February.19th.1999

Past issues are available. o (11.1.98) o (11.11.98) o (11.16.98) o (11.17.98) o (1.12.99) o (2.2.99) o (2.3.99)

Greetings and salutations devoted readers!

We're back with another touching episode of 8 Russell, in which, none of these questions will be addressed. Will Josh come to terms with his love of the Spice Girls? Does the third floor really hover six inches above the ceiling of the second floor? When will the first floor bathtub fall through the rotting wood that holds it up? Is Mookie a deadbeat dad or a loner...a rebel, about whom there are things you wouldn't understand, things you couldn't understand...things you Shouldn't understand?

The question that will be answered today comes from Mike "The Wolfen" Frasier. Mike wanted to know the answer to his question so badly he was compelled to put on a suit, drive all the way from the nippy state of Maine, directly to our Kentucky fried front door, just to say...

"How do I get to Woburn (MA)?" (from 8 Russell)

 

Directions to the city least likely to win the award for "best drinking water" are as follows. Go the end of Russell, take a right, then a left onto Main, take 95N to Woburn.

Getting there or anywhere for that matter the 8 Russell way are as follows: Call a bunch of people to see who's up for going...hang out for an hour waiting for whoever is going to get there. In the mean time, smoke, break out into a spontaneous jam, using real instruments and improv' household items. ie: Pencils, bottles, yourself, a small helicopter, pistachios, Mookie...etc. Have a beer or two. Get excited at the arrival of the waited for friend(s), and shout out either their name, "Jaaaaaaaaaaaaay--SUN!" or if you're not sure who's there, "HeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeY!" when they enter the living room.

Offer them a beer.

Continue the jam, to allow the new person to get into the flow with everyone else. Talk about leaving. Have another beer. Discuss the ethics involved in Peter Parker taking pictures of Spider-Man(himself) & passing them off as legitimate, photojournalism, instead of working hard to find news other than himself, and unfairly making bigger bucks than many at The Bugle, who do not happen to have superheroe alter egos which they can exploit for personal monetary purposes. This always escalates into a heated debate.

Then Paul comes home.

"HeeeeeeeeeY Paul!"

"HeeeeeeeeeeeY!! Wow! So, what's going on?"

Fill Paul in on the plan.

Now, at this point a few things can happen. It's too late, so enough people start not really feeling like going, for everyone to decide we should just go to the packy (liquor store--abreviated from package store--the package being booze that was discreetly wrapped to avoid the shame that would result if anyone saw you with that Bottled Beelzebub). The mere mention of beer instantaneously mobilizes everyone simultaneously in a military like fashion that would make any general proud. With the precision of a fleet of F-14's maneuvering in and out of an area they are attacking, we get our coats on, finish beers, put them on the table, turn of the music, and the lights make a bee-line for the door.

If that is not the case, and we do manage to escape the timeless grasp of the good time groove that swirls in the living room. First everyone goes to the bathroom. One at a time, each person goes into the bathroom, and then progresses one room closer to the door, my bedroom, which is also an art studio, and a hallway. Gradually conversation begins to build in my room as we wait for the remaining few to finish. They finish. The conversation fades out, and we head for the door. Someone inevitably needs to run up to the third floor for something. Everyone else hangs out on the porch, and spills out on to the walk way. We wait for like ten minutes, and one of us gets annoyed, and runs to the door to yell, "What the hell you dooooin', your mother never takes this long!" This is promptly responded to with "That's cuz she fakes it with you." and they both leave the porch to catch up to the group who have moved 10ft. to stand in the middle of the street.

10 minutes are spent discussing who's going in which car.

And we're off!!! Just as soon as we hit a bank machine, and the Exxon, for coffee, gas, juice, and/or cigarettes. Then we're off!!

Well Mike, and all you other RusselLovers, that's how you get ANYWHERE from 8 Russell! And Mike, I hope you found Woburn...Oh and, Nice suit!

Suits are keen, Grass is green, This ends another issue of our magazine.

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If there's anything you were ever curious about, just.. Ask 8 Russell. Please submit all questions to one (or more) of the following e-mail addresses: bordenca@healthtech.com, charlwoo@ccs.neu.edu, blueberry420@hotmail.com, jonbrookfield@hotmail.com, matthewgoulet@hotmail.com or juggling@hotmail.com.

If you would like to be put on the Ask 8 Russell mailing list, please e-mail charlwoo@ccs.neu.edu. Include a short biography and a picture.

The snapping turtle eats carrion and is used by police to find dead bodies in lakes, ponds and swamps.