How I scooped the A.P. (by 2+ years)

I came across an Associated Press story the other day which discussed how police are increasingly overwhelmed by "suspicious item reports," many of which "can seem silly in hindsight."

The article provided the eye-catching statistic that, in New York, the number of such reports has jumped from 814 in 2002 (the first year for which a total was recorded) to 37,614 last year. And, of course, the article also made an obligatory mention of the infamous Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Lite-Brite crisis in my own Boston back in January.

Essentially, the article seems to have been written as an exploration of the post-9/11 world and the drawbacks of a culture often shaped largely by fear. It makes mention of the New York Metropolitan Transportation Authority's "If You See Something, Say Something" campaign, and seems to grapple with the positive and negative results of such campaigns, in general.

Well, faithful readers, you should know that I just so happen to have beat A.P. reporter Mr. Brian Westley to the punch on this issue. Here's a look into the archives of my high school newspaper, the venerable Knight Insight, for proof to that end. Enjoy...

"Fear Factor"
March 11, 2005

Something decidedly creepy – or annoying, at the very least – has been taking place on MBTA buses over the past year, and I cannot remain silent about it any longer.

I can still remember the first time I heard the recording...

I was riding Bus number 52 to school, bright and early, for the 18-millionth time (approximately) in my CM career. As usual, I was slumped down in my blue, plastic bus seat, peacefully nodding off for a short, morning nap. All of a sudden, a booming, computerized voice cut in without warning and ended my restful slumber, urging me to "please report any unattended bags or suspicious behavior to the bus driver." Ever since that fateful day, I have had the pleasure of hearing this delightful message from our friends at the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority a minimum of three to four times a day, excluding the occasions I drive or get driven to school. It remains as mildly unsettling now as it was that first time.

I understand that we live in a changed world since the events of September 11th, 2001, and that the Madrid, Spain train bombing last year raised legitimate questions about the possibility of a similar attack here in the US. However, I am fairly certain that it is still entirely unnecessary to remind commuters, on twenty minute intervals every day, to keep a watchful eye out for the presence of Al Qaeda on their bus. In fact, as surprising as it may be, it is my understanding that these nagging requests for citizen vigilance have not led to the uncovering of one, singular terrorist plot to date. Accordingly, I would appreciate an end to this vaguely Orwellian tactic, ASAP.

Plus, I really need my morning nap, and the hordes of rambunctious middle-schoolers on the 52 already present enough of a distraction.

The trade

There's been a TON (I measured, and it came out to exactly 2,000 lbs.) of discussion and debate since last Thursday as to whether the Boston Celtics' big draft day trade for Ray Allen was good or bad for the franchise.

Personally, a week later, I still vote "good."

It seems I hold the minority opinion and that most people have judged the deal to have been desperate and shortsighted, but I don't know... I think Ray probably has a couple more All-Star caliber years left in the tank, and I think that it's important that Paul Pierce has gone from the brink of demanding a trade out of town to describing himself as "thrilled to death" about the status of the team. Anyways, that was a long, wordy sentence that didn't get to the point of why I'm writing this post.

I'm writing this post not to praise Danny Ainge's latest move, but to mourn the loss of Delonte West in Celtic green.

Basketball-wise, my biggest problem with the trade is probably a nagging fear that Jeff Green or someone else we could've snatched with that 5th pick will become an NBA mega-star down the line and haunt us for the next decade-plus. But as an emotionally involved fan, my biggest problem with the trade is that I'm going to miss the hell out of Delonte West. I hope Sonics fans enjoy and appreciate one of my favorite players I've watched over the years.

It's not just that Delonte always played hard and tough, that he's a Great (with a capital "G") shooter, or that he's the rare guard who has a real knack for blocking shots. On-court attributes aside, D-West's also just about the coolest guy ever. And I'll close these ramblings with the following evidence to that end...

- The infamous Valentine's Day piece from ESPN.com
- "Delonte West, Uncut" on FSNE
- Delonte on the new ball/old ball controversy
- "WIAHHHHH HANGAHHHHH" commercial
- Delonte's contribution to the series of FSNE commercials with Lucky
- A YouTube mix - watch the whole thing for the clips of Delonte talking ("COOKIES!")

Nothing says "happy birthday!" like a blog!

Back during this past spring semester at Iona, I was keeping this blog for my Online Journalism class, and I had to come up with two new posts every week. Often, I'd end up putting together both of these required posts right before my deadline of Wednesday night - check back for proof - and this kind of last-second crunch left me repeatedly struggling to come up with topics about which to write.

