homeless...?

so... mr obbs is in an unfortunate situation. Due to too many raucous parties being held at my current abode, my landlord has decided to evict two of my roommates, and not allow me to extend my lease once it is up at the end of May. Hunting for apartments is perhaps one notch above spending time in Port Authority on mr. obbs' official list of unenjoyable activities. It's an ass-pain, to put it lightly.

Either the room is too expensive, too far out of the city, or the roommates are too crazy, or the landlord is a psycho, etc etc ad nauseam.

So currently I am trying to see if i can stay through the summer at least. i mean, I pay my rent, I keep the place looking decent, I do my dishes. What else do you want from me. So we'll see how the landlord responds to my email.

SPeaking of the homeless though... can someone explain to me why so many homeless people insist upon speaking all sorts of gibberish ALOUD? I can really not think of any reason why they do it. It's usually expletives, or just total nonsensical blather which does nothing to better their standing in my mind. It's gotta be the crack. That's the only justification i can think of.

Last week I was waiting for the T and witnessed one man have a full conversation with the Virgin Mary. Apparently Mary was also waiting for the T, and wearing skintight spandex which the man found arousing. It was uncomfortable to listen to this guy shout, and eventually another guy next to me went and reported him to the MBTA guard on duty... who really didn't do anything.

But anyways... homeless people. What're ya gonna do with em. I also don't understand why they insist on living in Boston. It's cold as hell here. If I had no home... I'd go south. Just start walking. Maybe that's just me, I don't know.

I realize it's been a while since we've had some music here on the blog. So without further ado, check out this funky track by the English singer Estelle featuring the highly talented John Legend. After watching him on the Colbert Report, I think Legend is a pretty cool dude. and talented.

Estelle ft. John Legend -- You Are

And peep legend doin his thang on The Report:

mr. obbs' marathon weekend

mr. obbs went on a journey this past weekend back to his alma mater. After a weekend of shenanigans with some fellow esteemed alums, i was faced with a rather complicated journey home. Now, someone once said, *famous quote* and it has occurred to me that the unbeaten path is sometimes seldom traveled for a reason. I was approximately 6 hrs from boston as the crow flies, yet my only potential rides were not planning on going to boston. not at all.

So I was faced with two options: Option 1: travel on the most boring stretch of highway evar, then take a $30 bus from Hanover, NH to Boston, arriving at approximately 11pm. ORRR Option 2: Wait awhile at college watching playoff basketball (cue the classic John Tesh theme) while my escort and her boyf played checkers together in his room, then depart for NYC, arriving around 9pm, where I would take a $15 china town bus back to boston arrivin around 1am, and (hopefully) catch the last citybus home (for free).

Being a cheapass, i of course opted for the latter route.

The trip to NYC went greeeat! No traffic, good playlist on my friend's iPod (Hall and Oates, Baltimora, Foreigner, Eddie Money to name a few), and a bag of doritos for mr obbs to snack on! Once in the city, i even got a ride directly to Port Authority (turns out it was much more on the way to Long Island (my escort's destination) than China Town. So instead of the chinatown bus, i'd take greyhound. But i knew greyhound was only $20 one way, i should be ok money-wise and my cheap plan would still go off without a hitch.

I run to the ticket booth at 8:50 and ask for a one-way to beantown. Thirty-two bucks. WTFRIG!! mr. obbs not happy! but, short on time, i pay with cash (leaving just one bill) and run to the bus terminal. get there at 8:53 and get in line. One by one they let people on until, 6 people away from the door, the bus is full. SHIT.

mr. obbs now has to wait for the next bus, which, though states on the board is leaving at 10, will get pushed back to 10:30. I think I mentioned how much I love spending time at Port Authority in a previous blog. So, yea.

I arrive in boston at 2:34. Now, with only 1 dollar in my pocket, and the T long-closed (GM Dan Grabauskas of the MBTA says that they must close the T every night to do all their "repairs," and yet T's are still broken down, disabled, and habitually alte every day... hrmm) I realize i gotta A) get to an ATM and B)holla at a cabbie.

The closest ATM i know of is... like a mile or so. Not bad. It was a warm night and I had nothing better to do really (besides sleep and get ready to wake up at 8 for the red sox monday).

