Why Iphones Are One of the Most Irritating Advances in Technology

25 Nov

Riding the train is a normal part of my weekly routine. It has been this way for years, starting with my freshman year of college, and hasn’t shown any signs of ebbing. As such, I have long found myself tucking away my ipod for crochet hooks, and my books for people watching. (Mainly for paranoia’s sake, as news of weirder and worse happenings pop up more frequently in the news and I don’t want to be caught off gaurd.) Yet, what I notice more and more often as I glance around the crowds of faces on the T, is down turned faces with slightly unfocused eyes and ever-scrolling fingers. The ever-popular Iphone used to be hard to come by, reserved for people who had that sort of money to spend and felt the need to impress their peers. Now, it’s everywhere–and everyone seems to have it. (Most recently both of my parents have adopted one of their own little monstrosities.)

At first, I went along with the idea that they were cool. I mean, what could be so bad about a phone combined with massive internet capability and a music player? A lot, apparently. As more people obtained these irritating phones, I found more people on the train would blast music from them (usually irritatingly bad rap music saturated with curses that make you uncomfortable, especially if there are children or elderly women nearby.) and would forgo their provided ear buds. It makes me furious. It’s rude and inconsiderate of their fellow passengers. But this is not my only qualm with these annoying gadgets.

I miss normal conversations with people. Before the infestation of the Iphone, I could go out to dinner with a group of close friends, or a loved one and have real conversations. Intelligent conversations. Now, I long for those days as the Iphone invades the tables. More often than not, conversations lack significant eye contact as whoever you are at the table with fiddles with their phone; texting or forever scrolling through their memes or random photos they have taken of themselves or their food in the past week. They are distracted–and when you cease talking, a horrible awkward silence in which you can only hear the sound of their skin against the phone screen fills the air. (Or more upsetting, is when during this break in conversation, the iphone owner suddenly laughs at something on their phone–and it is the only interest they have shown in anything all evening.) If the silence goes on for too long, that Iphone person will lean across the table to you to show you whatever it is they are looking at on their phone, as it is clearly more interesting than–whatever it was you had just been talking about by yourself.

No one listens anymore. No one really talks or communicates. And no one gives their full attention to anything. Sometimes, I feel I could be on fire beside someone with an iphone, and they would only stop to take a photo of me to add to their creepy scrolling collection.

 

Disney Doesn’t “Wreck-it” with Wreck-It Ralph

10 Nov

After the more recent disappointments of The Borrower Arrietty and Brave, I was somewhat wary to see Disney’s most recent animated film, Wreck-it Ralph.

The advertisements looked promising, giving me a small hope that this would be the film that once more redeemed Disney’s animated films in my eyes, but I reminded myself that the ads for Brave and Arrietty had looked gorgeous too. So when my boyfriend and I finally made it down to the theater this week, I held my breath as the lights dimmed.

To my great relief, Disney had pulled it off. (Possible Spoiler alert!)

Wreck-it Ralph opens with a pixilated Steam-boat Willie, and then the lead character, Ralph begins to narrate over a close up of what appears to be an old arcade game, complete with 8-bit music, where we see Ralph living his day-to-day.

Ralph is the bad guy–but as all the ads point out (and  out of Street Fighter Zangeef’s mouth)–he isn’t a bad guy. It’s easy to feel badly for Ralph, a character who is programmed to be the villain of his game, wrecking an apartment for the hero, Felix, to fix; however, even after the arcade closes and the characters are allowed to be themselves, Ralph is still rejected by his fellow game characters and lives a lonely life in the dump.

The story takes place on the 30th anniversary of Wreck-it Ralph’s game, Fix-it Felix JR, with Ralph attending what appears to be an Alcoholic’s Anonymous style meeting of game villains where he admits that he wishes he knew what it felt like to be the hero. Here Disney playfully injects bad guys from games as familiar as Bowser from Super Mario, Zangeef from Street Fighter, A Pac man Ghost, and Dr. Robotnik from Sonic the Hedgehog along with characters the younger generation may recognize. (I couldn’t figure them out myself.) Ralph also admits that he doesn’t want to be the bad guy any more–but the group of baddies laugh it off and encourage him to take it, “one game at a time.” and not to “go turbo”.

