Tag Archives: Boston Marathon

HOW TO MAKE ENEMIES IN 140 CHARACTERS OR LESS

I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately from family and friends around the country about what it was really like on Friday here in Boston. And despite the fact I consider myself a professional wordsmith, smithing those particular words is turning out to be harder than I thought.

The best anecdote I can give is that I woke up on Saturday exhausted and my entire body physically sore, which was probably the result of sitting on my couch watching the news for 15 hours and unable to relax any single muscle until the suspect was declared officially in custody. And when word came down that he finally was caught, I let out a huge sigh, which was probably a response to feeling like I had been holding my breath all day.

But then, THEN, I started to get retro-actively angry. And not all of it was entirely aimed at this tiny, tiny, petty man who had managed to hold my entire city hostage for a day. I was also angry at all the ignorant social media messages posted by tiny, tiny petty people who had used this tragedy to promote their own pro-gun agenda. From Arkansas legislator Nate Bell’s incredibly insensitive tweet about liberal Bostonians probably wishing they had an AR-15 as they cowered in their homes, to NRA supporters gloating over the bipartisan gun control bill being voted down while innocent people in Boston were having their legs amputated and West, Texas was reeling from their own tragedy, to even a few friends reposting disgusting and ill-timed memes of the president, a man who was busy trying to help Boston and West, Texas and the rest of the country heal.

All of it was horrifying and soul-crushing.

Because while there is a time and a place to have a RATIONAL debate about gun control, particularly after the tragedy in Newtown, this week wasn’t it. And using Boston as an example certainly wasn’t the place.

I woke up to a war zone on Friday, as did all of Boston, after only four days of living through another unimaginable tragedy. And let me tell you, what happened that day was a beautiful example of true patriotism.

See, while Nate Bell was busy having masturbatory fantasies about playing Rambo through the streets of Boston as he personally killed all the terrorists of the world, the patriots of Boston were staying in their homes with their doors locked because we knew that the last thing the police and FBI and military members (who had been working non-stop since Monday) needed was to worry about us. Their job was to make sure they got this guy without anyone else getting hurt and our job was to let them do it. We didn’t riot, we didn’t form militias, we didn’t try to hunt down a possibly bomb-strapped bad guy on our own to “help.”

(Speaking of which, for all their big talk, I didn’t hear of one single anti-gun-control advocate that was mouthing off on Facebook hopping on a plane to Boston and publicly declaring their intention to help catch this guy with their own personal AR-15. Not a single one came up here, tapped the police chief on the shoulder and said “don’t worry, we got this, why don’t you guys take a rest.”)

Boston kept calm. We carried on. And when the police did the job that we pay them for and that they are trained for, we came out of our homes and stood with our families in the streets, cheering them on as they made their way home to their own families after an amazingly well done job.

And as for all the people posting ignorant statements that one madman would never be able to hold their own city in Texas, or New Mexico or wherever under siege because they all own guns, all I have to say is 1. I hope to God you never have to find out and 2. You never bring an untrained civilian with a gun to a bomb fight. That is, of course, unless you don’t care how many innocent people get hurt in the process.

The NRA and die-hard gun advocates are their own worst enemy. Not just because they’re giving a bad name to gun-owners everywhere, almost all of whom are responsible and good people.

And not just because they dared to say that the American people have spoken when the gun control bill was, pardon the pun, shot down. (Even just the smallest amount of unbiased research will reveal that the only people who spoke that day was the NRA and the legislators that are in their pocket since the overwhelming majority of people feel like I do, which is that people should have the right to own guns but there should be background checks and restrictions on Internet sales.) And not just because they keep repeating the untrue mantra “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” (Even the smallest amount of critical thinking skills will reveal that a person with an automatic gun with a high-capacity magazine can kill a lot more people than a person with a rifle.)

And not just because they distort the facts on a regular basis and try to scare people into thinking someone is coming to take away their guns. (Even though no government official has ever knocked on the door of a law-abiding, gun-owning citizen and demanded they hand over all their weapons, no questions asked).

It’s because through all of those tactics combined and the complete lack of tact they showed this week, they have turned someone like me, who supported the Second Amendment and wasn’t very vocal on the issue of gun control, into a very vocal enemy. An enemy who believes these gun nuts should have absolutely no lobbying power in Congress.

And I’m sure I’m not the only one.

About these ads

Cheering on the Boston Marathon, one beer at a time

The Boston Marathon. A living testament to dedication, endurance, skill and no short amount of pain (and possibly permanent damage).

Naturally, of course, I’m talking about the livers of the spectators who begin drinking while the runners are still stretching.

Yes, while 20,000 people run 26 miles, pushing the limits of human athleticism and subsequently inspiring the world, the hundreds of thousands of people on the sidelines were busy pushing the limits of public drunkenness. And this first-time spectator was no different. 

Having only lived in Boston for a little over two months now, I felt it was my duty as a new resident to check out what goes on during Marathon Monday that they don’t televise. Thanks to a tip from the Tweeter (I owe you one @BostonTweet), I decided to start my day at the American Craft bar, which was on the marathon route and, more importantly, was opening up its beer garden at 10 a.m.

Feeling a bit sheepish (and dangerously close to a lush…well, more lush-ish than usual), I had reservations as I stepped off the train. I mean, what would people think of me as I ordered booze that was not the universal before-noon acceptable drink of Bloody Mary?

But that feeling quickly melted away as I realized I had absolutely nothing to worry about. As soon as I sat down at a prime spot (the early bird catches the worm in the bottom of the tequila bottle it seems) and ordered a screwdriver (hey, at least it has orange juice in it, I figured), groups of others quickly arrived and sat all around me, ordering everything from beer to shots of whiskey.

They say New Yorkers will come to opening of an envelope. If I’ve learned anything during my relatively short time here in Boston, it’s that Bostonians will make a drinking game out of it.

And so, there we sat, when suddenly a cheer erupted from somewhere, gradually making its way down the street to us. The first of the wheelchair division was making its way toward us.

Now, I’m not usually one for being sentimental. But watching everyone stop what they were doing, whether they were in the beer garden or just walking down the sidewalk, to cheer them on, made me feel, well, downright sentimental(granted, that feeling could have also been related to the second screwdriver).

By my third screwdriver, the first of the elite men’s division was passing us by and by this time, throngs of people were making their way to the sidelines. The cheering never stopped.

Realizing that if I continued drinking the way I was, I’d be lucky to be awake past noon, I paid my bill and made my way closer to the action. By this time, the sidelines were packed with people, everyone from families to the group of 20-somethings who were not-so-discreetly carrying around red Dixie cups filled with “juice.”

The sense of excitement, regardless of your soberness level, was palpable. Being the country bumpkin that I am, I had never experienced anything like this before (unless you count the time my husband and I accidentally stumbled into a re-enactment of the Alamo in San Antonio…like literally were walking down the street with the period dressed actors until we realized what was going on).

Hearing the encouraging cheers (even the drunken, slurred ones) and seeing the city come together like that was truly inspiring.

In fact, as I rode the train home (which was an adventure in and of itself…by my count, three drunks almost got run over), I started to think how much I really wanted to be a part of this great event, more than just getting my buzz on and using it as an excuse to daydrink. To think that there’s so many people out there that aspire to complete this Herculean task, sacrificing and training for months, made me want to be among their ranks next year. Seeing the entire crowded subway car cheer when a runner who completed the marathon got on only fueled my new resolve.

But then, luckily, I went home, took a nap, sobered up and decided eh, maybe in 2013…or 2014. 2015 even. Or maybe to celebrate my 50th birthday or something…

Besides, those screwdrivers aren’t going to drink themselves next year.