old this city really is.

Written by pocheco

October 10, 2005 at 7:05 am

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Dim Sum in China Town

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China Pearl, Dim Sum Restaurant

It’s 11:32 am on a cold and rainy Sunday morning, and we’re walking to Chinatown. Hundreds of people are miling about here in Boston’s old Combat Zone. We’re walking fast but that’s how everyone walks here—all of us walking with purpose and our collective mind focused upon our destination on this chilly October day.

The activity heightens once we enter Chinatown. Everyone is either leaving from or on their way to lunch. All the windows have rows of golden fried fowl hanging on racks and posters of hot pot taped to the glass. The roads are narrow and people are everywhere you look. There’s not much in English here, except for words like “buffet” and “authentic” and “live chickens slaughtered”. The buildings are old and brick here, just like the rest of Boston, but signs of another land invade the architecture: Pagoda-style balconies with mint green tiled roofs jut out of the brick facades. The restaurant signs are all variations of yellow and red, and everything is guilded, pledging allegiance to a culture that has nothing in common with brownstones or Plymouth Rock. It’s noisy, crowded, and smells incredible.

We sidestep the woman holding the hand of her pig-tailed toddler, the young couple exiting the noodle place with white styrofoam containters in their hands. We pass the elderly gentleman in an exquisite suit, who watches, poker faced, as we walk by.

As we enter China Pearl, just beyond the door there is a steep staircase leading up to the entrance of the dining hall. People are packed in from the bottom to the top, and their is a stream of people going up and down the narrow steps. It takes patience to make it to the top, but I finally get a number from the maitre’d and we find a place in the small crowded lobby away from the familes that are coming and going. And for the next half hour, as we wait for our number to be called over the loudspeakers, there is nothing to do but watch the ceaseless arrival and departure. It’s something like a cattle yard.

This restaurant is huge. It’s 3 stories…but it’s got the best dim sum in town and everyone comes here on Sunday. People are willing to wait for a long time and put up with the claustrophobia to get a little bit of dumpling heaven, Ariana and I included. Finally, after what seems like forever, our number is called. As soon as we sit down, someone comes down our aisle with a little metal cart on wheels. She stops, opens one of the lidded bamboo bowls on her cart, revealing a dish containing four small white lumps. Ariana says “yes, we’ll have one of those.” She places it on our table, stamps our little card with something i can’t decipher, and then moves on to the next table.

i pick up my chopsticks, and select a dumpling. After dipping it in soy sauce, I cautiously take a bite—mmmm. Definitely worth the wait.

Ariana smiles and says, “Look”. I turn around, to see a long line of the silver carts headed our way.

Written by pocheco

October 9, 2005 at 7:08 am

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