Slow Adventures in Slothville

February 14, 2007

Sloths don’t do sleet.

Filed under: Boston, Slothyness — shhville @ 7:04 pm

Yeah, so I took one look at the horizontal sleet rattling agains my windows this morning, thought about bundling up and toddling to the bus stop and waiting in said horizontal sleet for the bus to come rescue me, then toddling across campus to my job where no one would be in due to horizontal sleet and thought, “Fuck THAT.”

So I’m home and I’m about to cook some fuckin’ EGGS with some fuckin’ RANCH FRIES and a buncha fuckin’ other crazy stuff that I’m gonna EAT and then I’m gonna lay around on the couch and rub my fuckin’ BELLY because I’m warm and fuckin’ dry and everybody else is fuckin’ COLD and WET.  Yeah, life is GOOD today, muthafuckas!!

February 5, 2007


Filed under: Boston, Slothyness — shhville @ 5:25 pm

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January 11, 2007

Say Fromage!!

Filed under: Boston, Boys, School — shhville @ 3:36 pm

Guess what I did last night? No, guess. No, you have to guess. GUESS!!! Fine, I went to a cheese tasting class. It was soooooooo fun, but I can still taste the cheese in my mouth a little. Some of that shit is potent! It scared me! I shall now share my new wealth of knowledge with you. (Keep in mind that I’m talking about raw milk cheeses here – un-fucking-pasteurized, people.)

1. Ricotta al Forno* – cow milk, Sicily, Italy: Ricotta baked in a bread mold. Vaguely sweet, almost bread pudding texture. Combines well with sweet or bitter (jam or bitter greens).

2. Tetoun – goat milk, Provence, France: available June-November, aged in moldy caves. Bitter, peppery, silky rind (mold), creamy texture, almost a pine flavor. Intense and delicious. Best with a sweet condiment. Wow, that’s really bitter. Wow.

3. Robiola di Serole – goat milk, Asti, Italy: means “to turn red” but dude, this cheese isn’t red. Ok, he says you have to dump it in old rusty brine to make it that way. Mmmmmm. Tart, but mild, creamy texture, mold all over the fucking thing. Chomp!

4. Couserans – goat milk, Ariege, France: holy shit, this smells like a urinal cake. Teacher says “earthy flavor.” Comes from “sandy milk.” Ok, this is wicked yummy but there’s no getting around the fact that it smells like old piss. I feel conflicted.

5. Weston Wheel – sheep milk, Weston, Vermont: nutty, smooth, rich, mmmmmmmmsogood. Teacher says rind edible. I’ve eaten all the rinds so far and now expect to die shortly. Ack!! Ack!! Ptoo!! Ptoo!! Rind tastes like dingleberries!! Dingle!! Berries!! Make it stop!!

6. Bergkase Bio Berghoff – cow milk, Appenzel, Switzerland: how the hell do you pronounce that? Ooh, it’s tickly! Tickles my tongue. Aged 6 months. Creamy, nutty, perfect. Mmm! This is my favorite so far. Or maybe the wine is making me friendlier. Either way, it’s cool.

7. Pecorino Ginepro – sheep milk, Emilia Romagna, Italy: Holy salt lick!! Where’s a deer when you need one? Best pecorino I’ve ever tasted, bar none.

8. Veenweidekaas – cow milk, Zoeterwoude, Netherlands: mmmmyummah… These cheeses really need to stop getting better. I’m almost full.

9. Montgomery Farmhouse Cheedar – cow milk, Somerset, England: Oh my god, cheesegasm.

10. Senne Flada – cow milk, Western, Switzerland: not sweet, but considered a dessert cheese for boldness of flavor. Whoa!! Smells like diapers, tastes like Heaven. And….sort of like coffee too.

11. Ubriaco Durello – cow milk, Verona, Italy: also a dessert cheese. Another mouth tickler. That’s probably the bacteria spazzing out because they have a new home.

