Well, the clouds of course.  The clouds:

My attempt at comic book titling.  My attempt at illustrating said comic book in my own particular style.

First is the diamond buried deep inside a secret location:

And other fine jewels:

Evil forces overtake the city, as Captain Bostonia attempts to safely hide the jewels from marauders.  The evil doers turn Boston into this:

The Green Line is the world’s worst train.  Now let me just clarify that I am not your average user of public transportation.  I am what they call in the business “a heavy user.”  Not only do I remember every train line I’ve ever taken, but I remember its ups and its downs. In New York it was this train called the “4,5,6.”  In New York, because they are different, they trains have numbers and not colors like in the rest of the world.  This train wasn’t evil in and of itself.  It was just where it was taking me that was kind of a bit evil.  And that’s all I’ll say about that.

When I lived in Washington, I took the orange, yellow and blue trains.  None of them ever gave me particular trouble and I very quickly figured out why.  Where I boarded was not the central stop, so I could always get a seat.  Standing next to me was the same guy every single day.  He had this polished newscaster look about him.  Then I saw him at a White House briefing.  Then I saw him on the television and under him it said “Terry Moran.”  Now when I watch the State of the Union address comes on in January, I yell at the screen “Terry, remember ME?”  But  he never responds….  I bet Googlers are going to come over here looking for him from now on. Anyway, me and Terry used to ride the rails together, whilst I read my Vanity Fair and dreamt of a day when my photos would be featured on its pages.  And then the train would go into the clouds.  No, I’m totally being serious.  As the blue line approached the airport, we went into the clouds.  It was kind of wonderful.

Now we get to the Green Line.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I love Boston.  I mean this is a city that doesn’t do anything to promote itself, is home to discount stores, hamburger places and lots of CVSs.  What’s not to love?  Not to mention, once a year, Bostonians elect to dress up as cheese and run 26.2 miles.  But the Green Line, would that I could muster up one nice thing to say about you.  Its the line itself.  It is set up in the wrong way.  Nobody ever gets off that damn train.  No one.  People get on in the later reaches of the B, C, and D line and don’t get off until the center of Boston.  Nobody gets off on the stops in between, so the train is packed round the clock, rush hour or not.  And the trains are tiny.  It seems like Boston calculated how many people took the Green Line in 1924 or thereabout and said “yeah, that’s about right.”  And that was it.  There is no such thing as a scheduled express train or even a schedule for that matter.  You wait.  It lumbers.  You groan.  You get on.  If there’s a seat, you grab for it for dear life and then you read your book.  That my friends is the green line, in essence.

So when I saw these signs at a Green Line stop, I felt like I wasn’t alone in my assessment of this “jewel”:

No, I’m totally kidding.  But a couple of days ago, I visited a place called Adams House in Quincy.  It is the birthplace and later home of John Adams and John Quincy Adams (POTUS 2 and POTUS 6).  POTUS 2 couldn’t speak French, so at 10 years old, POTUS 6 learned French (and about a gazillion other languages) to help out his dad.  I wanted to take a photo of the drawing of the real John Quincy Adams when he was 10, but the US Parks Service threatened to take my citizenship away if I did that.  No, not really.  But through some interneting I found the picture I wanted.

So ladies and gentlemen, our US ambassador to the Netherlands:

Yup.  He was tiny and so is the painting.  But there you have it.

Well, at least it looks sleepy in these photos:

Actually, two centuries back, nearly three:

No, I mean its not like I could ever do anything this good with good old fashioned slides.  But they look like slides, eh?: