I Like Boston, But it Doesn't Like Me
Maybe I shouldn't have started off with a red eye flight. Maybe I should have traveled during the daytime. Because waking up in Boston ended up being waking up on the wrong side of the US. The stiff neck, I could handle. The lack of beverages on the plane. And elbow room. Also, okay. But the Enterprise rent a car guy was not so nice. The car? Bad. Then they charged the car rental plus $200 because I only have a debit card. Because I'm still owed some $2800 from Boscia -- that leaves me with not so much money in my account in a very expensive city to park in. A fact which was driven home when I got to my hotel-- which has no parking, no parking garage and is surrounded by meters that only take quarters and businesses who refuse to give you any.
And all this before I learned I was staying in boy's town. How did I know? The bar next door filled with beautiful men. Which would lead one to believe the hotel would be swanky or at least a swishy... with modern amenities and colorful bedspreads. But no. There's not even internet access... on my floor. No working remote for the TV, no iron, no coffee maker and no wake up calls. I didn't even know hotels like this existed anymore. And if they did, I thought they were called hostels and were in third world countries. Not in east coast cities with gorgeous architecture and intellectuals and gorgeous gay men who are into sports... who knew?
Anyway, the lack of parking and quarters proved to be not so conducive to taking a nap before going to Sephora #1. Instead, I was forced to drive around in quest of quarters or a place to park for free. I ended up on Newbury Street which is not so close to my hotel, but has interesting things to look at. Shops and such. And meters. Which don't require quarters until 11am. Which gave me a good hour to find a good samaritan to make change. And I did! Just in time to get to my rental car and see that I had a $55 ticket. Apparently, my space was a loading zone until 11am. But not the space in back. There are alot of signs and rules re: parking in Boston. Which I'm usually very careful about. But lack of sleep and lack of a good mood made me careless, guess. What can you do? But walk around, look at things and bond with salespeople in stores which carry items of clothing you can't afford. Which I did. I offered assistance to one moving to LA, a store list to one planning to visit and somehow ended up having a glass of wine at 11:30am at the Armani Cafe compliments of a waiter named Michael B who said it was 2 for 1 Tuesdays. He was kidding, but I thought it sounded like a lovely idea. Which was actually the high point of my day. That and the store Johnny Cupcakes. Which is actually t-shirts. About cupcakes. Which just goes to show that if this guy can do t-shirts about cupcakes and be a success-- perhaps mine will work, too. As soon as I get the money to do them.
When I got back to the hotel, well, that's when I realized I forgot to pack important things-- like a cell phone charger. But remembered things completely unneccesary-- like a bathing suit...? Apparently, I want to be on vacation. Unfortunately, I'm not. And a cell phone helps when you need to call people at stores and do business. Which brings me back to the internet connection. I had to move rooms three times to get online-- apparently every floor has a different connection. And every room has different success rates. Translated to mean, even the best connection comes and goes when it feels like it. Fickle little thing. And it's in a smoking room with a view of a wall. It smells like someone is still smoking in here. I just can't see them. My first room had two windows. It was bright and had a view of Boston. I like waking up to sun. But now? Wall. It's like punishment for needing to work. Alas, what to do?
When I lived in Boston while working on "Blown Away", I was actually making money. And had a substantial per diem. That was easily 10 years ago. Still, I never went out to eat, rather saved my money. Sure, I didn't have the confidence then to go out to eat by myself-- or really see the point to it-- but I wasn't 38 years old and single, either. So me? I saved, saved, saved. And then? I had a swanky fully furnished pad paid for by the production. On Mass Ave off of Newbury Street. I started out by living in the Sheraton Back Bay like everyone else but our production offices were there, too. And there was something a little depressing about pushing one elevator to go to work and getting on the same one to come home and never leave the building. Never see the light of day. So... that's where the apartment came in. Everyone was doing it. Including my friend Gayle who's a production accountant by day, dominatrix by night. That's the only way to go when you go on location. The apartment thing-- although the dominatrix thing might not be such a bad idea, either. I mean if not out of town, then where? Although, Hilary Swank and Chad Lowe were staying in the Sheraton. She was filming the next Karate Kid or Karate Kid II -- it was being directed by Dean Cain's dad. That was pre-Superman. I met him in the Sheraton's gym. He instructed me on how to soften up a baseball cap. I didn't realize there was a whole thing to doing it. That was basically the high point of my "Blown Away" experience. The whole production was plagued with mafia money laundering, studio budget cuts, illicit affairs, and a drugged out director. But. I did get to live in Boston. And see how a perfectly wonderful script could get ruined.
The bizarre thing is I do like Boston. I desperately want it to like me back. But I don't vibe with the place. Something always feels off. Much like the cute yet schizophrenic guy who sat next to me at the bar at Legal Sea Foods. (I do this thing where I only eat Zone bars during the day so I can have a normal dinner and actually be out in the world at night). The salad was good. The martini better. But the schizophrenic sous chef named Damon was a handful. And after about three sentences, seemed not so cute. Uncute, actually. It seemed like he was having a conversation with me, but he ended up answering the questions himself. It was the oddest thing. He was complimentary one minute, hostile the next. I wasn't quite sure what to do but eat and watch. Then he asked me to come with him to his next stop. I said no that I was fine where I was. And he didn't like that so much. So he left. And tried to skip out on his check. They caught him. Which was entertaining. And I ended up making friends with the two bartenders as we discussed the crazy guy. So that was good. The $62 charge for parking? Not so great. I'm thinking if I have Zone bars three times a day, one glass of wine and park anywhere where it's free no matter how far away it is so I have to walk, I may create a new diet and exercise fad and be able to make it till I get paid. Fingers crossed.