12. Persille du Beaujolais – cow milk, Auvergne, France: mmmmmmm……..silky, gorgeous bleu. Drizzle with honey and it’s perfection. Wish teacher was not wearing wedding ring, muy caliente!! I’d totally hit that.

And that’s what I learned! Happy Thursday!!

*This was the only cheese I tried that didn’t scare the crap out of me.

September 12, 2006

Good News and Bad.

Filed under: Boston, Photography — shhville @ 4:55 pm

The Good News: I leave for the Outer Banks on my annual two-week vacation on Friday.

The Bad News: I will not have time to update this week as I am feeling a bit frantic trying to finish everything that needs to be done before I go.

The Good News: The beach house now has wireless internet so you will get vacation updates with pictures and everything!! No waiting for me to get back to hear all about it this year.

Until then, you’ll have to be content with these pictures from George’s Island where Steve and I went on Sunday.

More pictures in the gallery, if you’re interested. Hasta linguine for now!!

August 23, 2006

Protected: Wednesday!

Filed under: Boston, Celebrity Whoredom — shhville @ 4:21 pm

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June 27, 2006

Tuesday Cop-Out

Filed under: Boston, News — shhville @ 4:47 pm

Sorry everyone – between a day of training, classes starting, end-of-fiscal-year madness and having a cold, I’m all in for today. Until I can update (hopefully tomorrow) check out this article from the Boston Globe about the much-ignored ganglands of Boston:

To protect son, Roxbury minister moves family from neighborhood
By Charles A. Radin, Globe Staff  |  June 24, 2006
The Rev. Hurmon Hamilton walks along Roxbury’s Woodbine Street in the hot, early-summer sun, stopping frequently to point out weary apartment buildings and clapboard houses where mayhem has struck.

The sidewalk in front of number 14? That’s where a man was shot fatally while the pastor was hosting Thanksgiving dinner last year in his home at number 25. Number 9? That’s where police say Dominique Samuels was slain before her body was dumped and burned in Franklin Park in April.

Just around the corner on Blue Hill Avenue, a young man was shot dead in January, right after he confronted Hamilton’s son and dared him to come along to shoot someone. Around another corner, on Warren Street, a man and girl were surrounded by a crowd and stabbed repeatedly three weeks ago while they were buying pizza.
Hamilton — a prominent preacher and social activist who has physically and spiritually rebuilt historic Roxbury Presbyterian Church over the past dozen years — could stomach the blood in the streets.
He could handle the possibility that one day the blood might even be his own.
But he could not bear the growing possibility that, with youth violence in Boston spiraling out of control, the blood could be that of his 15-year-old son, Jonathan.
So this spring, the 41-year-old minister and his wife Rhonda, a physician, decided to give up on their 20-year commitment to living among the people to whom he ministers. On Wednesday, they moved the family to a house in Woburn.
“We had feelings of great contrition, feelings of guilt, feelings of embarrassment,” said Hamilton, who will remain the minister of the church.
“At the end of the day, our conclusion was that it is heroic to want to stay on a street that is designated a hot zone with a 15-year-old who looks 19 and a 2- year-old who wants to play in the yard,” he said. “But it is even more heroic to figure out how to keep them alive.
“I realized I could not bear for my son to be murdered as the price I paid to demonstrate my commitment to this community,” Hamilton said. “I could not imagine sitting at his funeral having people tell me how heroic I was. That is not a story for me. I want him to make it.”
Hamilton is not the only preacher-activist changing his family ‘s routine to get a young man out of harm’s way.
The Rev. Eugene Rivers, who lives in the Four Corners area of Dorchester, adjacent to the house where four people were fatally shot in December in one of the city’s worst mass killings in years, said in a recent interview that he has told his son Malcolm to stay this summer in the comparatively safer city of Cambridge, where he is a Harvard University undergraduate.
“I told him he’s only coming home when I pick him up, bring him home, and drive him back,” Rivers said. “People need to get a sense of how scary it is out here.”
Rivers said the climate on the streets is worse than that in the early 1990s, when Boston experienced a huge surge in gang violence that Rivers and other black ministers played critical roles in quelling.
Jonathan Hamilton, as his father said, looks much older than his age. Though he just graduated from William Barton Rogers Middle School in Hyde Park, he is taller than his father and more powerfully built. His moustache and chin whiskers also are starting to come in.
He is quiet, mannerly, and frightened. He thinks moving is a good idea.
Jonathan’s first memory of violence on Woodbine Street comes from the third grade, when his father tried to arrange the surrender of a fugitive in a murder case. The young man killed himself after being cornered by police in the apartment building next to the church. Mean while, Jonathan sat in the family’s home half a block away, asking his mother whether his father would come back.
For years, Jonathan said, he has feared that gunfire would erupt from passing cars. Even when his father deems it safe to send him to get something from the car at night, Jonathan walks from the house to the vehicle in a crouch and turns the dome light out so he cannot be seen inside.

