For a kid that has grown up in a couple Midwestern towns, there's a lot to take away from a vacation to a big ol' city like Boston. Here are some of the things:
- There is too much waiting in the city.
Today I spent 20 minutes waiting in line for an IMAX film, 30 minutes waiting in line for the city aquarium, probably 60 minutes waiting for meals, at least 50 minutes waiting for various mass transit trains to arrive, 60 minutes waiting for those trains to piggyback me across the city, and at least 20 minutes waiting for other pieces of my family to meet me from other various mass transit trains. Then you have your universal waiting things, like waiting for people to wake the fuck up, waiting for the light to be walkable, waiting for people to hurry the fuck up because they missed the walk light, and waiting for people to decide what the hell they want to do next on this whimsical vacation. Overall, I probably spent about five hours of my waking day waiting for things. What I accomplished was a movie about orangutans, an aquarium, and McDonalds. That is bullshit. I demand for only two things — cater more effectively to my money-wasting city needs, and inject my parents with adrenaline at least once an hour — and this city provides me with neither.
- Older parents are older than younger parents.
Old parents rapidly transform over the course of a vacation. At first they are economic protectorates, providing delicious semi-high-end meals and airplane tickets. Very soon they become silly characters, stumbling about the city chaotically with wide eyes and confused brains, not knowing what the hell is going on and running entirely out of HP by 4 in the afternoon. These are like kittens that run around and play joyfully in front of you while you're walking until they poop themselves out ever so cutely. After about four days, you will find that they have become no different, except that they are no longer silly but explosively aggravating. They are like kittens that run around and play joyfully in front of you while you're walking until they poop themselves out, for four consecutive days. I've taken to live texting my girlfriend every time my parents do something inexplicably dumb, and it has resulted in many many wistful wishes that I had a Twitter.
- Homeless people < Regular people < Homeless people with instruments.
Cute novelty panhandling signs like "I just want to get drunk. Please help." and "Zombie Slayer 4 Hire." are no longer funny, thanks to the internet, and they're certainly not worth my parking meter gold. Darwinism will certainly have finished consuming those poor urchins within the close of the decade,* and all that will remain will be those wonderful homeless we all love to be entertained by.** Soon, there will be only electric violins, steel drums, Latin guitar and Stomp-inspired bucket drums asking for our money. And on that day, I assume, homes will be considered marks of public shame and individual failure to hone musical skills. As a prospective journalist who plays some instruments better than others, I'm not fully sure which side I will fall into in five years.
**Robert, most buskers actually have homes.***
Ask me how I'm doing in Boston!