Because this place needs another regular feature, I’m here, every Friday afternoon, to tell you that what you drink sucks. Being married to an Italian can be fantastic. The food is amazing. The scenery, when in Italy rather than on Mott St. or in the North End, can be breathtaking. The language, the art … seriously, it’s a good deal, even without considering the individual Italian with whom I chose to spend the time before she decides to divorce me. The drinking, however. If you’re not careful, you can find yourself beyond sauced before the bruschetta shows...
Continue reading...ghost
1,000 lawyers in a deep sea trench…
I think I’d like to make basketball the subject of my inaugural post. You see, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the negotiations leading up to agreeing on a new collective bargaining agreement. There a lot of points of contention, lots of issues to be hashed out, but the gist of it is that the owners are feeling pinched by decreased revenues owing to the recession, and are looking to cut their personnel costs. This, to sort of stop before I even start, is total nonsense, see here. But what’s interesting to me is the owner...
Continue reading...Crack Rock or a Jump Shot
In the school where I work, there’s a fifth grader who wears a Notorious B.I.G. jacket. There are a few staff who covet it. Though I don’t say anything, I’m one of them. The boy is 11. Biggie Smalls died 13 years ago, today. He doesn’t know anything about Biggie. Couldn’t name an album or even a track, couldn’t give me any 16 bars, let alone 16 Bars. I want to talk about it with him, to school him on Biggie, to get on his level in a way I can’t with their hip-hop idols. God knows...
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