![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Memory Gongs
Aug. 1st, 2004 04:00 pmOn Thursday I happened to connect to my Yahoo Messenger and I ran into one of my old friends from college, Rob. He lived down the hall from me my sophmore year in the institution that was Charlesgate dorm. This was back when Emerson owned Charlesgate and Fensgate--two large buildings that were hotels/dorms/condos at one point in their existence. I have quite a few fond memories of Charlesgate, even if I was a moody bastard back then. Trying to maintain a long-distance relationship, juggle what little money I had, and deal with the vision of my wonderful future being shot down by the flames of reality will do that to you, I suppose.
So anyway. Rob and I were online for a good three hours talking about everything, from music (natch), our old haunts, what we're doing in our lives now, and goofing around with the IMvironments on our Messengers. It was strange to talk to him, being that this was the first time in ages where it wasn't by way of the stilted conversation of email. This was sort-of live talking (complete with a LaunchCast soundtrack). It was a lot of fun and I hope we can talk again like that.
So it's made me thing of a lot of things in the past once again, just like when I was going through the old cellar. That project's on hold, by the way, until my sister moves up into my grandmother's apartment, so I can get my old room back. It's weird, really, the way sometimes I try to somehow recreate the old days when I know I wouldn't be able to without some kind of heartbreak on my part. But I'm really not looking to physically recreate anything, just the mood and the mindset.
Right now I'm listening to Cocteau Twins' project with Harold Budd, The Moon and the Melodies. It's still one of my favorite albums of all time and IMO one of their best. Whenever I hear it I think of the weekend party that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
head58 would put on at his grandfather's lakeside cabin on Fryeville Road. Fiascos, as he used to call them. I kinda miss that place, even now that someone else owns that place now. But yeah, I remember sleeping up in one of the cots up in the attic, listening to that tape on my walkman while everyone was asleep, and I'd be writing away in my Composition book, jotting down poetry and lyrics. One of the few places where I truly felt happy being with friends.
And so Rob and I are chatting and he's asking me if anything is still around in the Boston area that we used to frequent. There was a cafeteria-style restaurant called Charlie's that used to be in Kenmore Square, right across the street from the bus kiosk. We'd go in there and hang out, gorge ourselves on food, and generally talk about whatever. Years later it was turned into a bland-looking IHOP, and was later torn down (along with most of the rest of that block) to build a snazzy hotel. Listen to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones' "I Want My City Back" (from A Jackknife to a Swan), and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. And then there's the Late, Great Buzzy's Roast Beef under the Charles Street T stop. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot there.
And while we're chatting, I'm Googling various things related to what we're talking about and I find this site, the people who own Charlesgate now. I knew some time ago that whoever bought it from Emerson had planned to remodel it into condos, and ever since then I've been tempted to at least try to take a tour of the place and see what they've done to it. There are other places, like the old Emerson library, that I would love to visit once again, only that that's become a private residence now. The one place I spent most of my hours during college is no more. In fact, I don't think the college owns any of the buildings that were around when I was there. They've moved everything down to the southeast corner of the Common, right at the Boylston T stop. Perhaps I should take a tour of that too some day.
---------
By the way--I really don't know how to read the numbers, but if anyone could check out that realty site I just linked and tell me if the prices listed are good or expensive and get back to me? I just want to have my options open when I finally move out. Even if it's Boston.
---------
So here I am, spending an intermittently rainy Sunday afternoon listening to Cocteau Twins and thinking about the old days and doing a bit of writing in the process. Part of me is kicking myself for wallowing in the past like this, but another part of me is slapping that part upside the head and saying "Jonc...this is the real you. This is the person you are. Stop pretending. You've been living at home for 10 years now, trying to figure out who you were and avoiding the truth. Let it in again."
So am I a naturally morose bastard? No, I don't think so. I'm just a kid from a small town who likes where he is emotionally and mentally. It's the physically that we need to work on, because it's screwing with the emotional and mental part. Simple as that. Time to pick up the pen and write, time to sit at the computer and type, time to lie on the bed and just dream.
Time to stop figuring things out. Time to let things be.
So anyway. Rob and I were online for a good three hours talking about everything, from music (natch), our old haunts, what we're doing in our lives now, and goofing around with the IMvironments on our Messengers. It was strange to talk to him, being that this was the first time in ages where it wasn't by way of the stilted conversation of email. This was sort-of live talking (complete with a LaunchCast soundtrack). It was a lot of fun and I hope we can talk again like that.
So it's made me thing of a lot of things in the past once again, just like when I was going through the old cellar. That project's on hold, by the way, until my sister moves up into my grandmother's apartment, so I can get my old room back. It's weird, really, the way sometimes I try to somehow recreate the old days when I know I wouldn't be able to without some kind of heartbreak on my part. But I'm really not looking to physically recreate anything, just the mood and the mindset.
Right now I'm listening to Cocteau Twins' project with Harold Budd, The Moon and the Melodies. It's still one of my favorite albums of all time and IMO one of their best. Whenever I hear it I think of the weekend party that
head58 would put on at his grandfather's lakeside cabin on Fryeville Road. Fiascos, as he used to call them. I kinda miss that place, even now that someone else owns that place now. But yeah, I remember sleeping up in one of the cots up in the attic, listening to that tape on my walkman while everyone was asleep, and I'd be writing away in my Composition book, jotting down poetry and lyrics. One of the few places where I truly felt happy being with friends.And so Rob and I are chatting and he's asking me if anything is still around in the Boston area that we used to frequent. There was a cafeteria-style restaurant called Charlie's that used to be in Kenmore Square, right across the street from the bus kiosk. We'd go in there and hang out, gorge ourselves on food, and generally talk about whatever. Years later it was turned into a bland-looking IHOP, and was later torn down (along with most of the rest of that block) to build a snazzy hotel. Listen to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones' "I Want My City Back" (from A Jackknife to a Swan), and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. And then there's the Late, Great Buzzy's Roast Beef under the Charles Street T stop. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot there.
And while we're chatting, I'm Googling various things related to what we're talking about and I find this site, the people who own Charlesgate now. I knew some time ago that whoever bought it from Emerson had planned to remodel it into condos, and ever since then I've been tempted to at least try to take a tour of the place and see what they've done to it. There are other places, like the old Emerson library, that I would love to visit once again, only that that's become a private residence now. The one place I spent most of my hours during college is no more. In fact, I don't think the college owns any of the buildings that were around when I was there. They've moved everything down to the southeast corner of the Common, right at the Boylston T stop. Perhaps I should take a tour of that too some day.
---------
By the way--I really don't know how to read the numbers, but if anyone could check out that realty site I just linked and tell me if the prices listed are good or expensive and get back to me? I just want to have my options open when I finally move out. Even if it's Boston.
---------
So here I am, spending an intermittently rainy Sunday afternoon listening to Cocteau Twins and thinking about the old days and doing a bit of writing in the process. Part of me is kicking myself for wallowing in the past like this, but another part of me is slapping that part upside the head and saying "Jonc...this is the real you. This is the person you are. Stop pretending. You've been living at home for 10 years now, trying to figure out who you were and avoiding the truth. Let it in again."
So am I a naturally morose bastard? No, I don't think so. I'm just a kid from a small town who likes where he is emotionally and mentally. It's the physically that we need to work on, because it's screwing with the emotional and mental part. Simple as that. Time to pick up the pen and write, time to sit at the computer and type, time to lie on the bed and just dream.
Time to stop figuring things out. Time to let things be.
