Thank goodness the Sox home series is finally over.  I can have house guests again. 

There are many perks to living in the Fenway.  Fenway Park is not one of them.  Now, I can hear Sox fans whining (God knows they do enough of it), "well, who would support the neighborhood economy without the Sox?"  But that only shows the blindness of their devotion and their ignorance of the Fenway, a neighborhood literally crammed with culcha.

Truth is, the Sox have never been sharers.  If old John Henry had his way, most of the Fenway neighborhood would be blacktop.  Remember back in '07 when he bought an historic $16 million home in Brookline only to tear it down?  (Brookline was cool with it — they got "archival-quality photographs of the [demolished] houses, along with tiles from the fireplace and bathrooms and outdoor lights.")

I'm not saying do away with the park — I like the park, myself — but it's interesting that in this neighborhood chock-a-block with institutions devoted to art, music and higher ed it's only Sox home games that routinely put a halt to mine.

No one ever says: "Is that Chihuly exhibition still on at the MFA?  Well, then, you'll have to come to my place — I'll never find parking!"

Friends of the Blog may recall I met a fellow a few weeks ago at the Y — most of our courtship consisted of detailed directions to possible parking spaces and hundreds of texts en route.  Why not just go to his place, you ask?  He lives in Quincy.  With his mother.

Of course, some people can talk about parking.  I mean, really, really talk about parking.  In Boston, you either take the T or risk becoming a Parking Queen.  It has actually become a dating criterion for me.  I'll go as far as Zip Car guys, but if you've got your own, chances are all we'll talk about is parking.  If we meet for dinner I'll be waiting at the bar for an hour-and-a-half receiving minute-by-minute text updates about your search for an on-street spot.  Then I'll get an hour recap over my meal.  Let's not even get into coitus-interruptus-to-feed-the-meterus.

This is why I have never lived more than two blocks from a T stop in Boston.  Ever.  (True story.)  See, I'm easy.  But I'm also not going to go anywhere that's more than two blocks away from the T for a shag, unless it's Miami Beach.  

Anyway, I checked the schedule.  I'm free through the 17th.  Calling all cars!