Monthly Archives: July 2012

Jul20

Fireworks on the fourth – Charles River Edition

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<Passerby looks at us as if we have two heads>

“It’s an inflatable Kayak.

<Passerby looks at us as if we have three heads>

“Yes, we’re inflating it on a random street in cambridge.”

<Passerby looks at us as if we’d just landed from a flying saucer>

“I give up”

And that’s how our Kayaking adventure on the 4th started out. Mike and I should have taken the strange looks as an indicator of the day to come, but instead we were far too excited about the prospect of watching fireworks from the river to be paying attention… or to even care if we had been.

We put into the river at the Cambridgeside Galleria, in the little cul-de-sac with the water fountain. We, of course, got a few rather confused looks as we tossed the Bogmaster 3000 over the lip and jumped in. But soon enough we were out into the open river, far from the confused looks of the multitudes of “land lubbers”.

Our first mini-adventure hit us as we paddled out from the Galleria area. Here, we had our opening encounter with a police boat (destined to be but the first encounter of the evening) when we strayed a bit too close to the shore on the Boston side. A state police skiff quickly motored up, slapping up with bow waves and loudly informing us in no uncertain terms that there was a “no boating zone” that extended 100ft from each shore-line.

We made some quick pleasentries with the boat, just to make sure they wouldn’t hose us down with the intimidating looking water cannon, and then got underway towards the massive party happening in the middle of the river.

See… we weren’t the only people who thought that watching the fireworks from the river would be awesome. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of small yachts and fishing boats clogging the waterway around the barge, all of which were armed with grills, booze, and loudly partying people. So, like any friendly people, Mike and I aimed for the biggest flotilla of tied-together boats and set to jump onboard to join the party.

Well, we didn’t quite party with them. And we didn’t quite jump onboard. In fact, we were greeted with one of the coldest welcomes I’ve ever gotten at a party… It wasn’t really a welcome, as much as a, “the fuck? You guy’s’re in a Kayak. You are clearly not rich enough to be near us. Now shoo. Go away.”
Thus, we moved on. We tried another flotilla to see if our previous rebuke was a one-off, or the norm… and it was definitely the norm. So, instead of trying to push our way in where we weren’t welcome, we paddled onwards, looking to find some cool Kayakers, or maybe a spot to just tie up and relax in the sun.

As we paddled around we finally found a small dock that boaters were allowed to pull up to – but it was on the other side of the fireworks barge. Thus, we had to cross through one of the small channels that ran on either side of the barge… channels that speedboats and yachts were using. Channels that may or may not be where we got run over by a massive boat too busy partying to notice us.

We did run into trouble passing through the gauntlet… but not the kind of trouble we expected. Instead, we were caught in a water-war between two smaller power boats filled with kids armed with all manner of water weaponry. We made the mistake of challenging one of them with a water balloon we had recovered, and so when the second boat came by we “took on some water”, thanks to a full broadside from their artillery.

Finally in position to land at the dock, we coasted up and I tied off while Mike headed inland to do some exploration… and to hunt down some water-based weaponry for the BogMaster 3000. While he was playing Lewis & Clark, I relaxed on the dock – taking in the sun and chatting with the two National Guard soldiers who were guarding the dock against non-boaters using it. They were pretty cool kids, but unfortunately I had to push off when a cop came over to remind us all that the dock needed to stay clear so that people could pull up in an emergency. So I paddled out a bit and stretched out, sunbathing myself while waiting for Mike to get back with our artillery.

Unfortunately our woeful lack of ordinance would remain – by the time Mike returned he had scoured not only the Esplanade, but also Newbury street and some of Boyleston trying to find squirtguns with no luck. He had, however, brought back some Indian food. And so we pulled out into the middle of the river and relaxed, chowing down on some excellently spicy food and washing it down with the contents of our beer cooler.

