Thursday, April 3, 2008

Nobody wants to be Art

Dear world,

Please bear with me while I rant:

At times, Bostonians just bug. For a myriad of reasons besides the obvious that Boston is a city that is unbearably full of itself, albeit justifiably. Seriously, I think every noteworthy occurrence in colonial America and beyond happened in Massachusetts. From Plymouth Rock to John Adams to America's Independence to the Kennedys, its prominence in the Education, science, etc. etc. everything is in frigging Massachusetts. So the smugness, fine. Deserved.

But recently, Bostonians took their self-importance to a whole new level. Bostonians are extremely proud of the city's homegrown talent… its actors, teachers, athletes, scientists, etc. etc. And of course, their mascots (think New York city's naked cowboy). Here, we have the homeless (perhaps a bit crazy) man that rides his bicycle through the city, and late at night, screaming at the top of his lungs, making only one repetitive and drawn out sound... And recently, one homeless mascot, Mr. Butch, died in Boston’s Allston. And thousands of people showed up for his funeral. Mourning his loss. And there was a parade in his honor. And so I snapped (okay, semi-snapped). That many people cared about that man, they show up for a press-worthy funeral (and yes, it was covered everywhere)... The who's who of Boston showed up for this funeral, glitterati from far and wide was present, there may have been a red carpet or two (okay... I exaggerate)... YET, this man WAS homeless. Why didn't you help him while he was alive? I mean. All the thousands of people who came for his funeral... what? You each didn't have a dollar to spare to get the man off the streets? To prevent his eventual death from homelessness or whatever mental ailment he had?

Boston bugs. Just. Bugs. And so does that Deyn model girl. Whose 20-foot photo adorns the Burberry storefront and assaults my senses each time I walk by.

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