After returning from his meeting, Ralph realizes that the other characters in his game are celebrating their 30 year anniversary with a party and, a little hurt his invitation never arrived, promptly makes an appearance there. The hero in his game, Felix, is a sweet and utterly loveable little man with a magic hammer is urged by his fellow characters to “get rid” of Ralph. Too nice to tell Ralph to hit the bricks, Felix invites Ralph in for cake instead, where Ralph is egged on by some of the other characters and ultimately he ruins the party. Ralph insists to the disbelieving group that he could earn metals just as easily as the hero, Felix, and is challenged by another character that if he gets a metal he live with them in the apartment instead of in the dump.

Urged on by the idea of living with the other game characters, Ralph embarks on a journey to obtain his own hero metal.

The audience travels with Ralph on his journey to be a hero and to be treated fairly through various games as Ralph “game jumps” to a very Halo-esq game called, Hero’s Duty, a one person shooter where he is faced with massive Bug-monsters that become whatever they eat. With absolutely no finesse, Ralph manages to steal a metal, but in doing so, also launches himself (literally) into another game as he struggles with a Bug that has clung to him in a stolen escape pod. They crash land in a game called, Sugar Rush, which is sort of like a candy-land racing game, where the Bug sinks and disappears in frosting. Here Ralph encounters a little girl called, Vanelope Schweet, who promptly steals his hero metal, thinking it’s a coin.

It turns out that Vanelope is in her own string of trouble,  and like Ralph, facing  isolation from her fellow game characters. The other characters claim Vanelope is a glitch that can’t be allowed to race with the other characters (or compete in the reindeer games!) and feeling badly for the girl, Ralph promises to help her.

Meanwhile, In Ralph’s game, the Arcade is open for business again and Ralph is a no show. Gamers who play notice the missing villain and bring it to the manager’s attention thinking the game is broken. Felix and the other characters finally realize that Ralph is missing and Felix promises to “fix-it” and sets off to find Ralph before the plug on their game is pulled. Felix and the female captain from Hero’s Duty team up, Felix searching for Ralph and the captain seeking out the Bug that escaped her game with Ralph.

Wreck-it Ralph is a movie about not making judgements–but even the villain of this film may surprise you. I think it may have been a first for me since I was young that I didn’t immediately know who the villain was and I loved the surprise. (I won’t spoil it for you.) The film is full of jokes that all ages can enjoy between the obvious “duty” jokes to the more adult themed (over the kids heads) jokes, this film is one I would consider seeing in theaters again.  Disney managed to pull it out of the bag for me on this one. The graphics are smooth and gorgeous and even the music is helplessly catchy. It gets a five our of five cupcakes from the Restless Writer scale.

 

Symphony of the Goddesses

20 Oct

As a kid, one of the first video games that I ever loved aside from Pokemon, was the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time for Nintendo 64. I was fascinated by the mind-boggling addictive puzzle RPG style of the game and the wonderful magical storyline the game presented.

Even now as an adult, I will openly admit that I have a love for the Zelda games, and it seems each generation has it’s own favorite that spans from old Nintendo games to  the newest which can be played on the Nintendo Wii and 3Ds.

So it seems only natural that upon being asked if I would like to go to the Symphony of the Goddesses this past week on October 18th at the Wang that I say yes.

The night was cold, but the heat of bodies packed within the balcony seats at the Wang theater was enough to allow most girls to be comfortable in even the flimsiest of dresses as they waited for the seats to fill. Below, we had view of the whole stage and three video monitors placed at different angles. The stage was lit softly, and the musicians could be heard softly testing their instruments; part of a song there, a stray note here for warm ups floated through the spacious theater. As I glanced around the theater, I could see a sea of green as various people of all ages had dressed in Link costumes for the occasion and even a pair as Mario and Luigi.

