Still better than finding cockroaches ...

Japan man discovers woman living in his closet.

Adam and Meghan's Boston Adventure

My Tuesday ended like any other day. I waved goodnight to my boss and walked down to Central Square where I'd take the 5:08 redline train to Quincy.

About half way to my destination, the train pulled to a stop at Park Street, and then just sat there. This wasn't too much out of the ordinary, as I've experienced plenty of train delays before. This time however, I noticed that there was an acrid smell filling the car, and through the buzz of passenger conversation I began to glean that there was a fire at the stop down.

We were instructed to get off the train. I went into the station to get my bearings when I ran into my friend Adam. Before we had time to formulate our next move, the station begin to fill up with a chalky-white smoke.

The fire department arrived by then, and told us to evacuate the station. I then whipped out my camera phone, deciding that if I was going to be severely inconvenienced, I might as well get a good blog post out of it.

Passengers poured out of the station, each one on a cellphone trying to figure out where to go from here. Adam and I looked at each other in dismay.

"The redline is shut down. How are we going to get home?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe we can walk to the next station from here?"

"Do you know how to walk to the next station?"

"No."

"Me neither."

Unfortunately, neither Adam nor I spent a lot of time around Boston Common, so we weren't sure where to go. Chris called me to say he heard that the MBTA was shuttling passenger from Davis to South Station, where we could take the train home. We called his wife, who gave us directions we only half understood, and then we took off for South Station.

We went the wrong way down Boylston Street, and on our way back to the other way it started to rain.

We finally made it to the end of Boylston to Essex Street, where South Station was supposed to be. We didn’t see any signs, so logically we went down South Street thinking we’d run into it. Well, logic is a silly thing to use in downtown Boston, because South Station isn’t actually on South Street, it’s further down Essex Street. Several calls to my husband the navigator soon set us straight and we enter the wonderland known as South Station.

I’d never been to South Station, and I was unprepared for the delights contained within. It was like Faniuel Hall combined with the Logan Airport terminal, with kiosks selling overpriced books and coffee, little boutiques, and terminal signs that didn’t actually tell you what tracks the commuter trains were arriving on.

Adam and I made our way through labyrinth of corridors until we got to the Redline platform. We sat on a bench, foot-sore but triumphant, knowing that any minute a train would come to take us home.

“Please exit the platform and wait outside the station. A shuttle bus will be by to take you to Broadway Station.”

Adam and I groaned. They just closed down South Station? What was once a wonderland became a living hell as Adam and I waited for a bus that wasn’t already full to take us to the next station.

Finally, inspiration struck.

“Meghan,” Adam said, “why don’t we take the commuter train to Quincy Center?”

“Brilliant!”

We stood in line at the commuter tickets counter, where, in light of the current crisis, they had two of four windows open.

Nevertheless, Adam and I bought our tickets for the 7:29 to Kingston, and we just a chance to see how the other side rides.

The commuter train is amazing! A quiet, smooth ride on comfy leather bench seats, making the regular trains seem like a roller coaster with smaller seats.

We pulled up to Quincy Center at last, where Adam and I said our goodbyes.

Naturally, my bus ran late, but I finally arrived at my house at 9:00 pm, four hours after I left work.

It was good to be home.

SPAM

This is a spam message that my friend got over the weekend.

SOMEONE YOU CALL YOUR FRIEND, WANTS YOU DEAD.

I felt very sorry and bad for you, that your life is going to end like this if you don't comply, i was paid to eliminate you and I have to do it within 10 days. Someone you call your friend wants you dead by all means, and the person have spent a lot of money on this, the person also came to us and told us that he wants you dead and he provided us your names, photograph and other necessary information we needed about you. If you are in doubt with this I will send you your name and where you are residing in my next mail. Meanwhile, I have sent my boys to track you down and they have carried out the necessary investigation needed for the operation, but I ordered them to stop for a while and not to strike immediately because I just felt something good and sympathetic about you. I decided to contact you first and know why somebody will want you dead by all means. Right now my men are monitoring you, their eyes are on you, and even the place you think is safer for you to hide might not be. Now do you want to LIVE OR DIE? It is up to you. Get back to me now if you are ready to enter deal with me, I mean life trade, who knows, and I might just spear your life, $8,000 is all you need to spend. You will first of all pay $3,000 then I will send the tape of the person that want you dead to you and when the tape gets to you, you will pay the remaining $5,000. If you are not ready for my help, then I will have no choice but to carry on the assignment after all I have already being paid before now. Warning: do not think of contacting the police or even tell anyone because I will extend it to any member of your family since you are aware that somebody want you dead, and the person knows some members of your family as well. For your own good I will advise you not to go out once is 7pm until I make out time to see you and give you the tape of my discussion with the person who want you dead then you can use it to take any legal action. Good luck as I await your reply to this e-mail contact:b.patbulle228@gmail.com

Mr.Celestine chuks

What happened to the good old days when nice Ugandan princes were trying to give us money?

The Starling Saga Continues ...

Just when we thought our bird drama was over, Taylor and I heard a familiar chirping yesterday morning.

