I Never Get Out Of Somerville

I moved to the Boston area in 2000, but I am ashamed to admit that even after all this time there are parts of the city I just don’t know. These days, if it’s not in Cambridge or Somerville, I can hardly be bothered. Across the river? Only occasionally. All the way over in Jamaica Plain? You’re kidding. If you move from Somerville to Jamaica Plain, I’ll throw a going away party.

But this weekend I went two new places. Saturday morning I went to Quincy (thats Kwin-zee, for those of you from out of town) for a wedding. How have I been here for nearly eight years, but never been to Quincy? The reception was held in a banquet hall that also held an Elks Lodge, which was advertising at 1:00 PM Meat Raffle. I didn’t get to attend that. What kind of meat? Meat like the bride and groom? Elk meat?

Then today I went to visit some goats in a small town just over the border into Rhode Island, right near Purgatory Chasm (access via Purgatory Road), a state park which contains a rock formation known as Fat Man’s Misery. I learned how to milk goats. There was a llama, but it was shy if I was nearby. When I retreated enough, it came to the fence and ate carrots from its owner’s mouth.

I also found out that one of my favorite journalists, Rob Walker, links to me from his blog. TO ME. I am so honored it hurts. I am in the sidebar in a category labeled “Hard To Categorize,” along with “Ask A Mexican.”