The rest of the day was spent burning up time and exploring, waiting for the sun to go down and the fireworks to go up. We spent some time on “Kayak coast”, relaxing with a whole group of Kayakers who had beached their kayaks a bit past the Mass Ave bridge. Or we tried… they turned out to be almost as unfriendly as the people on the yachts, so we were off again in short order, setting ourselves in position to watch the explosions.

However, the city was not down with having explosions right away. Instead, they were more concerned about the massive electrical storm brewing over Cambridge. The city of Boston actually went as far as issuing an evacuation order, telling the national guard to clear the riverbanks until the storm had passed.

This gave Mike and I a chance to do something that very few people will ever be able to do; explore underneath the Memorial Ave bridge system, where the road goes over the Charles. On any other day the police would be at our throats for piloting a kayak underneath the bridge and around the support pylons – but since everyone was being evacuated, the bridges were considered safe grounds for the many kayakers on the river. And so, we explored.

The network of pylons reminded me of that scene in Lord of the Rings, when the fellowship first enters the “stone forest” in the Mines of Moria. The darkness under the bridges was lightly illuminated by the light of the city, with our headlamps burning the shadows away and revealing more and more of the waterway the deeper we went.

Mike paddled while I used my oar to push away the floating detrius and clear the cobwebs – this place was thick with spiderwebs, though I thankfully couldn’t pick out any of the arachnids myself. I even tried getting out to do some bouldering at one point, to explore the higher reaches of the “forest”, but I unfortunately wasn’t able to get any real holds on the water-slicked concrete.

After about an hour or so the evacuation order was finally lifted (without the storm having broken, of course) and we were able to move back into position to watch the fireworks. This time Mike and I paddled into the middle of the yacht-area, hoping that we could find some kind of bouy to tie up to so that we wouldn’t have to fight against the current while watching the explosions. After a while we found a bouy, but in the least expected place – While looking around, one of the party yachts offered to let us tie off to their anchor to watch the show. Huh. So I guess some of the boaters are nice humans after all.

After waiting another half hour or so, the fireworks finally got underway. And holy crap, they were right on top of us! And when I say “right on top of us” I literally mean “we layed down in the kayak, looking straight upwards to watch them”. It was amazing, with two distinct dangers. First, the rain. You see, when you launch lots of shrapnel and such into a fully-saturated rain cloud it drops the rain. All of it. At once. Seriously, we got a days worth of rain in less than 5min, and it came down so hard that Mike and I had to use our paddles as visors to protect our eyes. The second danger was that same shrapnel… not only did it bring the rain, but it fell down afterwards. And since we were right under the explosions… well, lets just say that I was a bit covered in ash and scorch marks after the show.

But it was worth it. So worth it. The fireworks were amazing, and our seat was second to none. Seriously, there was nothing but open water between the kayak and the fireworks barge, and so we were able to see every launch and feel every explosion. And the show went on for at least 15min, far long enough for us to forget about the rain that had marred the beginning of the show.

Though we did still need to remember to dodge shrapnel.

Jul14

A patriotic visit to Pawtuckaway

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Tuesday, 03JULY12 through Wednesday, 04JULY12

 

July 4th in the United States has a few basic requirements: Explosions, Beer, Burgers, and maybe some more Explosions. Ohh, and preferably some camping. The explosions I wasn’t too worried about – campfires sort of count, depending on how close you get, and the city of Boston would provide the real intense display of American destructiveness the next evening. Burgers and beer, along with camping, were up to me to find. And so, I headed into Boston, met my buddy Mike, and set out from his place to begin the patriotic search for camping, burgers, and beer.

Our adventure started by stopping into Chile’s for dinner – what’s more American than spending money on grossly over-sized portions of food? Between bouts of random science talk and some rather entertaining babbling from Mike (the waitress enjoyed every second of it, if you can believe that) we put down a burger, two plates of Quesadillas and a few drinks. Yep. On our own. ‘Merica. Respect.

From Chile’s we headed up the long and lonely road to my favorite campground in southern New Hampshire – Pawtuckaway state park. The last time we tried to go camping here a fallen tree had blocked our path. Now, all that was in our way was a small gatehouse with an attendant looking like he was about to die of boredom.

