SPRG09JR608 Interactive News Kathleen Leonard

Pigeons: The Urban Seagulls

2009-03-04T16:16:32Z

This post is not about a strange human dweller of Davis Square, but rather an entire species that has set up shop in my neighborhood: PIGEONS. They've taken over the streets!

Those who know me best know that I really don't like birds of prey (i.e. pigeons, seagulls), the prey being me and anything I'm trying to eat. It's bad enough that birds invade my leisure time at the beach, but to raid my routine life? Give me a break.

Pigeons are, in my opinion, flying disease bags. And for some reason, the birds of the particular variety that occupy Davis Square are the fattest and shed the most feathers.

Maybe this is a cultural thing. In Spain, pigeons are caught and sold at markets. Whether they are sold as pets or food, I'm not sure, but why would I pay for a pigeon when I could either A) catch one in the street for free, or B) stick myself with a dirty needle?

Captive pigeon in Spain

Regardless, here in the U.S., the pigeon gets a bad rap and I'd say rightfully so. Who said it was okay for an animal to just lounge around and mooch off of other animals? They just feed on bread crumbs and scraps! If pigeons were people, I'd tell them to get a job.

The video below is from NBC's 30 Rock and features Tracy Morgan (as Tracy Jordan) giving some life advice to a pigeon eating from the garbage.

Tracy Jordan:"Stop Eating People's Old French Fries Pigeon"
Uploaded by brunols81

Streetcar Serenade

2009-03-03T15:35:48Z

There's a street musician that I often see at the Davis Square T station. Unlike that guy at Park Street that just moans along to a cassette tape, the Davis Square crooner has people smiling, and not tuning in to their Ipods to drown him out.

His voice is downright angelic. Usually there in the morning, he eases people into their days with a repetoire that includes hits from Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, and even some of the score from Disney's Aladdin. Today, he had attracted an enthusiastic crowd of young students, and in front of such a lively audience, he was really shining.

Often, I hear him play The Beatles' "In My Life," which you may remember was the theme song to the show "Providence" which was on NBC at the turn of the century (I love being able to use that phrase here). The show was on when I was making my decision to attend Providence College. "Blackbird" is another favorite of his, and so it was for my roommate freshman year. His performances invoke memories of my four glorious years at PC, and I can't help but feel happily nostalgic when I listen to this guy.

There's real talent in this guy, and in lots of other street performers. Check out this link to see what I mean. It's a feature story written by Gene Weingarten of The Washington Post, and it won the 2008 Pulitzer Prize.

Also, check out this video below of a young boy street drumming in Chicago. Pretty impressive.

Until you're living... IN A VAN DOWN BY MY DRIVEWAY!

2009-03-02T21:47:55Z

Living on the road...cruising the open roads of the U.S. of A. in your VW van, windows open, a breeze blowing through your long, unkempt hair, your only care being where your next bong hit is going to come from...

Or living the nuclear family life, settling down in a Boston suburb where trendy babies ride around in trendy strollers while their trendy parents sip lattes and read The Economist.

These lifestyles appear, to me, to be mutually exclusive. Either you get along with personal hygiene and indoor plumbing, or you don't. My neighbor on Grove Street, however, wants to have his pot brownie AND eat it too.

(Actual photo)

That's why he keep '60s van outside his apartment, and occasionally sleeps in it. I know he sleeps in there sometimes because I've caught him, shirtless, waking up and stretching his arms in the "bedroom" of the van (basically the trunk) in the early morning hours. He's even got a coffee pot in there- is that even possible?

Why you'd pay an outrageously overpriced rent AND the maintenance for a live-in van is beyond me, but to each his own.

Below, please delight in the comic deliciousness that is Chris Farley, in one of his best-loved roles as motivational speaker Matt Foley, delivering his "living in a van down by the river" pep talk.

I think you forgot the words...

2009-02-25T16:34:46Z

So many weird things happen at the Davis Square T station. I guess the same could be said for most stations.

Screaming isn't out of the ordinary, really. Even though I hear someone shouting obscenities or yelling to themselves quite frequently, it still startles me.

To my pleasant surprise, last week the screaming was song lyrics. Yes, they were slurred a little bit and definitely incorrect, but it was a nice departure from curse words and derogatory racial slings.

(Side note: If you yourself are confused by song lyrics, or often find yourself singing the wrong ones, click here to cross-reference).

The performer was a young girl who was listening to an MP3 player and singing loudly along to N.O.R.E.'s "Oye Mi Canto," a rap song that was popular on the radio a few years ago. I won't claim to be a fluent scholar of Spanish, but my Spanish minor gave me enough insight to realize that "Boooooricua, manana, arrrrriiivicaadooooo, aruuminaaado" wasn't right.

