Wandering around downtown Boston, part 1
Jul. 29th, 2004 09:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetYesterday (ooh: finally I can start to type without the page randomly reloading itself, erasing what I have written) -- yesterday, I say, after spending several hours at home in Salem I boarded the bus to South Station (well, in fact, it is the Haymarket bus, but this week, it is the South Station bus -- after 3 PM, which it was). I purchased walnutty treats from the Rosie's Bakery counter and took the subway to Park Street. I had it in mind to stroll around and gawk at protesters and the like, and take pictures.
At Park St., encountering![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
accruedfromage, I learned that the Falun Dafa were just upstairs in the Common, and so I went outside. Indeed, there they were: lots of people in white, spattered with fake blood, doing Tai Chi. There were torture-tableaux, and people wandering through the crowd of onlookers to explain that many Chinese products were made by torture victims in labor camps.
There was also a group of tourists who took turns posing for pictures next to the torture scenes, which I found a little odd:
The blood-spattered martial artists went through various forms not far away; I had a perhaps inappropriate vision of them training to overthrow the evil warlord. Aiding the illusion, as I walked away, a cloud of pigeons exploded into the air around me. But then a woman temporarily blocked my exit to tell me about the all-encompassing love of our Savior.
I proceeded in the general direction of the Fleet Center, pausing to give some change to the man sitting on the sidewalk with a plastic cup he had decorated to proclaim himself a member of the "homeless delegation." There were police everywhere, in all sorts of exciting uniforms. Later, I found myself wondering if there were any anarchists with uniform fetishes, and if they found this to be a problem.
Sadly, none of the pictures I took during this phase of my stroll ended up being worth sharing. Other photo opportunities passed me by, either because I wasn't fast enough, or because I was crossing a street at the time, or for whatever reason. So I can't share with you the visuals of the tall policeman in the special black uniform eating an ice cream cone, or the crowd of Boston PD boys lounging against the Dunkin' Donuts, or the 20 or so police and Army MPs guarding the Government Center subway station, or the police posing for pictures taken by other police. My friend Pattie says she saw two cops posing for an arms-around-shoulders buddy picture against a background of a crowd of anarchists; that would have been a good one.
At Fanueil Hall something was up; I didn't find out what it was until later: but there were Park Police everywhere, and barriers, and lots of news vans, and a big MSNBC pavilion set up nearby. People kept trying to hand me fliers, pins, and bumper-stickers, but this is not unusual for walking around the city.
At about this point I discovered I had a specific goal for my walk besides sightseeing: I would go find J., who was acting as a legal observer in the "soft zone" the near the Fleet Center (that is, the area outside the Convention entrances and outside the protest cage that was open to the public but where people were theoretically subject to random searches), and give her a cookie.
I found her fairly quickly. She gratefully accepted the walnut dream bar, and spoke of her boredom -- not that she wanted any clashes between protesters and police, or protesters and counter-protesters, about which she would take notes and be, if necessary, a witness in court -- but there was really nothing going on. So she had to stand around in her hideously green t-shirt and think about how she still had four hours left on her shift. Here she seems deceptively happy about this:
She gave me a quick tour of the Soft Zone, and then took me over to see the infamous Free Speech cage. This cage is indeed an unfortunate-looking place. The scenery right by the Fleet Center isn't particularly nice, anyway, because of the disused elevated rail platform and signs of construction; a big metal cage topped with razor wire with military police lurking overhead on the platform is even less inviting than usual. Now, people will complain about how far away from the Fleet Center the protest zone is, but this isn't really the problem; there's only about half a block of Soft Zone between the entrance to the cage and the passholders-only area around the Fleet Center. The problem is that it's not near where the delegates enter a block or two away, and so only the curiosity factor or (the admittedly not unlikely) desire to get a beer at one of the bars and brew pubs that line the street facing the cage would bring anyone "important" over there.
Also, there's a big generator right nearby, the noise of which, combined with frequently passing helicopters, makes it hard to hear anyone speaking on the little stage inside the cage. Unsurprisingly, then, there wasn't much going on inside:
In fact, it was pretty dull.
But, fortunately, we had a celebrity sighting:
J. had seen him earlier, when he edited a sign protesting the protest zone (adding the words "writing about" to "Pens are for animals"):
[To be continued...]