He waved us on through when we asked if we could just pick a spot and pay in the morning. Simple, relaxed, and efficient. I love it. We pulled into one of the first spots that we could find, and I immediately went about the key action of the evening – starting the hottest and most unnecessarily large fire that I could make.

We had picked up a few bundles of wood from the nearby grocery store, but I supplemented that with a nice helping of pine-needles and other scraps from the woods around the site… this was key, because as every camper knows, pine-pitch burns. And it burns well.

So, our fire was set. It went from a lazy little ember to a roaring and popping inferno in less time than it took me to set up my hammock… and that’s saying something, because I can set that thing up pretty damn fast if I say to myself. But either way, soon enough we were relaxing around the fire – Mike strumming his guitar and me nursing a beer or three.

It was relaxing… even when a random guy came up, claiming to be a forest ranger. He said that they’d gotten a noise complaint about us, and that we needed to bring it down a notch or two. We complied… but I felt a bit strange about it: the guy wasn’t wearing the uniform that the gate-keeper had on, and he hadn’t driven up in a ranger truck or anything… instead, he’d simply walked over, as if he had been at the campsite next to us…

Campers impersonating rangers aside, the night was amazing. Mike and I joked and drank. We alternating between him playing rather stellar renditions of Red Hot Chile Peppers songs, and me discussing my new theory on what motivates me and what makes me happy. Even though I don’t smoke anymore, the conversation devolved rather rapidly into something a stoner would have thoroughly enjoyed.

 

I don’t really remember when we finally headed to bed, but the next morning broke far too early for my tastes. I had gotten up at some point that night to fix the rain fly on my hammock, and it seemed that the fix hadn’t really held… the rain had pooled in a massive lake sitting directly above my head, waiting to explode down upon me.

I left my warm hammock with a frown on my face, fixing the hammock and debating heading back to try and rejoin my previous dream. But fate proved that it knew what was up, and within 10min of waking up I was met by another random guy walking towards our camp.

This time, he had an official note. Not a noise complaint, but a note saying that he’d bought and payed for our campsite. And that we needed to leave. Like, now.

I was able to talk them into giving us half and hour to pack and get the car ready. Mike was none too happy about it (nor was I, to be honest. I was looking forward to a slow morning) but we had everything together quick enough, and soon we were back on the road again.

The night had claimed a few pottles of blueberries, a sack of almonds, and far more beer than two people should have been able to drink. The cure for this set of indulgences? Clearly a massive diner breakfast. And so, we started driving back towards Boston, planning on stopping off at some random exit and finding ourselves both some breakfast, and maybe some adventure…

Jul2

Job Search 2012 – Jet setting in Georgia

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I was met at the terminal by the company driver. He was holding up a sign that read “Mr. Benjamin Hutt”, and he offered to carry my bag as we walked to the waiting Chevy Suburban. I carried my bags, but in return he offered me a bottle of water from the cooler in the back of the SUV.

Yep. Not only had I been flown down to Georgia on the corporate account, but they had sent their official company driver to meet me.

“This is what it feels like to be in the real business world”, I thought, “I don’t know how I feel about it, but it is quite nice”.

From there, Felix (the driver) ferried me down the highway to the hotel that had been booked for me. We chatted about the company that I was interviewing with, about the city of Atlanta itself, and about what life was like in the South, versus up where I’m from in the North. It was fun, and time and the highway flew by, until I was sitting comfortably in the recliner that took up one corner of my hotel room.

 

And that was how my trip to Georgia started. A bit of backstory; Earlier in June I had received a reply to one of the many cold-applications that I had sent out. From that came a phone screen, and when that phone screen went well they called to ask when I’d be available, and if I happened to have any plans to fly to Georgia on my own anytime soon.

As I didn’t have any plans to do that, they told me they’d be in touch with my flight information and interview times, and that was all I heard from them for nearly a week.