Then, a great cheer rose up as the conductor entered the stage; she was delicate, blonde and young with laughing eyes and  with a gorgeous brogue she introduced herself as Emiear Noone. The producer, Jason Micheal Paul, was then on the stage, announcing the line up and expressing his love for the games as well, which was followed by massive wave of applause. These were his people, and he was in good company.

The show opened with a bang as a medley of Zelda’s main opening powerfully lit up the room. Noone firmly led the Orchestra as behind them scenes from the most memorable Zelda games lit up the three large screens.

The first act consisted of dungeon music and classic ocarina music, followed by a medley from Legend of Zelda: Ocherina of Time. The crowd could be heard laughing on an off at some of the scenes chosen from the games. Then, abruptly between the first and second half, Noone called our attention once more to her. She admitted it was unorthodox to stop between the first and second half, but wanted to draw the crowd’s attention to the fact that the second half would consist of music selected from Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker, which involved controlling the wind with what looked like a conductor’s baton. Noone then raised he hand, displaying her own personal wind waker, and proceeded with conducting the rest of the symphony with it.

After the intermission, Paul once mor graced the stage, thanking Rhode Island’s Philharmonic Choir for using their voices along with the powerfully done orchestra music and introducing the second half of the show which concisted of music from Legend of Zelda: Link to the Past, Legend of Zelda Twilight Princess, and which followed up with music from Majora’s mask.

The show had not one but three standing ovations and was all and all a moving and fantastic experience that was enjoyed by multiple generations and fans of both music and gaming. This was a celebration and an homage to the games, their fans and of course the composer of the beautiful Zelda music, Koji Kondo.

Nerd York City

20 Oct

Picture this if you will: cramped, but unperturbed you are riding  on a bus beside the one you love (who has long since fallen asleep on your shoulder and is softly snoring) and the sound of the road hissing by the window fills the cabin. Then, to your right, New York City comes into view on the midday skyline. The Empire State Building is a needle, proudly displayed as if in welcome to you and your fellow passengers just before you plunge into a tunnel into darkness.

Last weekend, I found myself in the Big City for New York Comic Con (NYCC).

I was eager to plunge into the nerd culture, and clutching  my Ann Rice novel and my luggage off we went from the bus stop through the city streets. It was well after noon when we finally arrived (after being lost for some time of course) at the hotel we would be staying in: The Paramount. I was proud of myself when I managed to get a room at The Paramount from the NYCC website. Yet, the hotel was nowhere near as close to the convention as it was advertised and the hotel wouldn’t let us check in until after 3 pm for reasons I couldn’t fathom. Still, we were not put off and we charged onward to our destination: Comic Con.
This was my first visit to New York Comic Con, and I was eager to see the many comic, literary, and entertainment stars that the convention had boasted. We were not disappointed. Day one was exhausting, filled with attempts to wade through the shoulder to shoulder crowds throughout the Javits center and tries at navigating and an overwhelming sense of amazing comic swag. Cosplayers were hard to pick from people loaded with bags of goodies bought at the floor upstairs. But my main event was to meet Ann Rice and have her sign my copy of Interview with a Vampire. Unfortunately, after lining up and waiting for over two hours–it was not to be. I was disheartened, but one day hope to get my chance. Both worn out from our day of travel, my boyfriend and I left for the hotel early, got dinner at a nearby Subway and spent the night discussing how to tackle our next day at the Con.
But a restful night, we soon found, would not be possible. The walls at the Paramount were paper thin–and at roughly midnight, an alarm began to sound on our floor. Having flashbacks to our last trip to New York, my boyfriend and I began to gather our things to leave just in case. But after calling the front desk, we found the alarm to be accidental and was assured we were safe. We woke the next morning around 7 to the sound of the Housekeeping staff knocking on doors. Check out isn’t until noon. I was furious and couldn’t manage to fall back to sleep–but after a shower and breakfast at a nearby deli that was absolutely delicious–I was in a better mood.

Shopping here was by far my favorite part of the Con–but also–meeting and getting the autograph of Adam West. (Batman from an older generation for those of you confused.) He signed my newly bought RC car 1966 Batmobile and essentially made that a memorable moment in my life. My boyfriend had a fanboy moment upon meeting the former Green Ranger.