At Park St., encountering
accruedfromage, I learned that the Falun Dafa were just upstairs in the Common, and so I went outside. Indeed, there they were: lots of people in white, spattered with fake blood, doing Tai Chi. There were torture-tableaux, and people wandering through the crowd of onlookers to explain that many Chinese products were made by torture victims in labor camps.There was also a group of tourists who took turns posing for pictures next to the torture scenes, which I found a little odd:
The blood-spattered martial artists went through various forms not far away; I had a perhaps inappropriate vision of them training to overthrow the evil warlord. Aiding the illusion, as I walked away, a cloud of pigeons exploded into the air around me. But then a woman temporarily blocked my exit to tell me about the all-encompassing love of our Savior.
I proceeded in the general direction of the Fleet Center, pausing to give some change to the man sitting on the sidewalk with a plastic cup he had decorated to proclaim himself a member of the "homeless delegation." There were police everywhere, in all sorts of exciting uniforms. Later, I found myself wondering if there were any anarchists with uniform fetishes, and if they found this to be a problem.
Sadly, none of the pictures I took during this phase of my stroll ended up being worth sharing. Other photo opportunities passed me by, either because I wasn't fast enough, or because I was crossing a street at the time, or for whatever reason. So I can't share with you the visuals of the tall policeman in the special black uniform eating an ice cream cone, or the crowd of Boston PD boys lounging against the Dunkin' Donuts, or the 20 or so police and Army MPs guarding the Government Center subway station, or the police posing for pictures taken by other police. My friend Pattie says she saw two cops posing for an arms-around-shoulders buddy picture against a background of a crowd of anarchists; that would have been a good one.
At Fanueil Hall something was up; I didn't find out what it was until later: but there were Park Police everywhere, and barriers, and lots of news vans, and a big MSNBC pavilion set up nearby. People kept trying to hand me fliers, pins, and bumper-stickers, but this is not unusual for walking around the city.
At about this point I discovered I had a specific goal for my walk besides sightseeing: I would go find J., who was acting as a legal observer in the "soft zone" the near the Fleet Center (that is, the area outside the Convention entrances and outside the protest cage that was open to the public but where people were theoretically subject to random searches), and give her a cookie.
I found her fairly quickly. She gratefully accepted the walnut dream bar, and spoke of her boredom -- not that she wanted any clashes between protesters and police, or protesters and counter-protesters, about which she would take notes and be, if necessary, a witness in court -- but there was really nothing going on. So she had to stand around in her hideously green t-shirt and think about how she still had four hours left on her shift. Here she seems deceptively happy about this:
She gave me a quick tour of the Soft Zone, and then took me over to see the infamous Free Speech cage. This cage is indeed an unfortunate-looking place. The scenery right by the Fleet Center isn't particularly nice, anyway, because of the disused elevated rail platform and signs of construction; a big metal cage topped with razor wire with military police lurking overhead on the platform is even less inviting than usual. Now, people will complain about how far away from the Fleet Center the protest zone is, but this isn't really the problem; there's only about half a block of Soft Zone between the entrance to the cage and the passholders-only area around the Fleet Center. The problem is that it's not near where the delegates enter a block or two away, and so only the curiosity factor or (the admittedly not unlikely) desire to get a beer at one of the bars and brew pubs that line the street facing the cage would bring anyone "important" over there.
Also, there's a big generator right nearby, the noise of which, combined with frequently passing helicopters, makes it hard to hear anyone speaking on the little stage inside the cage. Unsurprisingly, then, there wasn't much going on inside:
In fact, it was pretty dull.
But, fortunately, we had a celebrity sighting:
J. had seen him earlier, when he edited a sign protesting the protest zone (adding the words "writing about" to "Pens are for animals"):
[To be continued...]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 08:53 am (UTC)I wish I lived in a place with tons of entertaining action!
no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 09:12 am (UTC)Anyway, try clicking on it directly:
http://www.industrialdeathrock.com/gallery/pixzip/ananke/dnc/10911110710.jpg
It's Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 09:19 am (UTC)(Although I've heard entertaining stories about State College.)
no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 10:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 12:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-29 06:32 pm (UTC)Yes, I suppose a few things happen. But nothing like the glowing ponies you have in the next post.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-30 08:16 am (UTC)I guess the things I associate with State College (where I have never been) are, e.g., eating fried sticky buns and selling blood plasma to buy Warhammer miniatures. True, those aren't glowing horses, either.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-30 12:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-30 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-30 12:55 pm (UTC)2) What's a warhammer miniature?
no subject
Date: 2004-07-30 01:23 pm (UTC)But I had no idea the blood plasma trade was such a thriving industry.