On the walk to the T, I notice that I am making great time. I'm not tired at all. I also find that I'm really enjoying the city at night. Deserted. Calm. Peaceful. I walk by the finish line to the Boston Marathon and my mind begins to think crazy thoughts...

I decide to make this walk home my own personal marathon. Inspired by the pain my fellow marathoners will endure in the nearing hours, I begin to pick up my pace. I was also inspired by the fact that I did not want to end up paying more for my decision to go to NYC over Hanover (which was looking pretty amazing at this time).

Poor cabbies drive by shaking their head at me. Honking. FLipping me the bird... but I stay focused. My stomach begs for pizza. I give in, only to notice they closed at 2. I don't need pizza anyway. I only need late nite pizza when I'm drunk.

I push on.

Past the one hour mark, I am making great time. I turn down the final turn. I climb my steps and openthe door. I am greeted by the pounding beats of Sytem of a Down. So. Much. Emotion. I walk into my living room to find some shady looking characters playing poker. I hit my stopwatch: 3:42am. I have shattered the marathon record with my finishing time of 68 minutes (unofficial). I looked up the distance from South Station to my home the next day: 5.5 miles. Not too shabby!

I didn't sleep til 5am cuz my roommates were partying. Party on a Sunday til 5? makes sense.

Monday I get up and head to a buddy's place to pound a 40oz of Natty ICE. Go to the Sox game, watch the 'real' Boston Marathon, then help polish off a keg at a friend of a friend of a friend's place next to the course.

It was a beautiful end to a long and exciting weekend. I think I am still recovering.

-- mr. obbs

i get angra!

I had an unusually frustrating weekend, which is unfortunate, but i shall explain. Let me first state the 2 things that, in particular, pissed me off this weekend.

1. Friends not calling/texting me back
2. shitty bars with cover charges

Now, I picked up an extra Saturday shift at work to make some money, so at first I wasn't going to go out on Friday. BUt after an hour of not doing anything, I thought I'd give it a try. I text some people... call some... IM some. Leave messages. One guy texted me at 1am saying 'sorry, but let's hang out tomorrow.'

cool.

I ended up going 'out' by myself. And that is 'out' in the most general sense of the word. I walked around, found a local Burger King, and treated myself to a late dinner. Fun.

So saturday I went to work. Got a text from the same buddy who wanted to hang out. So I called him once I got out. No answer. Left a message. Texted another friend who had said they would call me the previous nite (and hadn't) to see what they were up to. 2 hours later I text the first dude... End up getting no response from either.

Gotta love it.

I ended up goin out with my cousin who was meetin some lady friends of his at a place called Gypsy Bar. Finally got there, and knew this wasn't "my scene." Dude's with tans... hair product... tight designer t-shirts. *sigh* My cousin asked a guy in front of him what the cover charge was. "10 bucks." Fuck that.

So we ended up ditchin that idea. Went to a different bar I'd gone to before and enjoyed. Live music and such. $5 cover... it was ok. Buuuuut the band sucked and it was $4 for a bottle of Bud Light. Really? Fuck that. A waste of $5.

I hate cover charges, to put it lightly. We ended up going to some total dive bar, throwin some bills into the jukebox, getting some $10 pitchers of the High Life and enjoying ourselves with the rest of the clientele. Not swanky dumbasses with their designer shit they spent their last paycheck on, but chill people rockin Red Sox jerseys and pink "Support Your Local Vagina" tees. I felt at home.

Honestly, from now on, I may very well stick to this one local place for my nightlife. No cover, no stuck-up dresscode, cheap Molson ($2 drafts... my personal heaven), and lots of ladies. How the F can you beat that? Also, I won't hafta throw down for a cab either, cuz it's only bout a 10 min walk from my crib. Hallelujah.

So that was my weekend. Pretty dismal. Today was chill. Went to a bar at 2 and had wings for 10 cents a piece. Awesome. My cousin also spilled my beer on me, which was funny. Then we watched the end of The Masters, then some of the Bruins and Red Sox games.

All i've eaten today is 1 banana, 20 hot wings, 1 beer, and half an order of french fries.

But my diet is a whole nother story.



Adios.

bump it up

A strange thing has happened since I've moved into the city. It's happened on more than one occasion now.