And all this before I learned I was staying in boy's town. How did I know? The bar next door filled with beautiful men. Which would lead one to believe the hotel would be swanky or at least a swishy... with modern amenities and colorful bedspreads. But no. There's not even internet access... on my floor. No working remote for the TV, no iron, no coffee maker and no wake up calls. I didn't even know hotels like this existed anymore. And if they did, I thought they were called hostels and were in third world countries. Not in east coast cities with gorgeous architecture and intellectuals and gorgeous gay men who are into sports... who knew?
Anyway, the lack of parking and quarters proved to be not so conducive to taking a nap before going to Sephora #1. Instead, I was forced to drive around in quest of quarters or a place to park for free. I ended up on Newbury Street which is not so close to my hotel, but has interesting things to look at. Shops and such. And meters. Which don't require quarters until 11am. Which gave me a good hour to find a good samaritan to make change. And I did! Just in time to get to my rental car and see that I had a $55 ticket. Apparently, my space was a loading zone until 11am. But not the space in back. There are alot of signs and rules re: parking in Boston. Which I'm usually very careful about. But lack of sleep and lack of a good mood made me careless, guess. What can you do? But walk around, look at things and bond with salespeople in stores which carry items of clothing you can't afford. Which I did. I offered assistance to one moving to LA, a store list to one planning to visit and somehow ended up having a glass of wine at 11:30am at the Armani Cafe compliments of a waiter named Michael B who said it was 2 for 1 Tuesdays. He was kidding, but I thought it sounded like a lovely idea. Which was actually the high point of my day. That and the store Johnny Cupcakes. Which is actually t-shirts. About cupcakes. Which just goes to show that if this guy can do t-shirts about cupcakes and be a success-- perhaps mine will work, too. As soon as I get the money to do them.
When I got back to the hotel, well, that's when I realized I forgot to pack important things-- like a cell phone charger. But remembered things completely unneccesary-- like a bathing suit...? Apparently, I want to be on vacation. Unfortunately, I'm not. And a cell phone helps when you need to call people at stores and do business. Which brings me back to the internet connection. I had to move rooms three times to get online-- apparently every floor has a different connection. And every room has different success rates. Translated to mean, even the best connection comes and goes when it feels like it. Fickle little thing. And it's in a smoking room with a view of a wall. It smells like someone is still smoking in here. I just can't see them. My first room had two windows. It was bright and had a view of Boston. I like waking up to sun. But now? Wall. It's like punishment for needing to work. Alas, what to do?
When I lived in Boston while working on "Blown Away", I was actually making money. And had a substantial per diem. That was easily 10 years ago. Still, I never went out to eat, rather saved my money. Sure, I didn't have the confidence then to go out to eat by myself-- or really see the point to it-- but I wasn't 38 years old and single, either. So me? I saved, saved, saved. And then? I had a swanky fully furnished pad paid for by the production. On Mass Ave off of Newbury Street. I started out by living in the Sheraton Back Bay like everyone else but our production offices were there, too. And there was something a little depressing about pushing one elevator to go to work and getting on the same one to come home and never leave the building. Never see the light of day. So... that's where the apartment came in. Everyone was doing it. Including my friend Gayle who's a production accountant by day, dominatrix by night. That's the only way to go when you go on location. The apartment thing-- although the dominatrix thing might not be such a bad idea, either. I mean if not out of town, then where? Although, Hilary Swank and Chad Lowe were staying in the Sheraton. She was filming the next Karate Kid or Karate Kid II -- it was being directed by Dean Cain's dad. That was pre-Superman. I met him in the Sheraton's gym. He instructed me on how to soften up a baseball cap. I didn't realize there was a whole thing to doing it. That was basically the high point of my "Blown Away" experience. The whole production was plagued with mafia money laundering, studio budget cuts, illicit affairs, and a drugged out director. But. I did get to live in Boston. And see how a perfectly wonderful script could get ruined.
The bizarre thing is I do like Boston. I desperately want it to like me back. But I don't vibe with the place. Something always feels off. Much like the cute yet schizophrenic guy who sat next to me at the bar at Legal Sea Foods. (I do this thing where I only eat Zone bars during the day so I can have a normal dinner and actually be out in the world at night). The salad was good. The martini better. But the schizophrenic sous chef named Damon was a handful. And after about three sentences, seemed not so cute. Uncute, actually. It seemed like he was having a conversation with me, but he ended up answering the questions himself. It was the oddest thing. He was complimentary one minute, hostile the next. I wasn't quite sure what to do but eat and watch. Then he asked me to come with him to his next stop. I said no that I was fine where I was. And he didn't like that so much. So he left. And tried to skip out on his check. They caught him. Which was entertaining. And I ended up making friends with the two bartenders as we discussed the crazy guy. So that was good. The $62 charge for parking? Not so great. I'm thinking if I have Zone bars three times a day, one glass of wine and park anywhere where it's free no matter how far away it is so I have to walk, I may create a new diet and exercise fad and be able to make it till I get paid. Fingers crossed.
posted by jodypwrites | 7:54 AM
2 Comments:
I like Zone bars too.
I don't like that you're doing this much work for Boscia on credit. Don't be afraid to hound them for payment. Be polite but be persistent.
I don't like how I'm doing this much work for them on credit, either. Such is the freelance life, I guess. I did politely and persistently hound. And I also got politely and persistently ignored. I FINALLY got paid today. For June and July. And since I'm here, the check, there, my lovely friends Romy and Kelly coordinated the deposit of the check so I can rent a car tomorrow. Which I didn't do today because I didn't have the money. Which was actually okay since I had so much to catch up on. But not okay since my cell phone charger is for the car. Some day these stories might just mint me something of value. The good news? Poverty is making me skinny. And I'm not even trying. Maybe I'll put on a bathing suit just to cheer myself up.
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