While he was in line for the Power Ranger, I wandered the con solo, making short-term friends, and rotting my brain on video games. The most exciting game I got to demo is for Ghibli’s upcoming masterpiece, Ni No Kuni. What seems to be a gorgeous mix of Final Fantasy and Pokemon game play with Ghibli Movie style cut scenes–I have already reserved my copy for January.

 

That night, we headed for Times Square and had a somewhat romantic walk around Rockafeller Center. Trees strung with lights hung around the ice skating rink made the moment feel ethereal and surprisingly serene.

“Want to skate?” he asked me, am impish glitter in his eyes.

“You don’t know how.” I replied, watching a man below as if on cue slip onto his back.

“I would be willing to fall a few times for you.” He said, pulling me close. I smiled, knowing as corny as it was, that I had fallen for him long ago.

We didn’t skate, but made a promise to someday and together wandered back to the Hotel.

 

 

The Australians at the Omni Parker

9 Oct

The funny thing about plans, as cliche as it sounds, is that they never go the way they’re supposed to. Yet, what I love most about making plans often times is breaking from them and deviating to a path that I may have never otherwise taken.

Last night, I had  originally planned a time out on the town with one of my girlfriends who is visiting from Europe.  I decided that once I left Baltimare at 5, I would meet her at” the place”, Max and Dylan’s for dinner, and once we were full (and probably a bit tipsy) we would stake out together on one of the many ghost tours that skulk around Boston this time of year. It was a good plan. A solid plan. And I had always wanted to go on a ghost tour. So, I booked the non-refundable tickets, eager for the night to arrive.

I didn’t expect Baltimare to be so overloaded and hold me up until 5:30, or the trains to lock one side of the station due to a holiday that I didn’t have off so I would have to take an extra 20 minutes to get to the platform–but most of all I didn’t expect my girlfriend to find herself deliriously ill and cancel on me last minute either. There I was, staring miserably at her mess of missed text messages that I hadn’t seen until hours after she had sent them, feeling my night was ruined. Without her–there would be no dinner, no drinks, and most disappointing of all: no ghost tour. I was beside myself–until I decided to embrace this alternate path.

My fingers flew across the tiny keys of my phone as I dialed up another friend in hopes that he could make plans with me last minute. Somehow–he was free. I felt myself lifted from my disheartened state as if I were tied to a Zeppelin. So the adventure was back in business.

Our tour group met at the mouth of the Central Cometary across from the Colonial theater and my friend met me at Boyleston Street Station. I felt giddy that I had managed to get a hold of someone on such short notice. Our guide was a stocky man of a regular build, and glasses dressed all in black with a battery lit lantern to guide us to him. A message bag was slung over his shoulder like so many other Bostonians, giving him an oddly immature appearance. He spoke in a light Boston accent and to our great relief was interactive, expressive and captivating. As our guide led us around the commons, to the site of the “Great Oak” where people were hung for crimes, to the library that houses a book bound in human skin–he constantly kept us as well as the rest of the group enthralled in his stories. I was fascinated by the stories he came up with–mainly in that I had never heard them before. As best put by my friend during the tour, “Even if it’s all B.S. they’re interesting stories.”

Our tour concluded at the most haunted hotel in Boston, The Omni Parker House Hotel. Built in 1855 and located at 60 school Street, just down the street from Park Street Station, this hotel (though old) still speaks volumes of its rich and luxurious past. I have walked by this hotel more times than I can count over the years but I had never taken the time to go inside. Crown molding like I had never seen up close before lines the vestibule all the way to the concierge desk in the back. Heavy, dark wood paneling covered the walls and floral somewhat antique-looking furniture was placed against the walls and around small tables in a welcoming fashion as you pushed your way from the cold into the lobby. A smell of liquor greeted our noses as we entered, as we walked past the hotel bar and restaurant, “The Last Hurrah”. This hotel seemed to give off a slightly masculine scent of sweet cigars smoked over many years (but not in an unpleasantly overpowering way) mixed with brandy aged to perfection. I found myself more fascinated by the hotel itself than our previously enchanting guide. Here, we were told of the many haunts the hotel boasted, as well as being the inventor of the Boston Cream Pie.

