A Sonia Story

Today I was out on the back porch when Sonia, the Haitian woman who showers/lunches Josephine, arrived at the apartment. I didn't hear her, so when I came inside I was somewhat but not so much surprised to find her hunched over my grandmother in her bedroom. "Oh Hello, Sonia!" I said. 


As she backed out of Josephine's room to talk to me face to face I noticed her pants were unzipped (fully) and not because I was staring at her fly-zone but because as she turned to talk to me she started tucking her underwear around and hiking up her pants. Now don't get alarmed. This is not unusual in the world of Sonia. I used to think she had an odd fetish with "urination" because she almost always pees with the door open if you give her a minute and she also uses the term "urinate" exclusively. She thinks it is often of interest to tell me that she in fact needs to "urinate", perhaps most especially if I have not chanced to have seen her in the act (which I have many, many times).


What I mean by this is that it takes a lot from Sonia to make me go "huh?" But today I did go "huh?" (just a minute ago in the bathroom of "The Boston Beer Garden") because Sonia came into the apartment this afternoon and it must have seemed like I wasn't there (because I was on the back porch gluing* shit to cardboard) and her first reaction wasn't to go "Oh no! Granma is here all alone! What has happened, Jessayh? Jessayh!?!?"-- a reaction she is apt to have over the smallest perceived change in goings-ons i.e. "JESSAYH?? JESSAYH?!? THERE IS NO OATMEAL!!! WHAT I GIVE GRANMA IF THERE IS NO OATMEAL!???!"


No. Her initial reaction (I am assuming but, again, I have mass amounts of evidence and experience on my side here) was to A. not see me/ assume I am not here B. immediately rush to the bathroom and drop trough/ "urinate" C. stand up, think for a minute, enter the hallway, see "granma" sleeping, sidle on in and begin to "rouse granma" in the signature Sonia-style, perhaps thinking ahh it's a free day for Sonia.

I say this because I know for a fact that Sonia is no rusher in a crisis, and also that this was not a crisis. And also that if it were then Sonia was, as it were, caught with her pants down quite literally. And also I think she might enjoy people watching her pee. But since I get to leave now when she comes over I haven't been as witness to the "urination"...Ahh I don't know how to feel!


*apparently the way to spell "glueing" is "gluing"...this seems wrong...blogspot!

spotted: the amish in south boston

In a wail: Noooo, Whitey, Nooooooooooooo

So apparently they (and by they I mean they) arrested Whitey Bulger and his girlfriend somewhere out in California. (As I write this I realize that fellow south boston resident Billy Bulger and I could both say "my brother lives in California" today, however only one of us could say "my brother is 82" and possibly "my brother is definitely coming home tomorrow").

As a patron of the elderly and a skeptic of  the poh-lice, I find Whitey's arrest disturbing, unfortunate, and somewhat criminal. If you happen to be a colorful gangster/mobster type who happens to kill a few other gangster/mobster types during your career (which is, let's face it, pretty much a requirement of the job description)and on top of it you just happen to be a super bad-ass who goes about his business not only efficiently but in a highly admirable and entertaining manner, who happens to be, in a factual  sense, smarter, more reliable, and at least equally as honest as the FBI (which is a job with a salary paid for by the government) then shouldn't  you at least be allowed to retire in obscurity? 

He's  an old man! He's adorable! 


It just doesn't seem right that Whitey, the man/the legend, gets screwed over at 82 so Bostonians can brag about it and Jack Nicholson can get millions for vaguely acting vaguely like him and Ben Affleck can live out his childhood mobster wet-dream fantasies in Dorchester and expect critical success for his originality... Whitey made all this stuff up didn't he? So men with one job description can fantasize about being him? And men with another can fantasize about killing him? And his brother can be a politician so we can say one is a mobster and one is a politician instead of the less popular truth; these two things are the same thing?
And even so this is still all about a true story, which has been sensationalized by real people with real jobs in real time. But Whitey's not getting caught by real people in real time for real things... he's getting caught by the successors of the guys he outsmarted so that they can write the ending of a story he created. So I hope he has some old man tricks up his sleeve. Because their ending's gonna suck.




P.S. Am I the only one who thinks Howie Carr looks like a real asshole?;

things to consider: Josephine Zaikis is probably older than you!

Hay, homegirl, hay...

my roomate/g-ma Josephine turned 95 on June 1st, y'all.

She wore a bibb and I wore a party dress...

g-ma gets hitched: the album cover

Do you remember that sweet New Hampshire summer of 1916? Of course you don't. 

Well, neither does she but SHE WAS ALIVE. 

Southie Snacks: corner store edition or "Design, Design, Design, DEATH"

google image: falala

This morning I entered the east side market liquor store where I buy my morning teas, juices, and the occasional can of sliced beets and saw that Falala was working along with a new girl I don't know. Falala is a tall girl who wears glasses and may be related to Big-beard who also works at the east side market. She seems very funny although we have never spoken. I think we are good friends because whenever I buy stuff from her she is smiling and her smile looks like a secret smile to herself and also to me. It has occurred to me that she may be smiling like this at all times, but I choose to take it personally.

