Tara’s photos – Bring out your dead

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Benjamin Franklin once said, “Show me your cemeteries, and I will tell you what kind of people you have.”

Nice one, Benny.

While I understand where Mr. Franklin was coming from, to me the concept of cemeteries is an intriguing and somewhat perplexing subject. Why do we bury our dead in such places? What is the point? What is the goal?

Okay, so I can understand the need to bury the bodies of our loved ones to keep them from becoming food for scavengers and to attempt to maintain a certain level of environmental hygiene. And certainly, I am sure, magical mystical reasons were thought up as an excuse for burial in these days of old timey yesteryear. (Silly ancestors make me laugh.) But why not cremate the physical bodies of our loved ones? If at the time of our death, the soul is released up into the sky to hang out with all the other souls or something of that nature, what need would there be to enshrine the corporeal bodies of our friends and family in boxes, to be buried in the ground amongst a sea of other corpses? Are our bodies that important, or even that impressive? Do our physical bodies contain something of our essence, our nature, our personality? Or are we just big hunks of meat that these “souls” live in? Are we big Duracell batteries? When we die, does our energy get released like a power surge? Or like a whimper? Does this energy join up to form a hunk of a bigger energy ball? Who shot JFK? Why do I suddenly feel like a five year old tugging on her daddy’s shirt, asking him, “Why the sky is blue? Where do babies come from? Why are clowns so goddamn terrifying?”

Because they really do scare the bejeezus out of me. Them and Catholic priests.

But I digress.

Anyway, back to my thoughts on the matter at hand. In my mind, the concept of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” seems like an argument for cremation. Or even an argument for burying the bodies of our loved ones directly into the ground, rather than placing their embalmed and made-up bodies (Queer Eye for the Dead Guy?) into borderline impenetrable receptacles which will slow down this process of transformation back into earth. What are we looking to preserve through caskets and crypts and all that jazz? How much money do funeral homes make? Yes, I have seen My Girl, but that didn’t explain jack squat. Some might balk at the idea of burying a loved one’s corpse directly in the ground and envision wild carnivores sniffing out the flesh and digging it up for a meal. Gross, but that’s nature at its finest. However, I really don’t believe that we are currently burying our people in cemeteries because we are terribly concerned about animals devouring them.

And in this strip mall country in which we are living, aren’t cemeteries just a waste of space? Why do we create intricately laid out, crowded fields and parks full of dead people? Don’t get me wrong – in some cities, cemeteries are some of the only open spaces left. And if a field full of dead peeps keeps another Wal-Mart from being built, then so be it (and rock on). And while I understand and subscribe to the concept of memorializing those close to us upon their passing, isn’t a permanent shrine to them a bit … much? Are memories not enough? So, we visit Auntie Ruth’s grave so we can remember her, and while we are placing flowers or hankies or cards or other paraphernalia on her headstone, she is becoming worm food below our feet. Isn’t there a better, classier, not-so-potentially-scary way (note: Thriller?) to celebrate the people whom we love who have passed away than sticking them in the ground amongst the bodies of strangers? Yes, I am aware that strangers are only friends who we haven’t met yet, Reverend … but I am not sure that sunshiny concept applies in particular situation.

By all means, we should remember our loved ones every day, and think back on them with all love and colors of emotion on our human palettes. I just don’t believe that we need cemeteries to do this, or maybe that is just how I operate personally.

So, all of these thoughts raced through my head this past weekend, as I took a stroll through the Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston amidst New England’s fall foliage. Forest Hills, established in 1848, is one of the country’s most historic burial grounds. Sitting on over 275 acres, the site is a park, a museum, an arboretum and an art exhibition all rolled into one. In the midst of this beautiful and yet, well … sorta creepy … landscape, I snapped some photos as I tried to contain my Jack Handy-esque deep thoughts and attempted not to come into contact with any zombies.

So ponder, peruse and enjoy.

Yours in life,

- Tara


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Tara’s photos – Hobo Tara returns

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Hey there, boys and girls!

As you all know, HoboTrashcan has now officially entered the Terrible Twos, kicking and screaming and careening headfirst into the next year. And guess what? I am still a hobo at heart.

When I was originally asked to be the official website girl for HoboTrashcan, I was beside myself. Me? How did they know I was a really a down and dirty vagabond underneath this glamorous exterior? Is it because they noticed that I eat beans out of cans? Or because I classily chug diesel-fuel-smelling vodka from nippy bottles? Or because I keep a switchblade in my back pocket, just in case I need to cut a dude’s ear off for ganking my sleeping bag or bogarting the community bonfire?

All I know is that this hammy chick likes to ride the rails. Thus, in honor of HoboTrashcan’s two-year anniversary, I dug out my camera, donned my best cotton bandana and snapped some photos down at the train yard to show that I am still a Boxcar Betty, hopping trains and bouncing from one boxcar to another.

As always … catch you on the next train to anywhere!