But soon enough my inbox had an email from their HR woman, giving me my flight information and interview schedule. She told me that the driver would be waiting, and that he’d have all of the hotel information for me upon my arrival – all I had to do was get to Logan Airport on time.

Now, I’m not used to flying around the country on someone elses dime… and I’m very not used to flying somewhere when I don’t have the hotel confirmation, or even hotel name, written down somewhere. But there’s a first time for everything, and sometimes a man just needs to leave home without any real plans… with just the knowledge that everything will work out right in the end. And so that’s what I did.

 

Back in the hotel room, my stomach was starting to remind me that I hadn’t eaten since earlier that afternoon. It was also reminding me quite loudly about the very interesting lounge-restaraunt that was attached to the hotel.

Now, I’m trying my best to save money… but a key point to interviewing is to keep yourself energized and ready to tackle any challenges that they may throw your way. The best method to do this? Stay well fed, well rested, and wake up at least three hours before the interview is slated to start. That way, your brain is ready and warmed up for the interview… instead of being in the fog of latent sleep.

Now, I couldn’t work on the sleep, or the waking up… but I could work on keeping myself well fed. So I headed down, and ate myself an amazing dinner – I ordered myself up a BBQ hamburger, and they even sent me over a free appetizer since I hadn’t been there before (Telling them that I may move in nearby didn’t hurt eather). I relaxed and chatted with the waitress, exchanging stories about travel and job searches, before heading back up to the room to finalize my interview binder and get some sleep.

 

The next day started out nice and early (three hours before the interview, as per my usual) with my complementary continental breakfast. No bacon was to be found, unfortunately, but I wasn’t too upset since I’d been on a “eat fruit for breakfast” kick for the past week or so anyways.

The rest of the morning was spent showering, reading over my notes, prepping my suit, and doing a bit of relaxation-reading before catching a shuttle over to the company HQ. I almost never wake up early, so these few mornings where I’m up with enough time to relax are a pleasure for me… I crave relaxation and slow unhurriedness, and knowing that I’d be working on something important later on just made it all the more pleasurable.

The interview was excellent – I’ve summarized my two big take aways from it below:

  • I put my “interviewing tactics” that I had recently learned from Larry King’s book “How to talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere” to good use – One of my interviewers was extremely stiff and slightly awkward, and so I worked to change the tone from that of an interview into that of a conversation.
    It worked, as far as I can tell, and we both learned a lot more than we would have if they had just kept asking monotone questions.
  • Interviewing over lunch is difficult. I ordered a sandwich – bad decision, in hindsight. Sandwiches are hard to eat when you’re talking, and it’s hard to talk when you’re eating. Instead, I should have ordered a salad or something that I could have eaten in smaller bites.
    I did get a good bit of practice in about controlling the flow of conversation though – I was able to get the interviewers talking on a long enough subject that I got a few bites of food in.

After the interview I had to head out rather quickly in order to catch my plane back to New England. I had left my bags at the hotel front desk, so after a quick stop in to grab them and change out of my suit I was heading back down the highway in a huge Chevy Suburban.

Felix wasn’t around today, but the new driver and I spent the whole drive talking about philosophy and human nature anyways, discussing things as if we had known each other for years. He had grown up in Nigeria, and had lived all across the States since moving here – DC, LA, Houston, etc… His opinion helped me out a lot, actually, since he was able to give me a very clean perspective on living in Atlanta. In his words, “It’s nice! It’s warm all year, there’s no snow, and the people are grounded. Their not those LA types… no one likes those LA types.”

The plane ride back looked to be just as boring as the one down, right up until I took my seat next to a mid-fourties couple. They quickly proved themselves to be very interesting flight companions , telling me stories about their lives in Atlanta and what they did for livings;

“Ohh, I’m in business. We’re not big, but we did finally break into the ‘Forbes top 5’ last year”

“This is so crazy! This is the first time we’ve flown in coach in almost two years! I can finally use my free-drink coupons! Here, you can have one too… how about Glenlivet 12-year?”