Boston 3/27/13

Two T-stops away, tucked under a swanky restaurant is Grendel’s Den, a Harvard pub established by Harvard grads. Like the meadhall in Beowulf, the place is full. The warm lights and aged red brick walls give it an air of friendliness, comfort and class. All around us are Harvard students. On a Wednesday night. We have a few beers, watch the people come and go, and just chat. This is the way to end a trip to Boston: drinking some beers in an ancient building talking about the future. Sure, I don't really believe in Founders worship, but from what all the tourist tours told me this is week, this is how the world changed. I know it's how mine did. Until next time, Boston. Ill be back on your cobbled streets before you know it. Maybe I’ll meet up at the Green Dragon and help change the world.

Boston 3/26/13

We walked into Doyle's Bar and it's obvious it's a blue collar bar. The waitress is old enough to be the owner (she probably was). She forgets the drink I ordered and I get my "chowdah" served with a bunch of it dripping down the side. It's delicious though; the beer still refreshing.

The place is old. Hanging on the walls are black and whites of Bostonians. Three smiling guys in suits hold umbrellas, like carefree gangsters. The painted tiles on the floor have been worn away, showing the bare tread and hardwood beneath it. At the bar are more tourists from the Sam Adams tour we went on, regulars line the bar as well. There's still election posters for Kennedy ’60 on the wall, right next to WWII propaganda posters. It was a phenomenal mom and pop shop and it gave a good feel for the South City.

Besides all that, Alan, the bearded tour guide at Sam Adams, was hilarious. By far the best tour I've ever been on. Plus, you can't argue with free beer. And if you did, you should probably stop drinking and ask yourself why you're arguing with a liquid.

Boston 3/25/13

We walked the Freedom Trail, a type of red brick tourist road that winds through much of Boston Proper and Bunker Hill. Then we did the all-time tourist thing and climbed a really tall building to look down on the places we just left. But looking over all those half-streets and crooked lines, ancient houses and modern sports complexes caused this feeling of connection.

We spent the rest of the night in a normal local Irish bar in Davis Square listening to traditional Irish music, huge smiles on our faces. I'm in love and I'm ready to move in. Every step made me fall one step further down the rabbit hole. This city is where I belong, goofy accents and all.

Boston 3/24/13

We just got in the city and this place is amazing. I just walked outside a moment to get a pillow for tonight and I was struck by some incredible feelings.

This place is incredibly quiet. For the sheer mass of people and compacted buildings, this city is absolutely silent. It's eerie. Cars barely pass by and there's no obnoxious rattle of busses or trains. There's no constant commotion. We're six blocks from Tufts University, a three minute walk from Davis Square and the Red Line and there's not a sound to be heard.

It also hit me while walking down a winding footpath how old this city really is. Houses and buildings and restaurants are crammed one on top of another through labyrinthine roads that have no apparent beginning nor end.

And then finally I realized why it was so silent. It's because it's so old. And then it hit me that this is the loudest city I have ever been in. 400 years of history is shouting out of every wall, from every street lamp and street. I walk side by side with some of the greatest American minds. I see passing coaches lot with lanterns, Puritans trying to survive a cold winter, men in their finest rushing to the old meeting house, and others carrying rifles to wars off an encroaching army. Every silent moment of this city is filled with a memory. It occurs to me that that feeling is what draws me to this city. Why I knew the moment I considered it that this city would be my home. I've never felt so nostalgic for times gone by, nor at home in a city moving in both directions: continually forward and back in time. The rustic vibe of this town becomes electrified by sundown, but that old world charm never goes away. In fact, maybe tomorrow I’ll go take a walk with Benjamin Franklin and John Adams: I hear something is brewing across the pond.

Review: House of Cards

I've just finished season 1 of House of Cards. I feel a bit numb inside. These two facts are related.

House of Cards, if you haven't heard about it (shame on you), is a political drama about a House Majority Whip that is not given what he was promised. Passed over for the Secretary of State position, Frank Underwood, a ruthless, calculating, and demanding politician, begins to exact his revenge on those who wronged him.

From the first five minutes of episode 1, I was hooked. Within those five minutes, you are introduced to everything you need to know about Frank. A dog is struck by a car and Frank, getting ready for a black tie event, comes out of his home to comfort the dog. Or so it seems. Frank then directly addresses the audience, staring straight into the camera and issues a few lines on what he calls the two sorts of pain. The first sort makes you strong. The second is only suffering. He despises this type of pain. Then he kills the dog.

These breakaway speeches occur throughout the series, lending narratorial insight into events and Frank's thought process behind a certain action. Plus, every line is expertly crafted to emulate with ruthlessness and is incredibly quotable. The cutaways are profound and leave viewers questioning the integrity and honor of Frank as a politician. The portrayal of Frank as such a controlling legislator who is drawn between his own ambitions and those of his constituents (a company named SanCorp) is much different than the conventional textbook definition of a legislator.

House of Cards is jarring. The phenomenal casting and acting for the show continues to surprise. Frank is joined by his wife, Claire, owner of the non-profit Clean Water Initiative, Zoe Barnes,a reporter looking for a break, Peter Russo, a US Representative battling alcoholism and drug addiction, and a multitude of other similarly ambitious or morally tainted characters. The interplay between characters, and mostly their manipulation by Frank, is creative and at times left me wondering what was about to happen.

Frank Underwood is just another character in the growing list of modern anti-heroes we all want to hate but come away sympathizing. When Frank is passed over for the Secretary of State position, I sympathizes with him; yet, he didn't want my sympathy. He immediately began scheming. He blatantly explains the weaknesses of sympathy. Frank is a man consumed and motivated only by power. Nothing else matters. Cleverly, throughout the first season, until the last two episodes, what exactly Frank is scheming for never becomes apparent. Instead wings of this house of cards topple, one by one, until nothing stands in the way of Frank and what he wants.

I easily finished this series in a week and cannot wait for the second season. This is the best show I have seen in a very long time. House of Cards has blown open a (fictional?) view of Washington that we can only hope is not true. House of Cards is riveting, jarring and at times uncomfortable. House of Cards will challenge you to figure out the mystery of Frank's ambitions. House of Cards will tempt you, asking if you can truly trust the narrator.

If you do only one thing today: watch House of Cards.