The 3:10 to Tucson

A few weeks back, we went to Phoenix to visit my brother's family and to welcome young little 1900 into the family. While we were there, we decided it would be a good opportunity to visit some friends who had moved to Tucson a few years back (about an hour south of Phoenix), and whom I hadn't seen in about 4 years.

After college, a friend of mine from UVM and a couple of his high school friends decided to move to Boston, get jobs, and have a good time in the big city ('big city' in relation to Hartford and Burlington, not 'big city' in relation to NY). The three of them, me, and a friend of mine from high school all moved into a 4+1 bedroom house in Cambridge (with our unofficial sixth roommate, Banana Man). We had a foosball table. We had a basement, and a guy who would occasionally come over and pee in the basement. We were across the street from the greatest dive bar in the history of dive bars. Needless to say, we had some good times.

After a few years, the 262 House started breaking up. Babies and marriages and time all contributed. New guys moved in, but it was never really the same. Rob had moved out before me to live with his girlfriend, Kyrsten, and they would eventually move to Tucson together. Soon afterwards, I left the house and moved to the Northwest.

Rob and Kyrsten are two of the happiest, most positive people I've ever met in my life; if you can find someone who would speak ill of them, I will give you a shiny nickle (dogs don't count, as I know some people who aren't super big fans of Kali). They're created a nice life for themselves in Tucson. They have an awesome house, with a swamp cooler. They have three dogs, that despite the occasional 'dog freak-out,' are pretty cool. And they have an awesome backyard. We spent most of time back there, where Rob cooked up some phenomenal chicken quesidillas on the grill. We sat deep into the night, drinking beers around the fire, reminiscing about old times at the 262, catching up on our lives away from Boston, and listening to Rob's impressive stories about winning chili cook-offs (no small feat for a Yankee from Connecticut living in the Southwest).

The next morning, Rob took us to a small local place for some tasty Mexican breakfast goods. Kimberly could hardly contain her excitement. The food was spicy good, and we certainly ate our fill.

Afterwards, we took a quick jaunt into the Saguaro National Park, which is right on the borders of Tucson. Pictures can't do this place justice. It is one of the more breathtaking places I've been to, right up there with Joshua Tree National Park in California - something about tall, green, statuesque succulents stretching to the horizon in an otherwise desolate place really gets me going.

On the way back to Rob's place, we drive through the 'city' of Tucson and some of the neighborhoods. Overall, it seems like an artsy, funky place - lots of coffee shops, bars, and thrift stores in cool old buildings. Although we didn't get to experience it so much on our feet, it seems that the city has a much more human scale to it than the strip mall concrete that we experienced in the Phoenix area (You can walk places? Aghast!) (am I too hard on Phoenix? People love it there, and I guess I only spent like 3 days there, but I'm not sure. It didn't leave a good first impression with me. Maybe I need to give it another chance).

As we left Rob and Kyrsten and their gaggle of dogs to head back north, we out through the desert and past the Saguaros. Tucson gave me a good sense of why people love the desert - the sense of isolation, the drama of mountains and cacti shooting up in the stark landscape. It will be nice to go back in May and experience the area a little more in depth. Rob and Kyrsten are getting married. Let the party start.

An Ode to Banana Man (The 262 Revisited)

After college, I moved into a house with four other guys in Inman Square in Cambridge; we were two guys from Boston and three guys from Connecticut. We were all the same age and starting our working careers. We lived across the street from the The Abbey Lounge, before it was renovated and still had those two seedy windows. We had good parties.

Our art work was pretty standard for a house occupied by five young 20-year olds: some beer posters, things we found on the subway or at yard sales, an Anna Kournikova poster.

One day, Basement Brian brought home Banana Man; he was working at a children’s theater at the time and someone there had given it to him. In the beginning, Banana Man was pretty simple, basically a banana with a face. The Banana Man hung on the wall for a couple years, overlooking the foosball table.

At some point, Rob decided to spice him up and added the hat, hair, bow-tie and tuxedo shirt.

Most importantly, he added those red lips.

After a couple years, the five of us started moving on. I went away for a couple months and subletted my room to Alfay. Then Basement Brian got married and moved out, making Alfay a permanent member of the house. Lew moved home and got married; he rented his room to his brother, Uncle Brian. Rob moved in with his girlfriend, I moved to Portland, Alfay moved out, and some other people moved in. Chad held down the fort for a few more years, being the one constant in the house from start to finish.

Once Basement Brian and Rob moved out and didn’t take Banana Man with them, sentiment turned against Banana Man and he was removed from the wall. When I moved out, I rescued Banana Man from the basement, carrying him across the country to the NorthWest.

Banana Man hung on my wall in Seattle for a year; then he hung in our bathroom in Portland for the last 2+ years, scaring countless small children, disconcerting Kimberly, intriguing others, but always providing a conversation starter.

We decided Banana Man wouldn’t come to the Middle with us; Kimberly isn’t a big fan of the Banana Man and we were running low on space. Last Friday, we had a going away party and gave Banana Man to a friend. She’ll be proudly displaying him in her office cube, until some future time when either I can reclaim him or he can be passed on to someone who appreciates a true piece of art.

Goodbye Banana Man. You’ll be missed.