Media-crity

I’ve been meaning to post this for a couple of days now, but I’d forget, or get distracted, or something, and now here we are halfway through the week.

Courant reporter Helen Ubinas is spending a week reporting from Garden St in Hartford. I’ve been following her on Twitter (@NotesfromHeL) for awhile, and I used to read her column religiously back when I actually read The Courant regularly, but this project has been riveting. It’s also really gotten me thinking about something I meant to post back in May or June. It’s late, I’ve just spent 12 hours watching a very frustrating baseball game, and I’m tired, so this will be rambly, but I hope it’ll capture what I’ve been meaning to put down for a couple of months now.

Anyone who has ever spoken to me for any length of time has likely heard me mention, possibly more than once, my great love of Hartford. Those same people also likely debate my mental health behind my back, but that’s neither here nor there. I love Hartford. I miss Hartford. I live in Boston now but I have moments, at least once a week, where I genuinely miss Hartford. I’m not ashamed to say it.

It gets a bum rap a lot of the time (sometimes it’s deserved, yes) and I will defend it to the death. It’s a city with a crooked mayor with way too much power, an unfriendly layout, not much of a downtown to speak of on account of the aforementioned layout (though it’s trying!), and a sobering swath of blight.

But you know what else it has? Really spectacular dining. I can think of only one bad meal out of many I had in Hartford (farewell, No Fish Today), and I’m pretty sure I tried just about all Hartford had to offer at one time or another. I still pine for some sweet potato and rock shrimp fritters or the mac & cheese at Trumbull Kitchen, or the table-made guac at Agave, or the baked berries at Peppercorns. Or pretty much anything imaginable at Wood-N-Tap. (I am purposely, though reluctantly, leaving out Plan B, as that’s in West Hartford and no one really needs to be convinced to hang out in West Hartford).

There’s also a ton of culture. Touring broadway productions? Smaller indie fare? Original productions? You can find it all. How about art? Got it. History? You can’t walk without falling over a historical museum or house.

I’m not delusional. There’s a lot Hartford lacks. A decent music scene is a big one. For more on that, hop on over here to Eric Danton’s blog Sound Check and he’ll be happy to hook you up. Lord knows I’ve railed against it often enough myself. But that’s not why I’m here.

Hartford is also where I met some of my best friends. Where I made some fantastic memories. Where I really grew up and learned how to make it on my own. It’s where I, like the city itself, had soaring triumphs and crushing defeats.

Hartford’s not hip like New York. It’s not reinvented like Providence. It’s not really charming like my beloved Boston. But it’s trying, and it’s community, and it’s heart, and it’s people.

Which is why I’ve been so sucked in to these dispatches from Garden St. They’re sad, they’re scary, but they’re hopeful, too.

They’re Hartford.

It was a bad, bad week. I was in the hospital, we had a death in the family, then a layoff. I’m tired.

I’ve already talked about the hospital, not sure if I’m ready to talk about the death, and legally can’t talk about the layoff. That leaves …

…banging my head against the wall catching up on last week’s arrest of Hartford’s mayor Eddie Perez. Well. Who couldn’t have seen that coming? Aside from the majority of Hartford’s residents who voted for the bastard.

Aunt Eileen, you touched a lot of lives, as evidenced by the dozens of cars in the procession Saturday. I know the last years were rough and I hope you’ve found peace. We won’t be the same without you.

This is horribly disjointed but so is my mind this week. Hope all of you out there are doing well.

I have some 2008 wrap-up meme thingies planned, but first I’m breaking my silence to say RIP, Mayor Mike.

In my time at the historical society, I dealt with Mayor Mike as part of an auction item he donated– a lunch with him, obviously– which is something that has stuck with me since. In a good way. Not like the time I met John Rowland and he invited me to come trick-or-treating at his house. Ahem.

Incidentally, last night I dreamt that I accidentally took a clinical rotation in Hartford.

Since moving to Boston in September I have been terribly homesick for the familiarity of Hartford. I lived within 1-2 miles my entire 7 years there. I went to the same pharmacy, the same grocery store(s), the same mall, the same park, the same movie theatre. It was comforting. It was home. I knew 4 different ways to get everywhere and I felt comfortable driving every one of them.

I have greatly benefitted from the larger “world” Boston has to offer, yes, but I still felt like a stranger in a foreign country far from home.

Until I expanded my blog world. Thanks to the hyperlocalism of sites like Universal Hub, I’m making this city my own, too. I’m recognizing more than just town and neighborhood names when I catch the evening news. I hope this continues.

I know, all my Hartford friends are shaking their heads right now.

Now I have to get myself into bed. Stupid time change. I love the extra daylight but it’s a pain to adjust to.

On my way to Hartford, hooray! Doctors, lunch at Plan B, seeing some people … mmmm.

If you’re in Hartford, don’t be surprised to get a text from me.

A rare evening finds us watching the local news. There was a report from Weston on the pike’s efforts to recoup some budget deficits by a man with a unique name. The cadance and rhythm of it sparked a distant memory in me, like I knew him from somewhere.

And I did! He used to be on Hartford’s WFSB, which was my news station of choice. It was like going home after being away. Yes, I do still miss Hartford. Yes, I’m aware of how lame that is.

After the kerfuffle with Virgina’s new tourism ads inadvertently displaying gang signs, I was surprised to see a Connecticare ad using the same symbol in their new commercials.

Smart.

That is a whole lotta house.

Jesus. 50,000 square feet of domestic bliss. Just goes to show what a strange town West Hartford is when it has me and people who can build themselves this kind of mansion paying our car tax into the same coffers.

We’re selling off a bunch of stuff we don’t feel like moving with us, like Nate’s piano and my blue chair. He already sold his GameCube and we each have two interested buyers on our items. Next I am boxing up all the misc kitchen crap we don’t use (a set of plates, a set of silverware, some drinking glasses, some steak knives) and selling it as a box for $25. Those seem to do well on CL, especially as back-to-school approaches.

I told Nate I wanted to just put up signs inviting people to come take what they wanted but he told me he likes our furniture and our TV. Sigh. I hate moving.

Well, it all came together quickly but September 1 we will be MA residents.

Locals, I expect to see each and every one of you before I leave (Lisa and Eric, drinks. Amanda, I’ll bring lunch, Francine … I’m leaving you out because you’ll evidently be living in my closet.)

Whee.

The biggest cab company, Yellow Cab (just dial 7 sixes!) uses natural gas Honda Civics and, mor recently, Civic Hybrid cabs. Nice to see them driving around.