tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-250161652011-12-21T12:52:52.147-08:00happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.comBlogger191100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-43866206691182036952011-12-21T12:52:00.001-08:002011-12-21T12:52:52.156-08:00

Maybe you want to ruin Christmas but won't be around to do it. Consider the often-mocked Christmas Newsletter for your vehicle of holiday smear! Have a grudge against a family member? Want to pump yourself up a bit? With a little self-effacing phrasing and a few backhanded compliments, you can craft a newsletter that preemptively ruins Christmas for those who no longer include you in their

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-89864391394066666352011-12-20T07:33:00.000-08:002011-12-20T07:33:01.595-08:00

When my husband and I lived in the North End, we witnessed a Samuri-meet-on-the-bridge situation in which two package-laden businessmen faced off on a narrow sidewalk. Equally matched, neither Samuri was willing to back down. After some grunting, shoulder-bumping, and package-knocking, the men moved past each and each continued on his way. Fifteen feet on, the weaker Samuri revealed himself

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-12168534205499498242011-12-20T07:32:00.000-08:002011-12-20T07:32:03.444-08:00

With Christmas nearly upon us, I ask you all to take a moment to reflect on the proud tradition of The Asshole Who Ruins Christmas, and plan your role accordingly. The Asshole comes in many forms, and although my personal experience is only with Christmas, I believe that he or she can, if truly devoted, ruin any holiday, religious or secular. The Asshole Who Ruins Christmas is one of the

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-60807371445621164862010-01-12T19:01:00.000-08:002010-02-17T08:41:48.415-08:00

I'd originally written this on facebook, but as it's an important topic for many people I am reposting here as a public service: Going on day 9 of "Miss Lucy" [stuck in my head], I've come to believe that the "steamboat" represents Miss Lucy's sexuality, which is why Lucy, despite her depraved acts, goes to heaven, while the steamboat goes to hell. This disconnect of mind and body causes Miss

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-62050789990421354892009-09-04T15:54:00.000-07:002009-09-04T15:54:13.759-07:00

. . . but someone does

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-2257904668131886692009-09-01T07:03:00.000-07:002009-09-01T07:05:28.358-07:00

In Star Wars fashion, "Sweetie" has again taken his/her cryptic ramblings to the only one who will listen -- the Lincoln Street footbridge. Professing a love for "Fang" while describing an attempted double-murder, Sweetie's backwards-written story manages to transform the dramatic into the numbingly banal. When does it end?  In other graffiti news, this scary grar man's visage is now gracing the

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-48356723658098622602009-08-31T18:58:00.001-07:002009-08-31T19:20:12.867-07:00

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-49783617483761387272009-08-31T18:09:00.000-07:002009-08-31T19:20:31.672-07:00

Back in the North End, the oldsters made a garden out of anything they could, utilizing every available space. When, in the 1990s, the city replaced the corroded stone sewer pipes, section by section, the oldsters snuck out in the dead of night and hauled those sections back to their sidewalks, courtyards, alleys, and rooftops to use as planters. Recylcling bins were free and, with a few added

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-87267942686856517312009-08-31T17:21:00.000-07:002009-08-31T19:20:56.161-07:00

It was a lovely day for a ride. The sun was shining, but not too brightly. It was warm, but not hot. A gentle breeze stirred the grasses along the banks of the Charles River. A stately bird stalked the shoreline, his pea-sized brain comprehending only the probability of fish. I was struck by the majesty of the beast, and paused to take some photos. I pondered this prehistoric creature existing

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-2222478619021964412009-08-26T08:31:00.000-07:002009-08-26T17:07:57.170-07:00

Every few years I get a masochistic urge to re-read Mary McCarthy’s The Group, a fictitious account of the lives of a Vassar clique from graduation in 1933 to the death of one of the characters in 1940. I like McCarthy’s writing (Memories of a Catholic Girlhood remains one of my favorite books), but this work is particularly biting and, I think, mean-spirited — and from what I’ve read in

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-55653186236293795152009-06-21T17:28:00.000-07:002009-06-21T17:39:43.363-07:00

Life before noon in Rock City is pleasantly devoid of be-flip-flopped frat boys and their cell phone-wielding female counterparts. Here's a few photos from the other side of the pike:Crusty punks with their dogs.Jaywalker. Nice move, douche. There goes Jack Young!There stays Jack Young.

