Boston Slang: A Survival Guide for Anyone Visiting the Hub

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Boston has its own rhythm, its own attitude, and absolutely its own vocabulary. After fifty years in New England, I’ve learned that half the fun of living here is listening to the way people talk—and the other half is watching tourists try to decode it. So if you’re planning a trip to the Hub, or you’ve ever wondered why a Bostonian told you to “bang a U‑ey” near the “packie,” this one’s for you.

🗣️ Everyday Bostonisms

Boston slang isn’t just words—it’s a whole personality. These are the phrases you’ll hear before you’ve even finished your first Dunkin’ coffee.

  • Wicked — the Swiss Army knife of intensifiers. Wicked cold, wicked good, wicked late.
  • Bang a U‑ey — make a U‑turn, usually in a place that does not officially allow U‑turns.
  • Clicker — the TV remote.
  • Packie — the liquor store, not a package drop-off.
  • The T — the subway system, even though half of it is buses.
  • Kid — a friendly greeting, even if the person is 47 and wearing a suit.

Boston English is less about grammar and more about attitude. If it sounds like it should be shouted across a parking lot, it probably is.

🚗 Driving & Directions

Boston driving is a sport, a tradition, and occasionally a test of faith. The slang reflects that.

  • Storrowed — when a truck hits a low bridge on Storrow Drive. Happens every September like clockwork.
  • The Pike — the Massachusetts Turnpike.
  • Southie, Dot, Eastie — South Boston, Dorchester, East Boston.
  • The Big Dig — the tunnel project we’re still complaining about twenty years later.

If you can navigate Boston without GPS, congratulations—you’re officially a local.

🍽️ Food & Drink Terms

Boston’s food vocabulary is its own little universe.

  • Frappes — milkshakes with ice cream.
  • Jimmies — chocolate sprinkles.
  • Hoodsie — those little ice cream cups with the wooden spoon.
  • Steamers — soft-shell clams.
  • Scrod — whatever white fish the restaurant has that day.

If you order a “milkshake” expecting ice cream, that’s on you. Boston warned you.

🧥 Weather & Clothing

The weather here has personality, so of course the language does too.

  • Nor’easter — a storm that shuts down everything except Dunkin’.
  • Tennis shoes — any athletic shoe, regardless of sport.
  • Mud season — the fifth New England season between winter and spring.

nor’ easter

If someone says “wicked windy,” just grab a jacket and don’t ask questions.

🏙️ Attitude & Local Flavor

This is where Boston really shines.

  • Pissa — amazing, awesome, top‑tier.
  • Smaht — smart, usually said sarcastically.
  • Skeevy — sketchy or gross.
  • No big whoop — not a big deal.

Boston slang is blunt, efficient, and usually delivered with a side of dry humor.

🧭 Place Names Tourists Always Butcher

If you can pronounce these correctly, you’ve earned honorary Boston status.

  • Worcester — WUSS‑tah
  • Gloucester — GLOSS‑tah
  • Peabody — PEE‑buh‑dee
  • Haverhill — HAY‑vrill
  • Leicester — LEST‑ah
  • Copley — COP‑lee
  • Faneuil — FAN‑yul

If you pronounce them phonetically, don’t worry—locals will correct you before you finish the word.

Final Thoughts

Boston slang is more than vocabulary—it’s a cultural handshake. It’s the sound of Red Line delays, Dunkin’ drive‑thrus, and neighbors yelling across triple‑deckers. It’s sharp, funny, and proudly unique, just like the city itself.

And if you ever get confused, just remember: when in doubt, it’s probably wicked something.

 

Adventures with Xfinity-the Company We Love to Hate

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📱 “The Day Xfinity Tried to Steal My Identity… and My Sanity”

Or: Whatever Happened to My Quiet Life of Retirement?

🚨 When Retirement Peace Meets Corporate Chaos

I used to think retirement meant quiet mornings, hot coffee, and maybe a little drama from the neighborhood squirrels. Instead, I’ve apparently entered the Witness Protection Program without being told — courtesy of Xfinity.

You’d think a giant company with more money than God would have safeguards. And I don’t mean my safeguards — I’ve got those covered. I’m practically Fort Knox with bifocals.

  • Security software? Check.
  • Two‑step verification? Check.
  • Biometric login? Check.
  • Phone that locks faster than a toddler grabbing your glasses? Check.
  • Password changes so frequent I forget who I am? Double check.

And yet… I still got scammed.

💸 The Email That Started the Spiral

It began innocently enough: an email claiming my autopayment was declined. There was a link to “fix it.” And because Medicare resets everything in January — copays, deductibles, my will to live — I thought, Well, maybe I did hit the limit.

So I clicked.