I bump into people. And it's not just an innocent, understandable bump. It's a collision that, I'm guessing/hoping, most people do not commit.

Now, in my defense, it could well be due to the fact that Boston has a much higher density of people than I am accustomed to... possibly. But I think it's just mostly due to my absent-mindedness.

On the way to work one day, I was waiting with some other workers from my building for the elevator to come to the ground floor. I was reading the paper, heard the bell ring, and began walking to the door. Ran straight into some woman... almost knocking her over.

Like I was some sort of Pavlov dog, I heard the bell and immediately thought that meant the door would be opening and we'd pile in. I didn't think that A)maybe I should look up from the paper or B)that maybe the woman in front of me would be waiting until the elevator unloaded before she entered. What made it even better was that I had to spend a nice lil awkward elevator ride with this woman I had just nearly assaulted.

I also ran into some dude as I entered the grocery store. I love watching myself on the security camera (who the f doesn't) aaaaand wasn't watching where I was going.

I read something today that made me feel a little better about myself, though. It appears that the world is actually growing more and more incapable of walking without bumping into things/people.

Don't believe me? Check out this article from Time, or, if you love the British accents like I do, this shitty, unfunny video.




"higgledy-piggledy fashion..." Gotta love it!

All this London talk reminds me of time in the great city. I had a sik internship for a DJ booking agency. My part of the company booked the artists for shows and such, the other half was was kind of a record label type deal. This one artist, Harry (love the artists who go by just one name), had a new single they would play ALLL DAYYY. It was alrite. I downloaded it (ripped it from his myspace actually, my bad) just to remind me of those days. Check it out.

Harry Brooks - Neon Lady

peace and love everybody.

-- obbs

fans

So I went to see my cousin's DIII men's lacrosse game today. Pretty awful weather-- cold, drizzly, just plain 'raw.'

Anyways, I've been around organized sport for some time, so I have heard many a "yeller" let their opinions be heard from their perch in the bleachers. They know who should have done what. They know whose son just f'ed up horribly but are careful as to not make their disgust too apparent in their exclamation, as the failure's father is also in earshot. So a simple, exasperated "OH COME ONNNN" after a mistake will suffice.

The collection of fathers at the game today were some of the worst I've witnessed. Honestly... some of the shit they were saying made me wanna smack em in the face.

"Did you see that pass? What is he doing? Jeeeeesus."

*kid takes a shot on goal*
Random Mom 3 rows back: Nice try Jimmy!!
Long-haired father: What the hell kind of shot is that?! You have no angle on the goal... there is absolutely no chance of that going in.

At one point, a father actually said "We know more about the game than these kids do!"

So I, knowing I will not see these people again and looking to push things a little further, said "You know what? WE oughta be out there playing!"
and the father turned to me... and I could see the gears in his head turning as he struggled to figure out if I was serious or not... and he replied "Yea!! ... but maybe as the JV."

Good answer, pops.

Anyways, I remember a basketball game I was in back in like 8th grade. I actually started trash-talking with an opposing team's father in the stands. His son was guarding me, and he made some remark, knowing I could hear just as much as his son could, about how I couldn't keep up with him (his son) or something equivalent. I turned to him and made fun of his goatee.

Bottom line is: I know that, when I am older and watching my son or daughter school all the other kids in just about any sport they desire to play, that I'll friggin keep my mouth shut. At least until the car ride home, where I will berate them unmercifully.



adios!
-- mr. obbs

lissenup

attention fans. I think, after some soul-searching (read: i read over my last blog and bored myself) that this blog needs... a direction.

That is why, starting... this blog or next... I will try to focus on one thing and dissect it as i see fit. I have a lot of time on my hands to simply think. I see people on the subway on the way to work... and I think. I don't have an iPod to blow out my eardrums (seriously, my cousin thinks she has some hearing loss cuz of that dang machine) so I can devote all the time of my commute to A) the song that's currently already playing in my head and B)judging the people around me, which (i believe) I am REALLY good at.

Like yesterday, I was on the T and this dude, all tatted up and stuff, was just chillin mindin his own business, then his cell went off. And guess what. His ringtone was "It's Britney, bitch." I was like "waaaaaahhH!?" Hilarious.

So there you have it. A new chapter in mr. obbs blog. Brace yoself fools.

-- mr. obbs