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-74684262601922085852009-06-21T13:32:00.000-07:002009-06-21T17:23:57.369-07:00

The malodorous sperm trees are in full bloom, releasing their heady bouquet of Bisquick and basement rot into the Allston air. Ailanthus altissima, the Chinese "Tree of Heaven," is the central metaphor of Betty Smith's 1943 classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. The aroma has been described by fans as "peanut-buttery" and by detractors as "cat urine in mushroom soup."As the only decorative element on

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-51438228478186662642009-06-17T18:48:00.000-07:002009-06-18T05:32:53.713-07:00

The first whiff of sperm tree puts me in mind of this time last year when, two months' pregnant, I'd wake at first light to vomit in my new bathroom. And then vomit again because my bathroom looked like something from a cautionary tale about kids turning to prostitution or porn to support a drug habit. But now the bathroom is 3/4 overhauled and the squirming shrimp is a robust baby and I look

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-38823734708507252012009-06-17T18:08:00.000-07:002009-10-28T05:36:51.444-07:00

Cam and I started looking at houses in March 2008. I'd comb the MLS daily for new or previously overlooked listings, crunch the numbers on a mortgage calculator, and confront him with a stack of printouts. "This one looks good," I'd say, "It has a back yard and three bedrooms." "That sounds great," he'd reply, "where is it?" "Somerville." "Oh, I don't want to live in Somerville. Is there anything

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-23721638237296941542009-06-17T17:43:00.000-07:002009-06-17T19:25:21.230-07:00

Finally, a proper duckling sighting. But wait... there's more!Goslings!Hey, fellas, where's the party?I'm sure this isn't corn, but it does give the view a nice post-apocalyptic feel.These determined little guys are making a home on the wretched Cambridge Street bridge in Allston.Amber waves of shit

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-36619335925344390522009-06-12T19:16:00.000-07:002009-06-13T18:25:44.921-07:00

The magical black/retarded genreIN WHICH we discuss movies which feature a magical black and/or mentally impaired characterWHEREAS the plot of these movies centers around the magical (be they actual magic or simply a vague "healing" ability) powers of the character, andWHEREAS these magical powers stem entirely from his or her race or mental defect, andWHEREAS these movies are offensive through

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-5022127390472426012009-06-09T06:34:00.000-07:002009-06-12T11:04:43.414-07:00

IN WHICH we discuss movies of the sort shown in heavy rotation on the Ion channel or other low-level cable television, preferably on a weekday afternoon. WHEREAS the plot of these movies may be successfully gleaned in the span of a 30-second commercial, andWHEREAS these movies typically involve two people who meet and get along fairly well, and WHEREAS said movies may include a rollerskating dog

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-1152889114533108912006-07-14T07:55:00.000-07:002009-06-12T19:56:35.312-07:00

They say that bad things come in threes, so I'm hoping my glimpse of the withered ladyflower and subsequent lemonade-fouling signals a new era of non-digustingness. My other two grossest experiences follow; please keep a pencil at hand, for the purpose of gouging out your eyes.Exiting the T at Haymarket on the Orange line side, I saw a very drunk, very dirty homeless man simultaneously eating and

happy to be madhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00759917419054667734noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25016165.post-1152803563525719202006-07-13T08:04:00.000-07:002009-06-12T19:56:39.737-07:00

why are street vendors so tightly regulated?Dear Mr. DeWolf:I recently happened across your article, "Street Selling," http://www.urbanphoto.net/articles/dewolf-streetvendors.htm . In this piece, you mention the woman who sells lemonade at the corner of Prince and Salem Street in Boston, and her battle to do so without a permit. You celebrate her victory and ask "why are street vendors so tightly

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