Forever Flicker in Close-Up

Memory is a funny thing. I pride myself on having a near-impeccable memory when it comes to the likes of names, dates, and faces, but places and situations always seem to fade a little with time.
My friend and I took a weekend trip to Boston recently, a city I had not visited in six years, despite its relative proximity to my home. A strong desire to see the touring company of RENT fueled this desire, although it was admittedly wonderful to have a respite from the daily grind of the working world. Thus, there was nothing in particular we were trying to accomplish on this trip (unlike during College Tour '03), other than to enjoy ourselves.


The last time I was in Boston, I was with my family, and we touched on most of the attractions, from Harvard Square to the top of the Prudential Tower. Memory be damned, then, because with the exception of Fenway Park (which I've seen on ESPN too many times ever to forget), I remembered very little of the city.
I don't mean to imply that Boston is forgettable, but rather that memory can be quite fickle sometimes. I took several pictures as we walked the city, determined to preserve everything I'd seen - GoogleImage, after all, is not quite the same as one's own collection. Here are some highlights:


This picture was taken while people-watching and resting in Quincy Market, and is of a kiosk where women are selling a piece of fabric that can be worn in 100 different ways. I'm the type of person who would never buy into these items, much like those seen in informercials (with the exception of the Snuggie), yet I still find them oddly fascinating. What purpose, for example, does a zipper bag serve, other than to be extremely unattractive? And wouldn't people notice if all your outfits had the same pattern or design?





This merry-go-round seemed to spin a little too fast for young kids. At 22, the speed was not an impediment and we hopped on, though we were thankfully not the only adults to do so. Prior to this day, I had not been on a carousel in about seven years, and it's safe to say I don't think I've been missing anything.





The Boston Public Library. My inner nerd lights up a little (or perhaps a lot) when I see places like this.




Walking from Cambridge into Boston at night. My camera's automatic settings are better than I thought they were, but they could still use a little work.



Boston provided me with a lesson in photography: I should stick to what is considered standard fare. As we walked the Freedom Trail, I tried taking abstract shots of the city, in an attempt to spruce up my conventional collection of photos. I will spare you readers the results that I have yet to delete, but it's clear that I failed at taking pictures that weren't average tourist shots. Even the self-taken photos of me had me looking as though I'd been mugged, although this was likely a result of having had four hours of sleep the night before and subsequently walking around in the heat all day.



But I took enough of those "standard fare" pictures to be able to remember Boston on my own terms, as I experienced it that weekend. However, I was unable to capture the number one thing I'd like to replay in my mind from this trip. Because Sunday's matinee at the Colonial Theater ended up being the most memorable part of the entire weekend, much like I expected it would be. I'm obsessed, and not ashamed to admit it. And if it takes an obsession to drag me across the country and world, I'm there every time.