By Matthew Malburg

Let me start by saying that I understand how strong a word hate is. Some very horrible things have happened in human history because of this word. On most occasions, I completely avoid using the word, instead opting for softer versions like scorn, dislike, irk, blood boiling, etc.

So you understand just how I feel when I say: I hate Boston.

I’m at the point now where I can’t say the word Boston with feeling the disgust in my voice. The word itself rolls off my tongue with such disdain that you might think I’m a violent person. I can assure you that I’m not, but there is definitely something about Boston that strikes a few nerves.

There are so very few things to like about this city. It’s easy to start with the Bruins, as they beat our beloved Sabres last night to eliminate us from this year’s Stanley Cup playoffs. My feelings with the Bruins go back to the days of the Adams Division when our teams battled through many playoff matchups. Even then, it seemed like the Bruins were always dirty players.

It’s even easier to feel anger with the Patriots, who somehow managed to win so much that the rest of the NFL starting putting them #1 on the most disliked franchise list. There is the hooded monster that shrouds his face in shadow, yet still somehow manages to show the grin throughout. The deal-with-the-devil golden boy Brady.

I could talk about the Red Sox too. As I’m a Yankees fan, it should be easy for you to understand my feelings about the baseball team.

Then there are the fans. Some of the most obnoxious, bandwagon-riding fans in all the country. Most of them are so ill informed about the games they are watching that it’s impossible to hold a conversation with them.

But this hatred transcends sports. It goes much deeper. I feel that there is an elitist attitude from many people in Boston that really gets under my skin. I’ve sensed it every time that I’ve been there. A sort of holier-than-thou mentality that permeates through the entire population.

In looking back through history, I can’t seem to find anything good that has come out of Boston since the Tea Party. You could say the Kennedy family, but I’m a Republican, so you can throw that one out. You might say that the show “Cheers” was based on Boston, but that show was simply fiction, so it doesn’t count either.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is something glowing about the city, the sports teams or the people that someone will bring to my attention and completely change my point of view. Or maybe, you have been nodding your head this whole time and know in your heart that when the apocalypse comes, it will start in Boston.

By Matthew Malburg

In case you haven’t heard or stopped by our office in the last month, we painted. It was a good process to determine which walls were going to be accented, and now I love the look around here.

There was a blah type feeling when looking around the office when we first moved in. We tried to bring some color with us in the form of artwork and our guest chairs, but we still couldn’t shake the feeling. More color and life was needed. So Dion went about working with an interior designer to choose the right walls and colors. Tod refined the plan and I hired the painters.

Finally, on Saturday, September 19, I met the painting crew at our offices at an imprudently early hour so that I could let them in, oversee the work and make sure the job was completed to our specs. Overall, it was my opportunity to play production manager for a day. I was excited, because my office would also be painted. So I moved my things to another workstation for the day and really cranked while I let them paint.

So, to make a long story a little shorter, when they finished and I went back into my office, I found my iPod was not where I had left it. I wore it to the office that day, put it in my desk, and left it there while I worked at another station for the day. Poof went the iPod. Must have disappeared, because no one ever saw it again (or so they claimed).

The story has a happy ending though. The painting company agreed to allow us to short pay the bill, and so now I have a new iPod on the way.

The moral of the story, for those not paying attention, is to never, ever come to work on a Saturday.

[View with PicLens]

By Matthew Malburg

This past Saturday, I ran in my first competitive race. The 5K (3.1 mile) run around South Park Lake started at 10 a.m., and the day quickly became the most grueling, awful and yet exhilarating day in years. Just completing the race was an accomplishment for myself.

This all started one year earlier as I sat on the sidelines watching my sister and niece run this same race. I witnessed their accomplishment and decided that I wanted to be more like my sister. I told her that I would lose some weight and get myself in enough shape to run the race with her in 2009.

For those who have never run in a race before, let me tell you briefly what it was like for a first timer. We checked in about an hour before hand, and started the pre-race stuff (getting our runner numbers, stretching, etc). We gathered near the starting line a few minutes before 10. It was cold. We all got bunched up at the starting line for the start, and then we were off. A large patch of ice covering the road from side to side, and about 10 feet long covered the road about 50 yards after we started, so all the runners veered onto the grass almost immediately after we started. I nearly fell, but once we were back on the road, the crowd thinned. I could see the runners breaking away, and the rest of the crowd started setting their own pace.

I held my pace as long as I could, and walked when necessary. In the end, I know that I was running more than half, but not quite three quarters of the time. The last half mile felt like running in water. My legs were tired, my shins hurt, and my brain kept saying things like “Why in the hell am I doing this again?”

I was fortunate to have my sister and niece (pictured to my left) and TMG’s own Jim Lynch (standing on my right) running in the race, and encouraging me throughout the final leg. In fact, the last 100 yards or so had all three of them practically yelling at/for me to cross the finish line as best as I could. And I’m proud to say that somehow I was able to summon some
strength to cross that finish line at a full-out run.

That is when the questions that were running in my head were answered. The feeling inside when I crossed that line are difficult to explain. Exhilaration is about as close as I can come.

The post race party was in the Botanical Gardens, where our photo was taken. There are some photos of us actually running, but I like this one because the others do not have the huge smiles that you see here.

By Matthew Malburg

I’m currently reading book five of “The Dark Tower” series from Stephen King. Seven books total in the series. Except not really just seven. Sure, there are seven books in this tale of “Roland of Gilead,” but there’s more too.

In Roland’s travels, he goes to places that tie into other Stephen King books, and meets characters from other King books. Specific individuals, as well as groups. At times during this series, I have felt like King is attempting to link every single piece of work that he ever wrote. I know that’s not the case, but there are more than a few variations.

As I continue to read this series, these story overlaps and continuations are forcing me to re-evaluate my previous understanding of some of his other works. Reassess to the point where I am considering reading nearly my entire King collection again.

This series has helped to explain some of the underlying questions that lingered somewhere in the back of my brain after I finished reading so many of those novels. “Hearts in Atlantis,” in particular, has so much more appreciation to me now. This will probably be the first book that I re-read of his.

So, I guess this ramble is meant to encourage anyone who is a Stephen King fan to start reading the tale of “Roland the Gunslinger.” It’s a very longwinded story, but well worth the time spent, as many of King’s works are.