Then the form asked for information Xfinity already has. That’s when my inner Sherlock Holmes woke up. I called Xfinity (after wrestling with their RVI/AI/OMG system) and finally reached a human who confirmed my balance was zero.

Phishing. Classic. I ignored the emails after that.

But the scammers didn’t ignore me.

📞 The Fake Phone Calls Begin

Suddenly someone “from Xfinity” started calling to offer me a new phone. I told them no. Repeatedly. Firmly. With the kind of tone that makes telemarketers rethink their life choices.

Then one morning… no phone service.

📵 The Morning My Phone Went Dark

I opened my laptop to a flood of emails — all from an Xfinity address I’d never seen. Not even the email I use with them. Apparently, when I didn’t respond to the main one, they dug up my recovery email like digital archaeologists.

According to the half‑dozen messages, my phone line had been disconnected and my number reassigned.

Steam. Ears. You get the picture.

I grabbed my ID and made a beeline to the Xfinity store. If someone was pretending to be me, I was ready to prove I was the original model.

🏃‍♀️ The Xfinity Store Adventure

I arrived so early the store wasn’t even open yet. At 10 a.m., I joined the line of other poor souls seeking tech salvation.

A rep took my phone, then called over a supervisor. They huddled like surgeons over a patient. I was offered a seat — not to relax, but so I couldn’t see or hear a thing. Comforting.

After an hour of tapping, muttering, and whatever dark magic they practice back there, they canceled the fraudulent number and reinstated mine. Then they scanned my ID.

No explanation. No apology. Just “You’re all set.”

Sure. Until tomorrow, apparently.

📬 Guess What Showed Up the Next Morning?

Another batch of scam emails.
Another fake “You didn’t pay your bill” message.
Another attempt to set up a new phone number.

My actual balance? Zero.
My reaction? “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

I feel like I’m stuck on a merry‑go‑round I never bought a ticket for.

At this point, I’m starting to think the only way off this merry‑go‑round is to switch carriers entirely. Maybe I’ll send Xfinity a postcard from my new provider — assuming they don’t intercept that too.

🙋‍♀️ Has Anyone Else Survived This Circus?

Because at this point, I’m convinced the scammers are more persistent than my high school gym teacher — and he once chased me around the track with a stopwatch.

If you’ve been through this, tell me your story. Misery loves company… and maybe someone out there has the secret to getting off this Xfinity roller coaster.

 

New England vs the World- a Linguistic Nightmare

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New England Just Can’t Get With the Rest of the World

Or: Why Ordering a Simple Drink Can Feel Like a Pop Quiz

The Goulash That Started It All

A few days ago, I mentioned the great Massachusetts goulash mystery — how my simple mix of hamburger, tomatoes, and macaroni somehow shares a name with a paprika-heavy Hungarian stew, a baked casserole, and something called American Chop Suey. After fifty years in New England, you’d think I’d have the naming conventions down.

But no. Because if there’s one thing New England loves, it’s doing things its own way. And that includes what we call everyday foods and drinks.

Tonic, Soda, Pop… and Now “Soft Drink”

Ask for a soda in most of the country and you’ll get a Coke, a Pepsi, or whatever fizzy thing you’re after.

Ask for a tonic in New England and you might get a raised eyebrow — unless you’re talking to someone over 60, in which case they’ll hand you a Pepsi without blinking.

Meanwhile, pop is strictly a Midwest thing. If you say “pop” in Massachusetts, people will assume you’re talking about your father, not your beverage.

And then there’s soft drink, the polite, slightly formal cousin that sounds like it belongs in a 1950s diner or a doctor’s office. Technically it means any non‑alcoholic carbonated drink, but around here it’s more of a background character than a star.

So the full New England beverage glossary now looks like this:

  • Soda — the modern default
  • Tonic — the old-school Massachusetts classic
  • Soft drink — the formal, old-fashioned option
  • Pop — something your father is called, not something you drink

A newcomer doesn’t stand a chance.

The Frappe vs. Milkshake Debate (Now Featuring Smoothies)

This one still gets me.

In most of the country, a milkshake has ice cream. Thick, creamy, slurp-it-through-a-straw-if-you’re-lucky ice cream.

In New England?
Nope.

  • A milkshake is just flavored milk.
  • A frappe (pronounced frap, not frap-pay) is what the rest of the world calls a milkshake — because it actually has ice cream in it.
  • A smoothie is the healthy overachiever of the group — fruit, yogurt, ice, maybe spinach if you’re feeling virtuous. It sounds like it should be in the same category, but it absolutely is not.

So yes, you can order a chocolate milkshake here and get something the consistency of chocolate milk. And yes, it still surprises me.

The Grinder vs. Sub vs. Hoagie Situation

If you’re new to New England and someone offers you a grinder, don’t panic — it’s not a tool, it’s lunch.