Evan and I eagerly wandered into The Last Hurrah after tipping our guide, and after some finagling, managed to get ourselves a table. Here, the molding seemed more modern, but the feel was still of a gentleman’s lounge. I could imagine men in three-piece-suites, brown in color, smoking cigars in the high-backed armchairs having once sat here among friends, and possibly women, for some reason in my imaginings to be in flapper dresses and pearls. This was a place of masculine beauty and great comfort; and I immediately liked it.

We found ourselves seated beside a couple, possibly in their 50’s, with twanging Australian accents and smiling eyes. They were married, on vacation from home to visit their daughter who was going to medical school at Harvard. The man wore a bright yellow sweater and had striking blue eyes that seemed to be constantly twinkling with mirth beneath the surface. His hands were large and rough, wrapped around his half-empty glass as he jokingly complained about a woman who had “a big fat head” at the bar who was blocking his view of the baseball game.  His wife was a fair-haired, petite woman with laugh lines around her mouth and eyes that made me hope I would look that pleasant and warm as I get older. I liked the woman at once, and wish that I wasn’t so horrible at remembering names that I could recall theirs. She had once been a nurse, I learned, and was now happily retired with her husband. She and I struck up a conversation and somehow it turned to literature and books that we loved, the love of physical books, and our dislike of the modern “Kindles” and “Nooks” available. When I told her of my hopes to one day be known as a great young adult novelist–she wanted my name at once and I gave her my card with an autograph at her request.

“For when you make it big one day–I can say I met you on Holiday.” She told me warmly. They were beautiful people. Warm and vibrant. And over an irish coffee and a piece of the Omni’s wonderful Boston Cream Pie, I felt myself feel suddenly very alive and connected to the world again. Though I stumbled home a tad later than I had planned–I couldn’t help but think how wonderful the unplanned moments in life can sometimes be for the littlest reasons. I smiled, knowing that if my plans hadn’t gone so wrong that the evening wouldn’t have felt so perfect.

The Omni Parker House

Ghost Tour

 

 

 

 

 

Sold by Patricia McCormick, a book review, and Moving to Baltimare

6 Oct

When I visited my local Barnes and Noble last night, I wasn’t sure what sort of book I wanted. The shelves loomed in a labyrinthine maze, lined with books of all sizes and colors as I wandered through them. Here and there, I would touch my fingertips to the spines of books on the shelves, as if this simple gesture would give to me some sense of the story that was behind the cover.

It was there that I stumbled across a bright yellow book with a striking black and white image of a young girl’s face peering from a sari. “Sold” the cover declared in bold plain red text. Drawn to this image, I left the store with my prize in hand.

I started it as soon as I arrived home, and found myself unable to put it down; worried for what might happen if I left the main character alone in the closed pages of the novel.

Patricia McCormick’s, “Sold”, is a striking story about a young girl named Lakshmi who is taken from her mountain home in Nepal under the pretense of being hired as a maid in the City to help feed her struggling family. To Lakshmi and the reader’s horror, she is instead sold into prostitution in India.

The story is written less like a novel, and more like a poetry anthology that interconnects perfectly. Each “Chapter” is  a literary poem that leads the reader along on Lakshmi’s sometimes beautiful, sometimes sad, but always powerful journey. Only 13 when she is sold by her stepfather, the reader is told through Lakshmi’s point of view the horrifying story that is sadly a reality for nearly 12,000 Nepali girls each year. (Figure taken from the afterword) It is by sheer power of her soul that Lakshmi seems to survive and (spoilers!) eventually escape from life as a child-prostitute. We see the young girl’s change from nieve and innocent, to self-loathing, to strong and determined as the novel progresses. Despite the novel’s heavy subject matter, I felt a great sense of relief and hope at its’ close.  This novel is certainly a three out of four cupcakes on the Pinky Pie scale.

Sold by Patricia McCormick

 

On a lighter note: I started my new job this week! That’s right folks, Pinky Pie moved to Baltimare! So far, the work is a horse of a different color from what I had been working on before. It’s tough training, and getting access for a while to all of the new systems I required for my work seemed impossible–but luckily things are working out for the most part.

