Holy shit! This is a trap!
Upon calming down and doing some research, I discovered that after the trials, Sewall recanted everything and became a women's rights activist. Knowing this made me feel a little safer sleeping there.
First up on my family's itinerary was a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. I was not terribly excited at this prospect, as I am not a baseball fan. Whatsoever. I mean, I know a couple of my Loyal Strifemongers believe that baseball is a metaphor for life, and I hate to break this to them, but they're wrong. Hockey is a metaphor for life: The rules are incomprehensible, and everyone gets hurt. That said, I've never had an experience quite like watching a Red Sox game. The energy at the park is intense enough to measure on the Richter Scale, and halfway through the eighth inning, everyone jumps up and sings "Sweet Caroline" at the top of their lungs. For, like, no discernible reason. It was surreal. Or possibly Postmodern. I'm not sure which. I'd had a few beers by that point.
Once my parents headed back to Texas, I decided to have an adventure and hopped a ferry to Salem, where my buddy N. agreed to show me the sights. He's lived in the Salem area for most of his life and is decidedly over the tourist kitch, but he was very accommodating when I demanded to see the statue of Samantha Stevens and then dragged him through the Witch Museum. And oh, ye Gods, the Witch Museum. It was like walking into a Dennis Wheatley novel, and I had no choice but to buy a commemorative T-shirt. Oh, and also we almost got kicked out, because N. turned on one of the talking displays in the Witches: Evolving Perceptions exhibit ("I am a midwife! You might call me a Pagan.") before the museum employee who was trying to lead a guided tour could get to it. So that was entertaining.
My brother and sister-in-law both had to work the next day, so I figured out how to navigate the subway system and went to meet (get ready) Famous Pagan Artist Thalia Took! Squeeeee! And she was lovely and funny and snarky and I would've totally proposed to her except for that whole "I'm a big homo" thing, which is really just a technicality but still kind of a deal-breaker. Anyway, we drank iced hot chocolates and wandered around Harvard Square, looking for the law office of Dewey, Cheetham & Howe (we didn't find it) and having a platonically gay old time. Thalia also explained the importance of paying for subway rides, which, coming from a city with nigh nonexistent mass transit, hadn't really occurred to me. I apparently owe Boston a lot of money.
Someone remind me to send a check.
More to come.