“I erase the memories when I sleep,” Jonathan said, “but they pop up, and I try to erase them again by doing something fun, like biking or rollerblading.”
Even these simple pleasures require strategy to assure safety. He rides in the mornings, when fewer tough guys are on the streets, and chooses routes that are in the open to make it harder for someone to lie in wait and jump him. He does not feel safe parking the bike at the big supermarket near the church. Instead, he rides to a variety store where the proprietor lets young people he knows bring their bikes inside.
The beginning of the end of the family’s time on Woodbine Street, where Roxbury Presbyterian pastors have lived for at least the last 40 years, was Jan. 13.
That was the day a teenager asked Jonathan to back him up while he shot an enemy. Young Hamilton said no and started to walk away. The boy became angry and reached in his pocket. Jonathan, fearing a weapon, ran home, shaking. That same day, the youth was shot dead.
“We started then to understand that we were not immune,” his father said, and the parents’ concerns grew as neighborhood incidents proliferated.
When Dominique Samuels, whose mother worked at the church, was killed, “that sealed it for us,” Hamilton said. “We know Edwina [Dominique’s mother]. She protects her kids, and this could happen to her baby girl.”
Finishing up a walking tour of the neighborhood, Hamilton pointed out two more bad spots.
“In this area, there is significant drug trafficking,” he said, “and more recently, there is significant prostitution over there.”
He then warned his son and a reporter not to look directly or point at the houses as he gestured toward them with his eyes and head.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Hamilton said. “I’d like to confront it. But not with my family sitting right here as targets.”
Charles A. Radin can be reached at

June 22, 2006

Thursday Confessional

Filed under: Boston, Slothyness — shhville @ 2:31 pm

The Trader Joe's where I shop (every day) has a bell near the door that customers are invited to ring on their way out for whatever reason they feel like. Hardly anyone ever rings it. I don't think most people even notice it's there.

Now that I'm 30, I've taken to ringing it every time I get carded. It's my way of saying thanks.

April 27, 2006

Protected: Bus Conundrum

Filed under: Boston, Slothyness — shhville @ 4:40 pm

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April 24, 2006

Protected: Monday

Filed under: Boston, Slothyness — shhville @ 10:15 am

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March 9, 2006

Morning Quickie

Filed under: Boston — shhville @ 9:38 am

I wish.

Overheard in Cambridge:

Harvard Professor – “You know the ironclad rule of chatrooms, right? Does everyone know this? The ironclad rule of chatrooms is that if they are unmoderated people always end up talking about Adolph Hitler.”

Douchebag – “I think I’m a pariah because I’m good-looking and I say emotionally charged things and because I’m interesting looking that makes me a target when I say things that are, like, controversial. People feel they need to argue with me all the time.” (At which point I mention that I say emotionally charged things on a regular basis and I don’t feel like a target to which he replies, “Yeah, but you’re a pretty girl. You can say anything you want because nobody really takes you seriously.”)

Warrior Steve – “Whenever I’m walking toward someone on the sidewalk and they don’t move, I just assume they’re a scientologist.”

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