My new manager seems sweet and somewhat soft spoken. When you speak to her, you can almost see the wheels in her head turning as she seeks out the most appropriate words to use in her next sentence. Despite her soft and careful ways, do not think she is a pushover. Already, I have seen her be firm with people–but always fair. So far, she seems to genuinely want me to succeed in learning all that I can. Meet Baltimare’s Cheerilee.

 

 

The pony who is training me seems very high energy, if not high strung. She is full of knowledge and excited to train me–but isn’t exactly the most patient mare for the job. She also has quite an ego–which for now–I will be sure to beef up as much as possible while we have to work in close quarters. Meet Baltimare’s  “Great and Powerful “Trixie.

To my left the “Great and Powerful” Trixie of Baltimare

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pony who sits in front of her seems to be the oldest of the group, and also the most cynical. I find her extremely funny and charming. She likes to decorate her desk and provides everyone with candies. So far, I don’t know much else about her–other than that she seems to be harboring some inner sadness that she may be working out. (Still she’s very sweet.) Meet Baltimare’s Mrs. Cup Cake.

Behind Trixie sits a very quiet colt. He’s only there twice a week, and works from home primarily. Compared to myself and Trixie, he says very little–but when he does talk, it’s usually hilarious. He’s very sweet and patient. (Don’t tell Trixie, but I like it when he trains me better.) Meet Baltimare’s Big Macintosh.

So far, everypony is really nice. And I look forward to getting to know them all better. I also look forward to learning more and more about my new position.

Pinky Pie the restless writer–out!

Memories of the Marshfield Fair and a T.K.O’Malley’s Review

26 Aug

My earliest memory of the Marshfield Fair– which has been a tradition in the county since the 1800’s– is a memory that I attach to my great grandmother, Noni. I can’t exactly remember how old I must have been when she first began to take me, but I could guess roughly eight or nine–as I specifically remember not being tall enough to peek into the Clydesdale horse stalls to see them, without help or without pulling myself up by the bars of their stalls. I also remember the Bee keeper stalls, which even now as I am in my twenties continues to fascinate me for reasons that I can’t quite pinpoint. Noni had always been fascinated too. Together we would tromp the Fairgrounds, riding on the rides I was tall enough to squeak on and waving to Noni as I gleefully swung round, and round on them. I even remember that she would pay for me to play at least one game at the Fair to try to win a prize–but I never remember ever winning.

Noni passed roughly three years ago, and she and I hadn’t been to the Fair together for many years before that. For the first time in roughly twelve years last night; I went to the Marshfield Fair. It’s funny how memories come back so quickly and with such force when certain sights, smells and sounds overtake you. It was as if I were small again, and she was leading me around pointing at the prize winning animals, and giving me bites of cotton candy and various tasty fair foods. Her ghost seemed to linger with me for the whole night as I chatted with my friend and his family. I felt a small almost child-like joy as the lights of the Fairgrounds came to life, voices spiraling, laughing and screaming as we passed rides, vendors calling out to people as they passed by to tempt them into winning prizes full of sawdust. One prize I did stop to try my hand at winning–was a live Goldfish. I knew it was a rip-off and that I could buy a goldfish of my own at a pet store if I wanted, probably for less than what it was costing me to try to win one, ($5 for a bucket of ping-pong balls) but it was the excitement of the idea. The sense of old-time charm that drew me to it. And I happily won. Proudly, I displayed my prize–a fat orange Goldfish in a bag, swimming excitedly in a circle–to my friend who snapped a trophy photo of sorts for proof. I knew Noni would have smiled.

My Prize!

Posing with my Goldfish Prize at Marshfield Fair

In entirety, this weekend gave me back a sense of myself that I felt had been missing lately. I woke up this morning to a gorgeous day, and another friend waiting in the wings for an adventure to Scituate. Off we went, stopping only for an ATM, Gas and a quick car wash, we drove into the center of town where the charm of a seaside town has a heavy hold, and people milled about looking pleasant in their Sunday best. It was a sleepy sort of day, and the town moved at a pace that suited this. We wandered past the harbor at first, soaking in the smell of the ocean that I had missed all summer, before heading for lunch at a place called T.K O’Malleys.