I give this girl credit. She had no idea what was going on but decided to let her heart sing out anyway. That's more that most people can say. When we don't know the lyrics, we just kind of hum and look around awkwardly, hoping no one noticed.

Despite the blatant objectification of women in this video, I am including it for educational purposes only. And there's a beach in it, and I think I might have Seasonal Affective Disorder, so that helps a bit.

Seriously, McKinnon's, Febreze your whole building.

2009-02-25T03:53:18Z

I can't imagine anything more repulsive than the smell of rotting meat on a hot day in the city. Well, maybe an arrogant person keeping a child on a leash (the two worst things ever).

The back parking lot of McKinnon's Meat Market STINKS. This parking lot borders other restaurants, a liquor store, and AN APARTMENT BUILDING! Yes, McKinnon's, that heinous dumpster smell permeates way beyond the confines of your shop. There's a perimeter around your building that has people scrunching up their faces and dry-heaving.

It's 2009, and it's America. People are not tolerant of offensive smells. Please take my advice, as a concerned citizen: do something about it.

(Bank of) America's Finest

2009-02-25T03:49:31Z

As a bank former teller, I can tell you (pun intended) that most business days at a bank pass by very uneventfully. On particularly boring days, I actually used to hope that the bank would get robbed. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, and I certainly would not have enjoyed the post-traumatic stress that comes with an armed and dangerous encounter. I guess this was my biggest clue that banking would not be my calling in life.

A bank having a security guard is not news. A bank having a security guard who stands outside of the bank is.

At first I thought this was crazy. How is this beneficial? Not only could this poor man be beleaguered with extreme cold, but wouldn't the most potential for crime be inside the bank and not on the stoop?

Then, I figured it out: Bank of America, this is genius. Here's why:

- The guard can spot any suspicious characters before they even get into the bank.

- He can easily grab any bank robbers as they might be dashing out the door.

- He can yell for back-up from do-gooder citizens who might be passing by.

This scenario reminds me of the episode of Seinfeld in which George feels bad for the security guard at a clothing store having to stand up all day. George buys the guard a chair, the guard falls asleep in it and is thus unable to intervene in a robbery.

Taking this lesson from G. Costanz, I'm not going to mess with what works.

The Mailman Who Sits on His Route... in a Mailbox

2009-02-18T17:27:42Z

Like I've said, life in the city can be monotonous. I appreciate the things that make me stop and go, Wait, what?

I walk by the same mailbox every day. It's one of those green, unmarked mailboxes that I guess are used to store mail that Mr. Postman can't carry while on his route. I had never seen one of these boxes open- I actually didn't even know what they were used for until this incident. I actually just kind of figured they were old, out-of-commission mailboxes that just kind of gave the neighborhood character.

Well, apparently they're also really great places to take a nap.

Walking back to my apartment one sunny afternoon, I notice that the mailbox door, on the side farthest away from me, was open. I was curious. Had it been left open by accident? What if there was mail in there and someone tried to steal it?

Instinctively curious, I peeked around the corner of the mailbox to look in, and was STUNNED to find the mailman IN THE MAILBOX. He was crouched down and had successfully contorted most of his body in the main hold of the mailbox.

I jumped back with a surprised exclamation of "Oh!" and scampered off with some nervous laughter.

I didn't look back. I'm guessing that little cubby-hole is just as comfortable as the cramped front seat of the mail truck for a mid-afternoon nap. Should I be more concerned that a federal employee is behaving this strangely? Probably, but that guy has to deal with dogs off leashes and strangers answering the front door in their pajamas, and both of those are scary situations that I wouldn't want to be involved in. I'm not going to judge.

The Man Who Got a Lap Dance on the T

2009-02-18T17:21:58Z

The routine of every day living in an urban environment can get to a person. It's loud, it smells, there's a lot of traffic and horn-honking, and quite frankly the amount of times I'm hassled on the street for spare change or to "take a minute to save the world" (sorry Green Peace, I'm not giving you my checking account information while we're standing in the middle of Downtown Crossing) is enough to drive me to drink.

Luckily, there are some events that shake up both the monotony of city-living and your faith in humanity.

One particularly interesting factor in habitual urban life is public transportation. The mostly reliable Red Line is what brings me from the safe little haven of Davis Square to Boston for school and work every day.