  • Grinder — New England
  • Sub — Most of the U.S.
  • Hoagie — Philadelphia
  • Hero — New York

Same sandwich. Four names. Zero agreement.

Sneakers? Nope. We Wear “Tennis Shoes.”

Even if we haven’t touched a tennis court since the Nixon administration, New Englanders will still call all athletic shoes tennis shoes.

Running shoes, walking shoes, cross-trainers — doesn’t matter. They’re tennis shoes.

Rotaries, Not Roundabouts

Everywhere else: roundabout.
New England: rotary, and we drive through them like we’re trying to qualify for the Indy 500.

Tourists approach them with fear. Locals approach them with misplaced confidence. No one uses a blinker.

Wicked Good, Wicked Cold, Wicked Everything

“Wicked” is our universal intensifier.

  • Wicked cold
  • Wicked good
  • Wicked fast
  • Wicked expensive

It works for everything except actual wickedness.

Bubbler vs. Water Fountain

This one’s more Rhode Island and parts of Massachusetts, but it still counts.

A bubbler is a drinking fountain.
If you ask where the water fountain is, you’ll get directions.
If you ask where the bubbler is, you’ll get respect.

Jimmies vs. Sprinkles

Chocolate sprinkles?
In New England, they’re jimmies.

Rainbow sprinkles are still sprinkles, but chocolate ones get their own name. Why? No one knows. It just is.

Package Store vs. Liquor Store

If someone tells you they’re “running to the packie,” they’re not mailing a package — they’re buying wine.

A package store is a liquor store.
A packie run is a perfectly respectable Saturday errand.

Final Thoughts

New England is full of charm, contradictions, and linguistic curveballs. Whether it’s goulash that isn’t goulash, milkshakes that aren’t milkshakes, or rotaries that strike fear into the hearts of tourists, we like things the way we like them — even if the rest of the world disagrees.

Brought to You by Banner & Balboa: Two Professional Nappers

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cat curled up napping after losing an hour to Daylight Saving Time

National Napping Day: The Holiday We Actually Need After the Time Change

If you’ve been following along here on Around Dusty Roads, you know I’ve spent the past week or so grumbling, musing, and generally side‑eyeing Daylight Saving Time. And now that we’ve all “sprung forward” and lost an hour of sleep we never agreed to give up, it’s only fair that today brings us a little mercy.

Enter National Napping Day — the unofficial, absolutely essential holiday that arrives the Monday after the time change. In 2026, that’s today, March 9.

Honestly? This might be the most sensible holiday on the calendar.

Why Today Exists (And Why We Deserve It)

National Napping Day was created back in 1999 by a Boston University professor and his wife — which feels very on‑brand for New England. Only here would someone look at a population of overtired, cranky, sleep‑deprived people and say, “You know what? Let’s make this official.”

The idea was simple:
We lose an hour.
We feel awful.
We should nap.

Science backs them up. Even a short 20‑minute nap can boost alertness, improve mood, and help counteract the grogginess that hits hard after the clocks jump ahead.

And here’s a little personal observation: since retiring, I nap almost every day. It’s become one of the unexpected perks of this new chapter. And no — it doesn’t mess with my nighttime sleep. My bladder and the cats take care of that all on their own. If anything, the nap is the most predictable part of my sleep schedule.

Honestly, if humans took their cues from cats, we’d all be better rested. Banner and Balboa nap with the confidence of creatures who know they’re right.

 

 

A Few Fun Napping Facts

  • A quick nap can improve reaction time and reduce fatigue‑related accidents.
  • Napping helps regulate emotions (which explains why I’m less likely to yell at the microwave afterward).
  • Some cultures have been napping for centuries — the siesta is practically an art form.
  • Even Charlemagne was a napper. If it’s good enough for an emperor…
  • And of course, cats nap up to 16 hours a day. Banner and Balboa would like it noted that they are professionals and we should follow their lead.

How to Celebrate (Spoiler: The Cats Already Know)

  • Find a quiet spot between 1–3 p.m.
  • Set a timer for 10–20 minutes so you don’t wake up wondering what century it is.
  • Dark room, cozy blanket, maybe a weighted eye mask if you’re feeling fancy.
  • If you can’t nap, even closing your eyes for a few minutes helps reset your brain.
  • Or — and hear me out — take a page from the cats. Banner warms his butt on the stove when the oven’s on, Balboa curls up in a glass bowl like he’s auditioning for “Cat Tetris,” and both of them nap anywhere, anytime, without apology. They give National Napping Day their full stamp of approval.

Bonus tip: Try a “coffee nap” — drink a little caffeine right before your nap. By the time you wake up, the caffeine kicks in. It’s like a cheat code for adulthood.

Banner’s got the mug. He’s just waiting for the nap to kick in.

