Recently, I've been living in Boston. This could be a very exploratory post, so take it one bite at a time. Obviously I'm nostolgic. Posting the F.A.T. was clearly a look back into what I consider "the glory days." It's just like winning one for the Gipper, except George Gipp is really Leo Guyotte. This is what inextricably brings me back to FV, time and time again. Sure, I've had my criticisms - we've gotten some morons on the gripe corner, I used to argue with Dr. Bones* because he took a more progressive political outlook than I did, local hooligans take themselves too seriously, Wobert is the Jesusloving funpolice, etc etc. No one is perfect. I know I can be an enormous tool.



The important thing, though, is that I've been writing this since 2002! That's a long time! A good introspective. Yes, many of my old posts are pure crap, but back in the day they were on the cutting edge. I especially love reading "Hilarious Situations" over again. I'm not sure if it's the line where I say "this is the best party I've been to in months" or the part where I make the assumption that 11:30pm is really really late at night, or maybe just the Gestalt, but in some ways I can hardly believe that was me. Ok, we all know that messing with Nick is really what gave that post its zing. That part is just timeless.

Back to Boston, I was congratulating myself on catching the Green Line just in time when I decided to go adventuring as a toast to my good fortune. Stepping off at Kenmore, I quickly made my way to the party district. I'd been here a few nights before on a trolley with some kids who were dancing it up like they couldn't get anymore. I believe one was wearing a shirt that said "Douchebag not included." Point being, there are about two lounges that are 18+, and this particular night, I was about to get the old Arm in Trout runaround at both of them.

1st place: Filled with punk rockers. Musky odor seeping down the street for at least three blocks. A cranky old woman was outside smoking a cigar and grabbing her crotch in protest of her friend, a gray-haired man with a purple windbreaker, who had, as the woman had apparently just found out, "Voted for Bush." She was trying to call attention to him in a throaty, esophagul rot of a voice. The man kept putting up his hands and saying "Y'know, y'know." Foul. I passed by that basement of stench in no small hurry.

2nd place: Techno music. Mmm. Bright lights. Seemed like everything was going to be all right and I would get to pump up my jam - Not so, children, not so.

I take a step closer and see that the line is all skinheads in wifebeaters and leather pants. Then I see a sign on the door: "Gay Dance Event, 21+"

The bouncer is like "Lol pwnd!!!!eleven"
I'm like "wtf not fair! lag!"

But I knew that I had, in fact, just been owned. Then some gay guys step out of the door. One looks like Eminem and is wearing a shirt that says "Milk". I decided to get the hell out of there.

Back at my retirement community, I amuse myself by reading the vandalism revisions on Wikipedia. This really is the best party I've been to in months.

*In the 80s, we referred to Robbie as "Dr. Bones"

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