October 16, 2005

Here's a verb I just don't know what to do with:

par·ty – v.i. to have fun in a way that Chris couldn't possibly understand, as in, “Boy, we sure partied last night, Chris, not that you would understand.”

And it's true. I don't understand. It feels like everybody up here in the northeast United States is all about partying, making sure to casually insert references to the idea in every snippet of conversation I ever have with them, as in:

Me: “Hot coffee, please. Cream, no sugar.”

Cashier: “Okay, that'll be $49.76, and you really should be partying more.”

I'm not sure I'll ever fit in with the student crowd at large up here. Which would pretty much put them in the same category with every crowd there ever was, but such is the way of me. I assume that when people say “party” they are using shorthand for “go to a party,” which is not something I have historically enjoyed doing, relative to say, being disemboweled. This is why Harding was such a very good school for me.

At Harding University, the word “party” is strictly forbidden as a corollary to the law forbidding fun of any kind. It is acceptable to have parties, of course, but they must be referred to by a name from the Official Harding University List of Things That Don't Sound Fun, such as “mixer” (an appliance) or “function” (an algebra term). They can't have alcohol, though, which is, according to everybody up here, an absolutely essential component of anything fun, as can be seen in the following commonly cited equation:

C-SPAN = Boring

C-SPAN + Alcohol = Fun

So it's a different world, but fortunately there are still plenty of people who like to go out to eat, see shows, play poker, and other things, so it's not like I've been totally left out. And there's all new fun things that northerners do that I'm discovering. Take lobster, for example.

I wasn't really sure about lobster. Let's face it. Eating a whole lobster is like eating a giant bug, complete with feelers, little googly eyes, and hairy mouth sucker-things. But then they told me about the butter, which is my absolutely essential component of anything delicious, as in:

C-SPAN = Boring

C-SPAN + Butter = Delicious

So lobster turned out to be scrumptious and fun to eat, similar to crab legs only with much larger pieces of meet and plenty of ooey-gooey green goop that tastes great but grosses people out, so it's like a win-win scenario. It also makes an incredible, salt-stinky mess, which I suppose is why, in the south, it's only available at restaurants that require coat and tie. I guess in the north you can only find barbecue and corn-on-the-cob at the swanky places. But I'm only guessing.

I had my very first lobster at Melrose Church of Christ's “Annual Surf and Turf Dinner,” which, despite being a “dinner” is actually held at noon. I also managed to sit by a lady who educated me and another student on the finer points of dismembering one's giant bug to retrieve the succulent bits of meat. I am a fan.

Bostonians also seem to enjoy, from time to time, something they like to call “leaving Boston.” “Where do they go?” you may ask. “Different places,” I may answer. Like New-and-Improved Hampshire, or towns in Maine with goofy sounding names like Kenna-“Bunk”-port, or Cape Cod, where they go to look at the ocean but never ever actually touch it, lest they contract instant frostbite. If you're curious what people actually do once they get to New Hampshire, allow me to speak from personal experience by saying, “Get out of the car, get rained on, get back in the car, and come home.”

Some people speak of “cabins” and “fireplaces” and “mountains,” but all I got to see was a place called Apple Crest Farms, where the apple growers charge customers to drive up to New Hampshire and pick their apples for them. It's actually a lot of fun, provided, of course, that you get to pick the apples. Unfortunately our day got rained out. We did, however, get to buy plenty of apples and transform them into applesauce and apple crisp, which are both widely renowned for being delicious. So yay for New Hampshire!

And for those staying in Boston, there's always the Blue Man Group, one of the few permanent theater fixtures in the Boston area, popular among students and very drunk adults. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing any Intel commercials recently, Blue Man Group is a theater-like “experience” in which expressionless men painted blue take mime to the next level. However, the signs emphatically do not state that the Blue Men are taking mime to the next level. This is because mime is not hip, and the Blue Men are nothing if not hip, provided that you are a 40-year-old adult who still thinks it's 1996. The show is filled to the brim with references to boy bands, the information superhighway, and avant-garde art. What's more, although there are some fun and interesting moments, there are too many boring stretches (“Act Two, Scene Five, in which Blue Man #2 stares at Blue Man #1 for about seven minutes”). I am not, of course, speaking of the ending, which involves lots and lots of toilet paper. I suspect that what popularity of the show does not stem from recent alcohol consumption is a function primarily of toilet paper. I know I was amused.

Other favorite Boston pastimes include getting parking tickets, getting lost, waiting on public transportation, cussing in grocery stores, paying exorbitant heating costs, being a nun, and caffeine. I have myself tried to become a lover of caffeinated beverages, seeing as how I actually like the taste of coffee. There are scores of places in Boston from which one may purchase coffee, ranging from the Dunkin Donuts just up the street to the Dunkin Donuts next door to the other Dunkin Donuts, and the coffee served at all of them is exquisite. At least, I'm assuming because it's the only coffee I've ever had. Also, absolutely everyone who is not a student doesn't go anywhere without a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup in his or her hand. It may be that some of the Boston towns have city ordinances mandating the carrying of Dunkin Donuts cups. In fact, given the rather extreme nature of a lot of Massachusetts law, I wouldn't be surprised.*

I am still not an official coffee person, however. You can tell because I still need a translator to read the menu at Starbucks. But I'm sure I'll get the hang of New England fun eventually. Just as a teller at the bank assured me when I first got here, I'll be a party animal in no time. And I will be, too. Just as soon as I finish my homework.

* I'm referring specifically to the Code of Massachusetts 7.44 section H seat 67 which states: “The price of automobile insurance in the state of Massachusetts shall hereby be no less than eight hundred million gazillion dollars, so there.”