Many times, in these situations, I turned to my lovely girlfriend Kathy (see: right) for help. Her consistent suggestion was, simply, "Write about me."

Surprisingly, perhaps, I never did use this idea. But today is her birthday. And, as we all know, nothing says "happy birthday!" like a blog! The title here even says so.

So this little blog entry is humbly dedicated to Kathryn Anne McIntyre. She turns 20 years old today and embarks upon her third decade on this planet. On behalf of the planet, I'd like to say that we're pretty darn excited about what lies ahead. Or most of us are, anyways.

[Insert laugh track, mentally.]

Happy birthday, Kathy! Can't wait to see you again Monday...

Final note: With Kathy's brief appearance here, this blog just got about 100x more awesome. Which is pretty phenomenal, when you think about how awesome it already was.

So, where are you from?

Anyone who hails from the suburbs of a big city knows the horror of the question posed in the title of this post.

The facts are these: When your place of origin is suburbia, USA, and someone asks you where you're from, you have two basic options to choose from in crafting a response. You can say, "I'm from [insert major American metropolis here]," and sacrifice accuracy. Or you can say, "I'm from [insert actual hometown here]," and elicit a blank stare from the person with whom you're conversing.

You can also take the middle path, explaining that [insert actual hometown here] is, in fact, a suburb of [insert major American metropolis here]. But that's generally an unpopular choice, because: A.) it's kind of clumsy and B.) if you go this route, your hometown is probably going to be instantly thought of as boring and lame and everything else associated with the stereotyped picture of a drab, cookie-cutter, bedroom community. And that's kind of annoying, regardless of whether or not it's accurate.

I'm not from Boston - the capital of Massachusetts; "the Hub"; "Beantown"; the home of the Red Sox, Celtics, and Bruins; and the birthplace of America (don't listen to people who say it's Philadelphia just because they drew up the paperwork down there). It's true that I was born in Boston, but, as soon as I was released from the hospital there, newborn-baby-me was brought to nearby Watertown, a small city which lies just north of Boston and measures a mere 4.2 square miles in area (see: above). I've lived there ever since (discounting, of course, the fact that I'm often found now at college in New York).

Watertown does have its own claims to fame - some more modest than others. Being a huge nerd, I know most of them. For example, history buffs could tell you that Watertown acted as the seat of the state government in Revolutionary times during the British occupation of Boston. You know Eliza Dushku, of Bring it On and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame? Yes, she is indeed a Watertown native. Harvard University isn't contained entirely in Cambridge; it expanded its reach into Watertown just a few years back. And if you've ever enjoyed a frozen pizza, you can thank Charles Mosesian, who made the very first frozen pizza in the land of H2O. Mosesian, by the way, was an Armenian immigrant. And Watertown, of course, was one of the primary destinations of the Armenian diaspora that occurred following the Armenian Genocide of 1915 to 1917. We even have the Armenian Library and Museum of America on Main Street in Watertown Square.

But none of these things matter when someone asks me where I'm from. I face the three aforementioned choices, each decidedly unsatisfying, just like everyone else from the 'burbs.

But it didn't have to be that way.

You see, another one of Watertown's claims to fame is a song. It's a classic rock song, specifically, the kind of ultra-famous track that just about everyone seems to know. Even those not well-versed in popular music who don't know the song by name would almost certainly perk up if someone simply hummed the tune of its chorus.

The song I'm describing is the immortal "More Than a Feeling."

"But wait!" you think. "Isn't the band that played that song called 'Boston'?" That's exactly right, faithful reader. But not only did the band known as Boston never actually live in Boston but rather Watertown, (drumroll...) "More Than a Feeling" was actually recorded in Watertown, as well, in the basement of band founder Tom Scholz's house. And herein lies, for me, the source of unspeakable outrage and despair.

Do you see the forest through the trees? Do you understand where all of this is leading? Boston shouldn't be Boston. Boston should be Watertown (see: right)! And if Boston was Watertown, then I would have the perfect response to the question of where I'm from. "You know the band Watertown?" I'd ask, confident and composed. "Well, I'm from there." It'd be much more evocative than simply saying I'm from Watertown, as things stand. It'd be much more truthful than saying I'm from Boston. And it'd also be exponentially cooler than saying I'm from one of Boston's suburbs.

But alas, Boston is not Watertown; Boston is Boston.

Nuts.