judecorp | Dooster

I love Dorchester.

No, really. I love Dorchester. If my mother heard these words come out of my mouth, she would immediately get nervous. I remember how blanched she got when I moved into my old apartment in Savin Hill with

rachelmichellek, how she asked me on numerous occasions if I walked to places, and if I felt safe, and was I crazy? I told her then and I would tell her now that I love this part of Boston so much.

The neighborhood I live in now is so different than Savin Hill, and in some ways I like it less. Sure, I love the enormous houses and the old growth trees. Sure, I love the beautiful yards and the easy street parking. But there's no neighborhood here, not really. I never see the same people walking around (unless they're my landlords), and there are no real local gathering places.

It was a short walk from my Savin Hill apartment to the liquor store where I bought cheap wine for my underage roommate. It was a short walk to Venice Pizza, the little joint we lovingly called "Open Spaghetti" due to its everpresent neon sign (and "Closed Spaghetti" during the renovations). It was a short walk to Osco Drug, and to the Hahp and Bahd, and to Dot Unduhcah where I got my Jeep fixed. On the way to the T station was a Vietnamese hair and nail salon where the ladies gave the most painful scalp massage I've ever experienced. As I told my mother, no one was going to touch me in my neighborhood. Not when I bought my booze from this guy, my beer from that guy, got my Jeep fixed by those guys, and ate with that lady. No way.

If you take a walk towards Dot Ave from my new place, eventually you'll hit a convenience store, a Dunkin Donuts (of course), an italian place I haven't tried, a playground, and a chinese place. If you go up towards Washington Street there's a lot more life: Carribbean markets, vibrant record stores, people on stoops. I just get stared at a lot more there, and not because I look queer, yanno? When I get more adventurous maybe I'll try some of that Carribbean food.

Someday maybe I'll drag my bike downstairs and ride to Adams Village, where we almost rented an apartment that was a bit too small. It pales in comparison to the splendor of this place, but I can easily imagine evenings chilling on the back deck with the landlords, cooking out on the grill, having a good time. They were great people. I wish we hadn't found a better place, really, because the location was a dream and they were so freaking nice. Someday I will take the little trip down there and frequent the eating (and drinking) establishments that could have been our hangouts.

I drove a length of Dot Ave after my last home visit, and it really is a blessing to live where I work. I love the activity and frantic-ness of Dot Ave, dodging cars in Fields Corner, checking the sidewalks for traffic lights, avoiding double-parked cars and errant children. I called Amy to say, "Hey! I'm in your neighborhood!" and within minutes, I was in mine, too. I like hers better though, I have to say. I miss that working class charm. You just don't get enough of that bristled dedication and gruff love in scenic Melville Park.