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Thanks to the wonders of global warming, I enjoyed an 80 degree, sun-shiney weekend on the east coast in late October. Having packed my wool peacoat, knit beanie, multiple sweaters, and undershirt and tights, I was not equipped for L.A.-type weather!
My Sweetheart K and I decided to take leave from our hombres and head east chillin’ out and scope out our friend V’s new beau. Reports had come to us in Cali that he was "bald and hairy" but knowing V as a reasonable and smart chica, we knew surely there were more charming details being left out. Besides, V and I happen to both appreciate that great sexy bald man: Patrick Stewart. (I know many of you dudes probably thought I’d say Michael Jordon..but really, the voice of Captain Picard & Professor Xavier is like male essence defined) ahem.
From the Jetblue red eye we hop onto the T (so superior to BART it’s sad), met up with Seth and hit the road to New Hampshire. I, who have resided in 2 seasons my whole life was going to finally see some of that famed fall foliage. And Seth got to drive the mini-Cooper convertible he’d been eyeing. Zipcar gave us a cutie yellow mini coop convertible named "Mylie".
As a Californian who is taxed to death at each turn, I was envious of the no-tax on essentials rules in Mass. Stuff like food and clothing was tax free. But in New Hampshire, everything is tax free. (here commence fantasies of how fine life would be if P& I lived tax free…)
Hence, I awoke from my doze at the NH state line where 2 enormous red state run liquor barns had been erected on either side of the highway. Just to insure that none of you out of towners forget to pick up some booze. We wandered within the cavernous place, I was enamoured with a "captive pear" liquor from France featuring an entire pear suspended within the glass bottle. How did they get it in? Seems even harder than a little boat in a bottle. I bought some Americana to take to Taiwan with me later this year: "cold river"Maine brewed potato vodka. I guess one could think of Maine as the Russia of the United States…
K had found some maple sugar shack and apple picking places online, so we zipped about until we found another red barn, and fragrant apple orchards. I gawked around me, this entire town seems….fake. It’s so lovely I can’t believe that people actually live her. Are you sure we’re not on a movie set?! The fall foliage was not as brilliant as it may have been say, if the temps were normal, but there was enough crimson and gold to keep me camera clicking like the tourist I was. Rays of sunlight burst through the clouds and we made jokes about the angels and voice of God coming down through that sunny path.
The air was fragrant with all breeds of apples. K and I bit into one that dripped with juice and had the crispy snap that supermarket apples have had frozen out. Here we began plotting on the apple crisp we would bake back at the apartment.
Being in a part of NH that apparently had zero dining establishments other than Wendy’s and McDonald’s, we cruised to Exeter for a late lunch. We hit a chocolate shop, snapped more pics of russet trees over riverbeds. Took my pic by a NH flag. Whoo-hoo. I’ve run amok all about central and south america and Asia but actual U.S. Americana seems sort of exotic to me. We fueled up on soup, sandwiches, and lattes. Mused over New hampshire local soda, with the logo that looks "as if made on an inkjet printer," flat as heck no discernible bubbles, and flavors such as: Cola, Birch Beer, Half and Half (?) and our favorite flavor: Yup.
What in hell, you ask, is Yup? Well, that is a good NH question. It looked kinda white like a cream soda in the glass bottle, but much as we wanted to know, our trio did not want to actually drink one. Therefore, Yup flavor remains a mystery. In retrospect, maybe we are missing out and should have drank one…
Our picturesque day however, was interrupted about 8 miles from homebase by a fenderbender in stop and go Red Sox mania traffic. We hit a family in a van, causing a big scratch on their bumper. Mylie, however, bashed in a headlight and the entire hood crumple zone did its crumply thing. I think Mylie looked so bad that the family came rushing out, "Are you guys OK?! Are you sure you’re not hurt???"
I thought, "gee, these people are so nice. Surely in California we’d have been cussed out by now…" After info exchange, I took lots of pics of the damage, explaining that my father in law in is the insurance business, and that documentation is key.
Remarkably, Mylie was still driveable so we took her back to her Zipcar spot. The attendant asked if we had just hit a hole in the garage. We looked at him like the idiot that he was and said "No", he shrugged and went back to his post. One the worried walk home we discovered Boston PD has a big, black, armored-bus looking CDU paddy wagon. CDU for "Civil Disturbance Unit" Police lurked in packs at literally every corner on journey home. Apparently last year’s crazed sox fans were a volatile combination with a PD rubber bullet that ended in a death. This year the cops were not messing around with this crowd control concept.
After that car snafu, we stayed in and ordered Thai food, and listening to the roar of people at Fenway while simultaneously watching the Sox and Rockies on TV. About 1:00 a.m. we lay on the futon while drunk ass red sox fans ran up and down the
stairs in the hall, and I fell asleep having flashbacks to being in a college dorm…
Sunday was whiled away at dim sum, the park, Newbury street shopping. Head of The Charles was this weekend as well (HOTC), but not being a crew fan, we figured it wasn’t worth the while to trek all the way to Harvard square to watch one of the thousands of crew teams. I had fish chowder as always when in Boston, and bought extraordinarily overpriced Boston Baked beans candy. Had to buy a red sox shirt, when in Rome after all, and besides, I had run out of clothes for this crazy heat wave and was perspiring madly in my hoodie sweater.
The Sox fans were more rabid than last night, now that the taste of victory lingered ever-closer. The police were out in even more force to match.
"It looks like imperial storm troopers out there." K said. And it did. As an occasional protester, it made me a tad uneasy to see the rows of cops in helmets, with clubs and sunglasses. One huge, black cop was standing, feet apart, with a five foot pole or stick of some kind in his hands, but the CDU bus, looking ready to knock someone’s head off in one movement. "Now, I want a picture of THAT guy," I muttered to K, who responded ,"you definitely better not!"
We got home and worked on our apple crisp. Trust me, you don’t need to know how much butter or sugar was added.
While in the shower, through the window I could hear the screams and cheers from Fenway. So I knew, the Red Sox had won yet again, they’d be headed to the World Series. We ate oven baked apple crisp with vanilla Friendly’s ice cream and watched the Sox douse one another with champagne on TV for about 25 minutes ("isn’t that a waste of champagne?").
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