i hate my blog

A few month late, but here some pics from our trip up to Boston. All the pictures have been stolen from a professional photography magazine, but they follow the events of our trip surprisingly close.



On the train to Boston
Salem. Biggest tourist trap ever. Here's a statue of some pilgrim, but everyone thinks its a statue of a witch. Most of the evidence suggests that almost all the first pilgrims were witches, and there is a theory that the United States was originally a haven for them. Hence the popularity of Harry Potter cult.

Salem Witch Museum. They decide not to follow the conventional model of a museum by rejecting historical artifacts, relics, tour guides or facts.

Instead they resort to manikins to recreate scenes from the witch trials...like this of the hanging. Simple, and yet somehow they are still able to call themselves a museum. Its hard to imagine anything thats 8 dollars to be a waste of money, but they figured out a way.


Cakes shaped like turkey's? Whatever. Anything goes in Boston.

Harvard. You feel stupid just looking at it.

Some old church in Boston. The entire church was separated into little booths for families, boreded up on all sides, so your its like your in your own little room while in church. You'd buy a section, and it'd be yours. I didn't find out why. Probably built by witches though.


The church with some guy riding a horse who did something

St. Francis, seen better days/

This is a poem, written for Cato,
For there is none among all the people,
Of the whole world that could be her equal.

She is the most amazing person that,
I have ever known, or have ever met,
She is one person you’d never forget.

More beautiful than the brightest sunrise,
With black silky hair and dark almond eyes,
And a smile that lights up the darkest skies.

Greater than the biggest ocean or sea,
Kristin is the best there ever has been,
Unless, of course, you’re talking ‘bout JC.

For me I cannot even remember,
What life was like before I had met her,
Before that day it was all one big blur.

Kristin is the Promise to my Urban,
The Sikh’s head that is under to my turban,
The human touch to my Bruce Robinson.

She is the Kimchee to my Korea,
The Russian head scarf to my Babushka,
And the Philippines to my Manila.

She’s the topless fairy to my trout lake,
The Vancouver Sun Run to my knee ache,
The sleep paralysis when I awake.

She’s the jello melting in my work desk,
The PNE to my motion sickness,
The Skype video to my long distance.

She’s addicting like her name was Whalley,
Makes me tipsy like her name was Toby’s,
Kills me like a new peanut allergy.

I would never trade one single second
Of being with her, for fifty thousand
All expense paid tickets to Lotte Land.

And all of this writing, is just to say,
Whether its winter or spring, night or day,
August, October, December or May.

Whether living in Philadelphia,
Or BC commercial drive area,
Or with the penguins in Antarctica,

Whether Honduras sunshine, prairie snow,
Or Korean blue skies, you need to know
There’s no person quite like Kristin Cato.