In whiskey we trust.

xoxo
- Tara


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Tara’s photos – Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day parade

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Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day from your favorite hobo babe!

I hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was chock full of drinking, screwing and fighting … well, maybe not fighting in the literal sense, but I spent Sunday pushing my way through a crowd of 850,000 of my closest friends/drinking buddies to witness the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade in South Boston. The parade in South Boston is the second largest in the country, and, in my opinion, the best. I mean, come on, is there a more Irish city in the U.S. than Boston? I think not. This year’s parade honoring Ireland’s patron saint was no exception.

I managed to secure a spot close to the sidelines to watch all of the action. I bopped along as a constant stream of pipe and drum corps, maching bands and assorted local crazies sauntered down the street. There were hot two-stepping cheerleaders, sexy-legged men in a rainbow of tartans, Boston firefighters with cigarettes dangling from their lips and festooned with green beads. I managed to score a few strands of beads myself, and, for the first time in my life, didn’t even have to flash the goods! Which was good, considering the temperature was a balmy 30 degrees, and to use the phrase “a tiddly bit nipply” would be quite the understatement.

The highlight of the parade for me? Waving at the marching league of Storm Troopers, complete with Darth Vader in tow. I swear, Boston has it ALL.

As I spent my afternoon pondering the meaning of life at the bottom of a pint of Guinness, I could only hope that many of you were doing the same. So, enjoy my pictures of the festivities. I wish some of you had been there partying with me, your favorite lush-iously sexy Irish lass.

Cheers!

xoxo
- Tara


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Tara’s photos – Hobo Tara

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You might ask how my obsession with hobos all began.

It all started when I saw a magnificent piece of cinematic history, The Journey of Natty Gann, in 1985, at the tender age of six. I left the theater with popcorn stuck in my teeth and a twinkle in my eye, firmly determined to befriend a wolf and set off on a train ride with John Cusack. Super fun.

Alas, my parental units did not agree with my bright idea (haters!), and dragged me kicking and screaming back to school, forcing me to consume things other than baked beans and hot dogs. They even went so far as to buy me a kitten. A kitten? Do I look like a pussy to you, Mom and Dad? I want a freaking wolf!

Hopes dashed, the years passed and since that time, I have grown a fondness for indoor plumbing and cable television and a permanent address. But I still have the heart of a hobo — I gobble up hot dogs whenever I can, only shower on a semi-regular basis and then there was that glorious afternoon I spent recently in the train yard with those two men, that package of wieners and the video camera … but perhaps that is a story for another day.

Lately I have even contemplated getting some hobo symbols inked on my body, to give hobos the sign that a “kind woman lives here” (a cat) and that I am a “good place for a handout” (a circle with an “x” in the middle). But for some reason my friends even thought that was a bad idea. Haters.

When I was asked to be the official website girl for HoboTrashcan, you can imagine my joy and rapture. How did they know I was a really a hobo, behind this glamourous front? Does it show? All I can say is, this is a match made in heaven. I hope you enjoy my hobo girl pictures … and until next time, catch you on the next train to anywhere!


xoxo
- Tara


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Just Friends – Tara

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Click on a photo to enlarge it or click here to start a slideshow.

Name: Tara
Age: 26
Sign: Aqua-baby

Tara, a self-described “pitbull in platform boots,” is an Amazonian force to be reckoned with. By day, she works in prospect and fund-raising research for a Boston school. By night, this Irish lass is likely to be found pouring back pints in a local dive bar, making out with boys ferociously or hanging out with any number of her hep cat friends. In her free time, she paints, draws, works on musical projects and devises evil schemes to take over the world, one country at a time. It’s a shame Joel doesn’t have a shot in hell with her.

1. How long have you and Joel been friends?

Forever and a day, it seems.

2. What do you think of him?

He’s an amazing guy – cute, smart, total firecracker in the bedroom. I swear. Honest to god.

2b. No, what do you really think of him?

Really? I think he sucks, big time. But don’t tell him I said so.

3. If Joel gave you a gun with three bullets (and Leonardo DiCaprio was already dead), what three celebrities would you shoot and why?

Paris Hilton, so I can stop seeing her smarmy bony ass everywhere – at least if she did something worth being famous for, I might understand it all; Tom Cruise, just to put him out of his misery and Jessica Simpson – get rid of her before her fame slips even more, and she becomes even more of a joke than she already is … and she just makes me want to punch her in the ovaries.

4. What would be the perfect way to spend a day with Joel (assuming he allows you to hang with him)?

Playing shuffleboard and drinking cheap beers.

5. What are five random words that describe Joel?

Awe-inspiring, shiny, ingenious, polished and pink

6. Joel just really pissed you off. You have ten seconds to tell him off. What do you say?

Go suck a Bactrian camel’s dick, Joel.

7. Can Joel borrow five bucks?

Only if he does a little dance for me. And if he pays me back tomorrow.

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