Saturday. In the Park. I think it was the 4th of July.

some men capture what I can forget to keep in mind. Sometimes the saltbowl can still be beautiful. every so often, even in the depths of summer, when all the flip-flops fuse with the side walks, we can still have a celebration.

Of the two 4th of July celebrations I've been to in the city the first was a celebration of people, and the second might as well have been a friends episode.

That first time was my first residence in Boston, and we moved in on the first of June. Nestled in a student-free brighton hill, we were swallowed up by what people refer to as "real boston;" the commuters, the families, the children on scooters hasseling you for money, the cars crawling and the bikes weaving between them. The night had already come in and because of the holiday, a holiday you felt more strongly here, we all walked in the street, thousands of people migrating to the Hatchshell to watch the Pops. The charles looked like a bayou and there wasn't a patch wide enough for the blanket but the music rang along the banks and we all ate ice cream like children. I was proud to say I felt no emotions then.

The harvard bridge with its satellite vision of the state street art work filled up full and clear like the whole damn city was going to blow. The T's rang with efficency and we all were half deaf. The heat wave gave way to icy cars and in the middle of summer we all shivered like a rung church bell. I carried fast food in a brown paper bag, and we all went back to an old brick building with the floral hotel carpeting in the stairwells. we sat in a poorly ventilated living room and left only the screen door closed. We stood on our balcony that looked out to the back of the buildings across the way, ugly in their honestly, traced the ages in delapidating portions and make-shift carpentry. We drank to our freedom in every regard and toasts let the bubbles lat out on the floor.

For all the miersery on the north shore, or hardnosed lesson of the southern. For the memories in the west and the day to day here, I could never be a man from another place and time. Today I share its destiny. Lick the salt from the rim, shoot the last of the night, and stumble back to an old stylus and ramble till dawn.

Old Friends and Blue Roses

When I was in high school they used to joke that there were the Feats of Brow. A selection of things I’d done because I was stupid and basically got shit lucky if you don’t factor in my penchant for argument and that I ooze charm.

One of them revolved around a girl name Kristen McCarthy. As was my lot back then, I played an effective wing man because I had ridiculous stories, could talk about anything (a discipline I’d studied when I asked a ripe young politician why he would watch a show as effeminate as Days of our Lives. “You need to be able to talk about anything.”), and I had a joke or two. In the course of that charge, I ended up saying, hey if I’m going to keep doing this for you, why don’t you set me up with someone I like. My rearing in Taunton taught me to be at least a superficial schemer. You don’t get anywhere without a plan.

We ended up managing to execute the date, and through the course of it somewhere I picked her up with a cheeseburger. At 26, I’m not proud of it, but at the height of the Austin Powers fame, I made a cheeseburger talk like the character Fat Bastard, and despite her vegetarian tendencies, managed to swing this into what at the time counted for a relationship.

She was the first girl to really break my heart for no good reason either. It wasn’t that serious, but I’ve never taken that sort of thing well. It’s a large part of the reason I’ve a bitter sod. A lifetime of thinking this one was going to work, and it never did. A year or so back I was with an old familiar group and they’d told me she was pregnant; a South American guy who didn’t speak English. I had to just shake my head. She had a wild side and went for guys who were generally troubled. If it weren’t for that cheeseburger I don’t think I’d have had a chance.

The other day our camping department put up a giant banner in our lobby and it stand to the left of my door. It’s a standard marketing piece, shots of kids from summers past and big, brass, letters saying what its all about, but I look at the same kid in one of those photos every time, because as much as I know it isn’t, she looks like Kristen’s 18-year-old twin. It’s more weird that I hadn’t thought of her, or that time of my life in a lifetime. I’m not the same person, in fact when I remember myself at that time; it seems more like a brother, than me. But there I am, in a world removed with a terrible haircut and oversized t-shirts. And there she is, sitting outside my office, as a reminder of so many things; who I was, how far I’ve come, how far off the path life can go, and the myriad of reasons she might have chosen that direction.

In all, it’s a reminder of why I write. Sometimes I’m working through problems when I sit down and write but sometimes its good to remind yourself of past failures and victories, to remind yourself of why you do what you do, where you ought to be going, and what drives you down that road. I was thinking I should give her a call to see what she was up to. I expect her to be alone with a kid, and sometimes you can use an old friend’s voice, or a good story to carry you through, but I honestly wouldn’t know what to say. She’s not on a different road anymore; she lives in a different state (metaphorically). I think maybe I’ll send her a single blue rose. She’d understand, and maybe for a half a second she’d remember who she used to be too.

I love my kickball team

In case its not evident. This is leigh, stabbing me with a bunch of needles she found in the Fenway because I made fun of her Alma mater, Northeastern University. I'm assuming the reason we're "Entering Taunton" is because she hunted me down.

when my friends played wow...

So if you didn't know, I am a nerd of uncomprable versity and unabashed admission. That established, I play W.O.W. (world of warcraft).

there are roughly 10 million players worldwide so I don't know why anyone should feel pushed into a corner, but regardless they sometimes do. Since the game was released in November or 2004 its always been about, existing around the game, a social enviornment.

When it was released it was the most in demand item you've read about. Issel and I went to the mall, actually 2 of them, and between the 4 stores there we only found one copy. I offered it to him, and he passed saying "we should buy it together."

"What if the next store only has one copy?"

He bought it. The next store had none.

I think it was released on a tuesday. I searched every day that week for a copy, but to no avail. On saturday I'd got out of bed at an unprecedented 7 am and drove to a Target in Seakonk, about a 30 minute drive on the hopes that they had one.

When i'd arrived I walked as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself to the videogame section. The games were stacked out from the back of the shelf and there between two games I can no longer recall was a gap. I peered down the hole to find one lone copy of WOW there in the back, hiding from public awareness.

It was all I could do to not sprint down the aisle, when I put it on the counter I crowded around it, to the confusion of the old woman buying sucks behind me in her fur coat. The cashier asked if i'd like anything else.

"no." I can still remember thinking I was snappy, but I could care less. I raced home, shot issel a text and spent the next few weeks addicted.

Somewhere in there, later on Marshall came hom from Officer Training with a broken leg and, unable to do much of anything, we got him into the game. We all kept in touch, we all made plans through the game. We talked on vent, and shot the shit while trying to take down any number of celebrated computer-drive adverseries.

We waited outside of January-cold buildings in strip malls, all lifeless except for the massing of nerd sitting outside and talking about the game, for one event steve and I ate wendys, for the other jon and I got drunk. Times been passing, friends have been dropping out. In the fall I left the group of guys I'd played with for close to two or three years.

In short its just a game, and the day will come where I put it down for good. Life is temporal and things fall by the wayside, but more than just a game, WOW served as electronic watering hole, the proverbial office water cooler for friends I'd grown up with and some I'd never met. And now it too has run its course.

For its detractors, wow was a nerd heaven that only the slovenly and the fat engaged in. Children that never grew up, who only had friends on the internet. But despite the way many would intentionally and ignorantly spin it, it was the same as walking around the mall, or sitting in the backyard throwing back beers, just in computer form.

And now, barreling down on its 5 year dominance of the video game industry, wow is becoming more and more unappealing, because while the game is basically the same, the friends have all taken off for greener pastures. In many ways, its no different than real life, except out here, I'm not forced to look at a list of guy and their non-deplumes that never light up...

Happy Raiding.