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If there was a way to introduce one’s self
through writing, it has to be by letting you know who I am,
and giving you a little background. My title was more then
just an eye catcher; it was more of a true statement.
My birth name is Brendan Peterman, however,
around these parts, they call me “Boston.” I just moved here
three months ago from that city. Culture shock is an
understatement for how I feel, and it doesn’t take my accent
to tell that I’m a tad out of place.
Now you might have read my first paragraph,
and rolled your eyes. I’m sure you’re afraid that some “big
city” guy is going to come roll over your River Valley.
Not true. Just because I’m out of place
doesn’t mean I don’t like being here. As a matter of fact I
love not moving a mile a minute. I’ve been doing that for 26
years and I’ve got to say this area has a nice pace. I even
love the chili, which back home, I never had a taste for.
Then again maybe I never stopped to enjoy it.
It’s nice to finally meet nice people. I
never knew they existed till now. Boston had a way of moving
so fast that you didn’t have time to be nice. Well, unless
there was a huge Sporting Event, then every one was nice.
However looking back, everyone was drunk, so maybe that
shouldn’t count. Either way all the people here that are
positive, I promise, it’s starting to rub off on me.
Speaking of sports, I do feel for you. The
local teams remind me of a time not so long ago when
Boston’s teams were horrible. Back in 1999, the Red Sox
still stunk, the Celtics hadn’t won a Championship in 14
years, and the Patriots and Bruins were just run of the mill
teams.
Ten years can make a huge difference. Well
that, and new ownerships, but seriously, keep your heads up.
I see hope in the form of Jay Bruce, and Carson Palmer.
There are just a few things that I truly
don’t understand. Like if I went back to Boston and wanted
to play Cornhole. Let’s just say a good night of fun, and
entertainment wouldn’t be had.
To the guy that cut me off on the road the
other day, I used my HORN to let you know that you had made
a boneheaded move. You looked puzzled, and I wanted to clear
that up for you.
My accent, though new and exciting to all of
you, is not a reason for everyone to act like I starred in
Good Will Hunting. If I had, believe me, I would have a
better car, and would have blown a louder horn at the
aforementioned idiot driver.
I am perplexed at the lack of public
transportation. I always had access to the “T.” It’s a
trolley like service that gets you from point A to point B
in ten minutes. No matter where I was, I could be somewhere
else in TEN minutes. Now I’m 30 minutes from everywhere, and
I do lose sleep over this fact. I see Taxis every now and
then, which is nice, however they’re driven by English
speaking human beings. Weird.
I also had a conversation the other day about
airports, and this state has like 20. In my world, there is
only one, Logan, and I refuse to acknowledge anything else.
I am relieved that every guy here doesn’t
look like they just stepped out of a salon, and they’re on
their way back to the frat house. I also love the fact that
every girl doesn’t look like she stepped out the latest
fashion show in France. It seems much more real here —
breathtaking to say the least.
My friend and I took my day off the other day
to go shopping. We went to the Mills, Kenwood, Florence, Tri
County, eh, I lost track. Finally we stopped and drank to
make the headache go away. Anytime I previously went
shopping I walked down Bolyston St. That’s it, everything I
could ever need was right there. Oh, and Wal-Mart doesn’t
have markets back east. My sister had to use smelling salts
to wake me up after I passed out at the spectacle.
Seriously, I love it here. The people are
great, everyone’s friendly, and I’m here to be with family
and watch my niece and nephew grow up.
But can someone do me a favor? Give me a
middle finger every once in awhile, that way I can close my
eyes, and feel like I’m back home. |
