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Another Boston trip in the books; this one undoubtedly better than the previous two. It was highlighted by meeting French and Lauren (who along with the girls and T. Nels did a beautiful job of getting over their initial fears of meeting random people from the blogworld. I myself was not nervous, as I feel like I've known French forever. If you can't trust people you've read about via the internet for 8 months, then who can you trust?) On the way down I was getting an EARFUL from Alex, Kristen and T. Nels about meeting my self-proclaimed "Internet Friend," and it was all probably deserved. Here were my favorite comments regarding that:
1. T. Nels, talking on phone to Nikki Chu as we are waiting to deboard our plane: "Yeah, we'll call you when we're ready to go out. We're, ahh, meeting some other people out tonight too. Yeah, I don't want to say right now cause it's pretty quiet and I don't want to embarass Jim."
Me, a few seats away, loudly: "I don't care, say it. We're meeting my FRIEND FROM THE INTERNET!"
Lady in front of us: "Hahahahahaha!!"
2. Kristen: "Your friend knows what hotel we're staying at now, too?"
Alex: "Jim, I don't want this trip to turn into an episode of 20-20."
3. T. Nels, as we leave Lauren's place on Sunday night: "Should we have thanked them for being normal?"
So, anyways, French and Lauren were fantastic tour guides, even better hosts, and should absolutely come to Lawrence this year.
The game was sweet. Both Alex and Kristen walked away sufficiently impressed; T. Nels and I are beginning to feel like Fenway veterans. The curse of the Jumbino was reversed for a night and I witnessed my 5th win of the year. Dice-K (or Dicegay, as Dunph so eloquently put it) was far from impressive, but the offense was clicking, and we had three home run balls out our way in right field. Speaking of home run balls, T. Nels had an Ortiz BP home run bounce off his hands after the toolbox behind him shoved his glove in front of his face, preventing him from seeing the ball. While I berated a 30-year old for bringing a glove to a game, Kristen turned around and kicked the dude square in the junk, leading to the inevitable melee that ended with 7 people being arrested, while we snuck away and enjoyed the rest of the game. Obviously the last part didn't happen, but I fantasized about that scenario for a solid 20 minutes afterwards.
Other moments worth mentioning: Bar-hopping turned into a gong show after the game. Nikki and Emily looked nice, but Alex, Kristen, T. Nels and I were not properly dressed for a couple of bars we tried to go to. A
t Club 33 (I think that's what it was called), all T. Nels had to do was step out of the cab when the bouncer shouted, "You're not getting in here!" Later, Emily, Nikki and I tried to crash a fancy wedding. I don't know if it was A) my backwards hat, B) my Dice-K t-shirt that featured Japanese writing and a big Japanese flag, or C) the fact that I had drank about 20 beers and my face could best be compared to the kid in the spelling bee a few years ago right before he fainted, but I was quickly and unceremoniously thrown out. Nikki and Emily lasted a while longer, long enough to even sneak us out some food, but also suffered the same fate as me when it was discovered that since there was no such person as "Uncle Jim," they probably weren't "Uncle Jim's kids."
This is a scenario that occurs in some fashion, without fail, on every trip to a big city that I take: Me and T. Nels go into a liquor store. (Relax, that's not the whole scenario. Although that also happens on every trip I take.) I am wearing my teal, baseball-sleeved shirt that features a picture of Run DMC flipping off the camera. My money shirt. The black guy at the counter sees my shirt and gives me props on it. At the same time he checks T. Nels's i.d. "North Dakota, huh?" he asks thoughtfully. "Yep." Then he gives me the once-over again, nodding approvingly. You can see literally see the thought forming in his head. North Dakota white boys....they're all right. Happens at least once every time. You're welcome, North Dakota, for the free street cred. Holla at your boy.
I suppose that's as good a note to end on as any.