T.K O’Malley’s had a typical sort of Irish Pub feel, but with the bonus of having the option of being able sit on the outside patio overlooking the bright, breezy harbor. Entering the restaurant was at first slightly confusing, as there are doorways to the left and right of you when you first walk in–luckily to the left we spotted a cluster of Hostesses sporting blue TKO’Malley’s t-shirts, hovering over the hostess stand and made our way that way. I held my hand up with two fingers, which in any restaurant would generally indicate table for two, but here only got me slightly blank stares, a chomp on what I hoped was gum in one girl’s mouth, and a mumbled, “Inside or out” from one of the hostesses that had her back to us. I looked to my friend for confirmation, and luckily he confirmed we wanted to be outside as I had barely managed to hear what had been asked. The hostesses then handed us a small slip of white paper that read, “Patio Voucher” and told us to head out to the patio. This was somewhat irritating to me. I had worked as a Hostess at Fenway park for a short while,  so I know that  it is the job of a good Hostess to greet customers, direct them to the appropriate table, ask if they need anything else, and alert the waitstaff that they have a new customer. These girls (who were only busy chatting at the hostess stand) did not guide us to the patio door–they only laughed and told us, “Any door out.” and waved us aside. It felt lazy and unwelcoming. Not a good start.

Once we got out to the patio, the confusion continued. More hostesses in blue shirts at another hostess stand clustered, staring blankly at us as we handed them the slip of paper the previous hostesses had handed us inside. The girls asked us how many again, to which we answered two, one scurried around the patio looking at the few vacant tables before coming back looking confused. Then one of them asked us to wait as they went inside, conceivably to interrogate the other hostesses about us. There were just way too many hostesses, and not enough communication. Finally a hostess returned and asked if five or ten minutes would be okay–to which we agreed. By this time we were slightly frustrated. Why had the indoor hostesses not been informed of a wait time for the outside? There appeared to be more than enough of them to run messages, and inside it seemed to be slow.Luckily, it was   only roughly two minutes for a wait and we were promptly seated at a table with an umbrella and menus.

Our waiter was the best service we had received since we entered the restaurant. He arrived straightaway with his clipboard to take our drink orders, (card us for said drinks as I constantly look underage) and scurry off to the bar to bring them back. The beer selection was fair, and my companion and immensely enjoyed sipping them with the cool breeze off of the water and the warm sunlight on our skin as we browsed our menus. The food was mainly a selection of pub foods–and not much to write home about. Though they did appear to have a varied selection of “University” themed burgers. Should I ever return there–I will probably investigate these. The main draw of TKO’ Malley’s has to be it’s prime waterside spot.  As we were waterside, I craved fish and took part in their Cape “COD” Ruben sandwich, which was a cod filet on rye with thousand island dressing, coleslaw and a slice of cheese. The portions were HUGE and I only managed to finish half of the sandwich but it wasn’t bad. The dressing and slaw were tasty, though the fish seemed a little mushy and was probably less fresh than I would have hoped. What the fish lacked–the slightly toasted bread made up for in crunch and flavor. My friend and I also shared a basket of sweet potato fries which were served with Maple syrup–but I wouldn’t recommend having these with the Syrup. The fries are delicious on their own–and unless you’re a big  Maple Syrup person–the Syrup overpowers the fries taste.

Prices were fair when the bill came, and we tipped our friendly and helpful waiter well. We were pointedly ignored by all of the hostesses on our way out. I couldn’t help but think of how easy it would have been to dine and dash had I been that sort of person. They wouldn’t have even noticed us.

All and all, the day was wonderful and easy-paced. Full of winding seaside roads, looming gorgeous houses, and even a stop at a historical lighthouse. I returned home sleepy but full of a bubbling happiness that only a day near the shore can bring.

 

 TKO ‘Malley’s website link in case you would like to check it out for yourself.

More information on the Marshfield Fair.