Cat‑Approved Napping

I have plenty of photographic proof that naps are not only acceptable but strongly encouraged in this household. Banner and Balboa are champion nappers — bed, couch, sunny patch on the floor, glass bowl, you name it. If there’s a soft surface (or even a hard one), they’re on it, asleep, living their best lives.

So if you need permission to take a nap today, just look at these two. They’ve given National Napping Day their official stamp of approval — and they take their roles very seriously.

 

Bottom Line

If Daylight Saving Time took something from you, National Napping Day is here to give a little back. So whether you curl up with a cat, stretch out on the couch, or sneak a quick snooze in your favorite chair, consider it your civic duty.

Just ask Banner and Balboa — champions of the mid‑morning, mid‑afternoon, and “just because” nap. They’ve been training for this holiday their whole lives.

Endorsed by the Feline Nap Authority

 

The Iditarod: A Tale of Compassion and Heroism

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 How Long It Lasts, Why It Exists, and Why It Still Captures Our Imagination

Every March, as New England is deciding whether to roar like a lion or bleat like a lamb, Alaska is gearing up for something far more dramatic: the start of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. It’s one of those events that feels half‑myth, half‑modern sport, and if you’ve ever wondered how long it actually takes to cross Alaska by dog team, the answer is… longer than you think, but shorter than you’d expect.

Let’s dig in.

Denali🕰️ So How Long Does the Iditarod Last?

Most mushers complete the 1,000‑mile journey from Anchorage to Nome in 8–15 days.

  • The front‑runners often arrive in about 8–9 days.
  • The middle of the pack usually finishes around 10–12 days.
  • The Red Lantern — the final finisher — typically comes in around 13–15 days, sometimes a bit more depending on weather and trail conditions.

And weather is no small thing. This is Alaska in March. One day it’s clear and sparkling; the next it’s a whiteout where you can’t see your own dog team. The trail crosses mountains, frozen rivers, sea ice, and long stretches of nothing but wind and snow. It’s beautiful, brutal, and unforgettable.

🎉 Why There’s a Start… and Then a Restart

This is one of my favorite quirks of the race.

The Iditarod actually begins twice:

The Ceremonial Start — Anchorage

Held on the first Saturday in March, this is the fun, festive kickoff. Crowds line the streets, kids get autographs, and the dogs are practically vibrating with excitement. It’s a short, slow run — more parade than race — and it gives spectators a chance to see the mushers up close.

The Official Restart — Willow

On Sunday, the teams head north to Willow, where the real race begins. This is where the clock starts ticking and the wilderness takes over. Anchorage is a city; Willow is the gateway to the interior. It’s the difference between a celebration and a thousand‑mile test of endurance.

🩺 The History: A Race Born From a Medical Emergency

The Iditarod may be a modern sporting event, but its roots go back to one of the most dramatic rescue missions in American history.

In the winter of 1925, a diphtheria outbreak threatened the remote town of Nome. The only way to get life‑saving serum there was by dog team — over hundreds of miles of frozen wilderness. More than 20 mushers and around 150 dogs relayed the medicine across Alaska in what became known as the Great Serum Run.

Balto

Two dogs became legends:

  • Balto, who led the final team into Nome
  • Togo, who led the longest and most dangerous leg of the journey

Togo

Both were heroes. Both saved lives. And their courage is the spiritual backbone of today’s Iditarod.

The race we watch now isn’t a reenactment, but it honors that history — the grit, the teamwork, and the bond between musher and dog.

❄️ A Personal Note: My Own Dog‑Sledding Adventure

When I visited Alaska in 2013, I had the chance to go dog sledding myself. Let me tell you — those dogs live for it. The moment the musher picked up the brake, the team practically levitated. They weren’t just ready to run; they were begging for it.

It gave me a whole new appreciation for the Iditarod. You can read about it, you can watch it, but until you feel that sled glide over the snow behind a team of eager dogs, you don’t quite understand the magic.

🐕 What Kind of Dogs Run the Iditarod?

Forget the movie‑poster Siberian huskies. Most Iditarod dogs are Alaskan huskies — a mixed breed developed specifically for endurance, intelligence, and love of running.

A few things people are often surprised to learn:

  • These dogs are born to run. It’s not just instinct — it’s joy.
  • They sleep curled up in the snow because it’s comfortable for them.
  • Their coats are so insulating that snow often doesn’t melt on their fur.
  • They eat like Olympic athletes because… they are.

If you’ve ever worried that sled dogs are pushed too hard, watching them at the start line will cure you of that. The challenge isn’t getting them to run — it’s getting them to wait.

🌌 Why the Iditarod Still Matters

It’s more than a race.
It’s history, wilderness, teamwork, and tradition.
It’s a reminder that even in a world of satellites and smartphones, there are still places where nature sets the rules.

And for a few weeks every March, we get to watch humans and dogs take on one of the last great adventures.