Unfortunately, the opportunities for initiating a sparkling (because it must be sparkling!) conversation inside the east side market are mostly very weak and limited to these two categories; "purchases" and/or "weather." This makes the close intimate friendships I desire and imagine with the employees of the east side market (especially Falala) hard to actualize, the highlights of our 4 month odd reality relationship being A) a one-time eyebrow raise made by Big-Beard ostensibly concerning the purchase of sliced beets and B) an eagerly misplaced interruption of a convo between Big-beard and Little-beard wherein I turretsed out "Do you guys like the platters!?"

original prefigurative drawing by yours truly:

So as I walked through the door this morning, expecting (as I have learned to expect) nothing, I was overjoyed to encounter the sound of a small blonde southern boy-child coming from the upper left hand corner of the wine section where the suspended television set (which is usually/sadly dedicated to sports events) hangs. The boy-child was speaking directly into the camera in that manner which entertains and also screams "I HAVE BEEN MOLESTED BY A CLOSE MEMBER OF THE FAMILY".

As I brought my purchases to the counter I again glanced at the television and discerned that the program in question was none other than "The Nate Berkus show", of which I (a semi-unemployed mid-morning riser) am all too familiar. As Falala rang up my items (secret-smiling all the while) I noticed her intently glancing up toward the television. All at once I was struck by a daytime talk tv realization which proverbially T-boned our long term mute-friendship;

 "Nate Berkus gets so strangely heavy sometimes... its like Design, Design, Design, DEATH!"

Falala laughed loudly and knowingly and said "Exactly!"

To top it off I had already signed the receipt so there was no awkward pause. I waltzed out the door. Man, it was beautiful.

"you gonna love 'em... and we gonna love you!" otherwise known as "now, that's charity"

Today I bought "three 69 cent green game cigarillos" for two boys who asked me to do just that outside the h street family corner store (paid for with a very exact $1.25). Having made the purchase I walked out and handed the cigarillos to the two youths, semi-sagely advising them to "have a blast". A few blocks later the full realization of a good deed having been done hit me, as the residual effects of inhaling tinfoil off a melted plastic soda bottle are iffy at best*.






*and you know I know

sh*t my grandma says

This morning the early-time caretaker (Sonia) draped Josephine (g-ma) in a white crocheted cardigan...

Addressing the kitchen table, Josephine announced "I look like a kewpie doll."

explanation: unnecessary

grandma vs iphone + food!

round 1:

round 2:

K.O.

southie snacks 3.0: a word from granma

I came upon my grandmother in the kitchen the other day, attempting to wash a dish...while at first I may have startled her with my existence, I then soon after assisted her with the dish, a bit of teamwork for which she had to say...

"This is a good place to be...for what I'm doing...and what you are."

-Josephine Zaikis

Despite possible dish-washing interpretations which might seem disheartening, I found this little quip to be quite reassuring and uplifting!

southie snacks 2.0

Living in South Boston, I've come up against some ethical dilemmas(-ish).

#1. seaglass/ accountability

       So I live right by the beach, which is nice, and I have a lot of free-time with my future waitress career still pending so I walk around a lot. I used to go "shelling" at the beaches in South Carolina but the habit became a little too obsessive and self-isolating in group-fun beach situations so I finally had to announce that I "quit shelling", which I did. I don't have a fraction of the amount of bothersome friend-types hanging around Southie as I did hanging around Charleston, however, so I have picked up a new sea-glass collection habit to replace my old shelling habit.
     
      Anyways, I was walking along the beach looking for sea glass and I noticed that the sea-glass selection was a bit sub-par. First off, it is hard to find really weathered bits of sea glass and second off the glass you do find is abnormally large and sometimes sharp, and often most likely not really sea glass at all. So I was thinking about that and then I was like- you know what I could do? I could come down here and smash up some bottles just right for sea glass and then just sort of throw it in the ocean. It would be like harvesting the glass! And then I was like- Whoa, whoa, would that be, like, unethical? or, like, against my morals? Do I have morals? How would the community feel??

      I think I was pretty high at the time but I swear I'm not now. I think I could technically justify throwing glass into the ocean since I'm there all the time picking that shit up, but I think an even better idea is to write the local advice columnist here and ask, especially since my other new favorite hobby is mail (in general).

I'm thinking something like this:

Dear Southie,

I live on Winfield street with my grandmother and I just love to collect sea-glass! It is my favorite hobby! I've been trying to get a good collection off the beaches here, but I've noticed that the sea-glass is mostly rough and immature and not even all that pretty (no offense) so I was thinking maybe I would take some bottles of my own choosing and smash them up to just the right size and then throw them in the ocean and then later on harvest that glass. I'll still pick up the shitty sea-glass that other people are supplying, but eventually I'd have my own too. I was wondering if you think this is unethical? I just don't know what to do!!

Sincerely,
Losing My Hobby

southie snacks

Living in South Boston, I've begun to notice a few things.

#1. Rollerskates:

It seems like a lot of people in South Boston enjoy rollerskating...mmm, well enjoy isn't exactly the right word. It's more like people in South Boston employ rollerskating. It seems like whenever rollerskating (or blading I guess, I believe I've seen both) whenever that came around and was a thing or whatever, it seems like the people of South Boston decided this new mode of transport was effective, casual and downright pedestrian. There is only one real main street in Southie and I see adults bladin' down it on the regular. Only they aren't grinning or wearing helmets or being chased by groups of young children. They look like they're going to work. And they're not especially happy about it. It's like, what's going on with their feet (which is a lot) has nothing to do with their serious and mature upper body personas. I mean, thats kind of crazy isn't it? When have you ever seen a stern-looking person quite seriously wearing roller-blades? Or a non-embarassed roller-blader for that matter? Or even roller-blades in general!? ANYWAY, if you are a roller-blade/ substantial commute-to-work enthusiast, you better move to South Boston before they find out about them razr scooters!!