"Oh crap," Taylor said, "There's another stupid bird in there!"

"Oh yeah," I said, "I remember reading about starling colonies in attics ..."

"What?"

"Well, usually starlings hang out in groups, and they all live together in the attic."

Taylor huffed, turned over and covered his head with the blanket. Through the covers I heard him mumble, "We'll just have to wait the stupid bird out ..."

There was no signs of the bird until this morning. I was in the bathroom when I heard Taylor yelp, "The bird! The bird came out!"

This time the whole house was in an uproar as Taylor and I, the cats and the dog ran around the second floor chasing the frantic bird.

I'm not sure why I was chasing it, since I had no intention of actually touching that nasty, dirty, disease-infested bird (Taylor thinks I'm a little ridiculous about my prejudice against starlings for these particular traits, as in his opinion all birds are vermin).

Finally, my cat Healey gave a tremendous leap and tackled the poor bird, and then chased it out the window Taylor managed to open just in time.

Taylor, the cat, and I looked at it each other pride. Victory!

"Wow, you're not a useless as we thought," Taylor said to Healey fondly.

Above our heads, we heard a familiar scratching sound.

"Oh no." Taylor groaned and crawled back under the covers of the bed.

"Um," I said. "Did I mention that starlings live in colonies?"

From the bed I heard a muffled, "Yeah. I think you did."

Starling in the Attic

On our first night in our new home, Taylor woke me from a sound sleep.

"Meghan, do you hear that?" He whispered.

"...Hear wha...?" I mumbled. My sleepy brain couldn't process what he was saying.

"There's something scratching in the attic. Listen."

I indeed heard scratching, but having been interrupted from my REM cycle, I really didn't care. I muttered something, then turned over and went back to sleep.

I woke in the morning to Taylor's ire and to the sound of bird chirps coming from the bedroom ceiling.

"There is a stupid bird in our attic!" Taylor informed me. "I couldn't sleep at all last night because it kept chirping and scratching and making all kinds of noise. We have to get rid of it!"

That afternoon Taylor called me at work to fill me in on his battle plan against our feathered intruder. He thought the bird came in through an unused vent pipe, which he would seal up.

"Wait a second," I said. "You can't seal the pipe with the bird inside the attic. It's starve to death."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? I have to keep more birds from getting inside."

"You can't kill the bird! That's cruel." I sensed that appealing to the morality of a very tired and grumpy Taylor would get me nowhere, so I added to my argument. "Plus, if the bird dies in the attic, it'll stink up our room for weeks."

He grunted.

After work Taylor investigated the attic. Our bedroom has cathedral ceilings, so that part of the attic was walled off, and there was no way we could access the bird's hiding place. As Taylor sat on the edge of the attic entrance to think, suddenly the starling flew out of it's hole into the main attic.

"Meghan, help me get the bird!"

I came up to the attic with a small box. Taylor and I ran around unsuccessful trying to chase a terrified starling (which are pretty darn big!) and praying that the floorboards wouldn't break. The bird flew back into his hole. We went back to the bedroom and banged in the ceiling with a broom, but nothing would persuade the bird to leave.

After enduring another night of scratchings and bird noises, we got desperate. Taylor drilled 2-inch holes in the ceiling where we heard the bird scuttling around, and then waited. At long last, the bird flew out of the hole into our bedroom, banging into the ceiling and defecating everywhere until Taylor chased it out the window.

It turns out that all the effort really was worth it, as during my Internet research I found out that starlings are dirty birds that carry mites and lice and other fun diseases. Plus, they build these crazy nests that can engulf your attic, like this.

Taylor sealed off the vent where the bird got in the attic. I just hope we don't find anymore uninvited guests.

Obesity contributes to global warming: study

Obese and overweight people require more fuel to transport them and the food they eat, and the problem will worsen as the population literally swells in size, a team at the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine says.

The study also revealed that "heavy breathers" contribute more than their fair share of carbon emissions.

Home Owners

Taylor and I closed on a house about three weeks ago. It’s a three bedroom, two bath, fixer-upper, and considering where we live, it was actually a steal.

I have to admit, that we came into the whole “fixer-upper” thing with starry-eyed optimism. We looked around at our grimy house and said “No problem, we just need to paint the walls and ceilings of every room, and rip up the carpet, and redo the cabinets, and regrade the front yard, and replace the gutters, and …”

All this improvements are easily accomplished in one’s naïve imagination. We thought we’d get our master bedroom completed in three days, then complete the kitchen shortly there after – why, the house would be ready to live in within two weeks! Three weeks later, we just now finished the living room, have of the kitchen, started the downstairs path and have to complete the upstairs bathroom tonight.

When we first start home-improving, the phrase “money-pit” began to ring around my head, but I have to say that after dedicating 4-5 hours after work every night straight for the past three weeks, we’ve come a long way. Tomorrow we hope to actually get our stuff in the house, and we may be living in our home by the beginning of next week – as long as I can clean the 20+ years of mold and soup scum out of the bath tub …