I didn't think much of it that Friday morning when the woman wearing fish net stockings and an enormous floppy hat got on the T at Charles/MGH. She seemed a little off, but noticeably happy, jamming out to her IPod. I did think much of it when I heard the booming voice of another passenger getting on at the same time, at the other end of the train:

"EXCUSE ME, EVERYONE! I JUST GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL. IF YOU CAN SPARE SOMETHING, ANYTHING, I'D THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART... I'M COMING DOWN THE LINE!"

The man did just that, came right down the aisle of the car and hustling money from other passengers. Since he probably didn't just get out of the hospital, and since he demanded the money, I resolved to mind my own business and hope he didn't make a scene when he got to me and got nothing except a fumbling "S-s-sorry, I don't have anything."

When he did get to me, he stopped. I nervously looked up to see that he was looking in the other direction, at Fish Nets/Floppy Hat. He looked her up and down, and appraised "Ooooh, I like you!" Fish Nets gave Recently Released from the Hospital a hug and kept on dancing in between the train's doors.

After collecting a few more bucks, Recently Released sat down. As if on cue, Fish Nets shimmied her way over to him and SAT ON HIS LAP. For the sake of this story, I've assumed that these two did not have prior knowledge of each other.

Fish Nets proceeds to grind on R.R.'s lap, like it's amateur night at the Glass Slipper. This cannot be real, I thought to myself. It's 11:30 in the morning, as if that's the strangest part of this story. I can't help myself by start nervous-laughing. I start laughing so hard and trying even harder to stop laughing. Hiding behind my Metro newspaper, I am crying because of the downright audacity of these two.

I peeked up just in time to see Fish Nets stand up and use the handrail like a stripper pole.

At this point, I think, Where is the camera? Is anyone else noticing this? The guy standing next to my seat meets my eyes and gives me a look that says You're not hallucinating, this s--- is bananas." I wish there was a camera there, because it would be proof of this absurdity and also I think YouTube would really appreciate it.

Thankfully, the train came to a stop at Central and both Fish Nets and R.R. get off, hand-in-hand. Congratulations everyone that gave him money- you probably just financed a random back alley sexual encounter.

And that's why I don't make eye contact on the T.

So, I Have to Write a Blog

2009-02-17T04:12:51Z

This semester I'm immersing myself in the urban jungle that is Somerville, MA. As an unpaid, overworked beat reporter, I'll be shedding light on the stories of the city I call home for little or no recognition. Grad school... ouch.

As a journalist who is tirelessly pursuing objectivity, I really can't inject myself into the stories I'm covering. But this is a blog, so I can do whatever I want, right?

I've decided to share some stories of the strange but endearing people who have chosen to introduce themselves into my life here in Davis Square. Inexplicably, I attract unusualness. Or maybe I'm just really observant and pick up on things others don't. I feel it's a gift rather than a burden.

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, I'm happy to share with you the story of...

The Couple That is Having an Affair in Front of My House

I first spotted these two when I was sans internet and TV. Having just moved in to the apartment, I was limited on entertainment and took to getting to know my new digs. Or, as this post might have you believe, spying on my neighbors.

I saw the couple, hand-in-hand, walking up and down the sidewalk... in front of my house. Just in front of my house. The only variation on their 100 feet long route was to stop and chat by a tree at one end of the neighbor's driveway. Other than that, they paced in front of 59 Winslow Ave, seemingly unaware that they were on the cracked and uneven sidewalk of a working-class city and not the countryside of Southern France, or some equally romantic destination.

In a disturbing, "Rear Window" way, I felt as though I'd seen something I shouldn't have. I shrugged it off as a one-time, strange occurrence and went back to wishing I had DVR.

Then they came back. Who are these people? I'm guessing they didn't pick my building for its aesthetic value. It's old, the backyard borders a Rite Aid parking lot, and the wrought iron porch is literally hanging off the stoop. They haven't shown any blatant signs of mental illness (that might explain the pacing), and judging by their dress, these are two professionals. They seem capable of carrying on a conversation and they obviously have the means to get to the square (they're great at walking) - how about going to a coffee shop?

I guess I can see why these two have chosen the street itself to have a secret love affair (because I've deemed this an elicit scandal and not a legitimate relationship). Winslow Avenue is extremely quiet, and half of it is a one-way. It's also within walking distance to a train and bus station, all favorable factors in case they get caught and need a quick get-away.

Though their motives for picking my house are unclear and their actions suggest a real lack in the social life department, I guess the sidewalk in front of my house is a safe and inconspicuous spot for them to take a stroll. I feel almost protective of them now, like I'm harboring two innocent fugitives. I bet they're being persecuted for their choices of life partner. Is there a better explanation? I doubt it.

I'd share a picture of them, but A) I don't have one, B) I don't want to give them away and, C) That would be even creepier than the fact that I've just written a blog post about them.