The Worst Place On Earth

To steal a quote from my brother, I have more in common with people in Alabama than I do the people who go out at night in the bars and clubs at Faneuil Hall.

There is a awesomely hilarious website called Get off My Island (link to the right) and as you can see, it deals with riff raff (Guidos) on Long Island. I think it's time we start something similar here in Boston because I almost couldn't believe what I saw a couple weeks ago.

You would think I would know by now. I mean, I really should. But forgive me. I live, shop, eat, and drink in a neighborhood of people similar to me. Melrose High, despite its' lunacy, has people also like me (most specifically Phyllis Dragonas). The people at my Bally's, my friends (despite their horrific fashion sense), and my family all think and act pretty similar to me. They've seen No Country For Old Men, they like Hang me Up To Dry, they shop at Urban Outfitters, they like breakfast places, Starbucks, Anna's burritoes, micro brews, sushi, girls with bangs, t-shirts, assists, Barack Obama, living by the water, Netflix, and roof racks. And they get stuffwhitepeoplelike (or at least they better or they are not going to get that last sentence). So really, maybe I'm the sheltered one. Maybe I'm the one that needs to meet some new people. Maybe I'm the one who needs to get out there and enjoy a little culture.

And so it was a couple of weeks ago that I crossed through Faneuil Hall on my way to the North End. A few steps into Boston's number one tourist destination, I thought that maybe I had fallen down and woken up somewhere else. I felt like Michael Douglas in The Game when he realizes he's in Mexico. Only I thought I was in New Jersey. Or Long Island. Or maybe Revere, Everett, Saugus, Billerica, Methuen, Tewksbury, or even New Hampshire. And for a brief second, I thought I had maybe pulled a Marty McFly and ended up back in 2001 and my Delorean drove right into Waterworks.

But after realizing that none of the above had occured, I put it all together and deduced that I was in Boston. Liberal, progressive, Boston. Home of gay marriages, Harvard Square, Newbury Street, overpriced housing, and The Phoenix. The place where Matt Damon and Ben Affleck grew up. The place that invented Guitar Hero and Rock Band. The place where the DNC was just held and where Barack Obama had his coming out party.

But as I stood on the threshhold of Waterworks- er, Faneuil Hall- I realized that the Boston that I know and love is not the Boston that many people know and love. In fact, as I stood there taking in The Striped Shirt Army (thanks again Mike and Matt!), oggling the blowouts, and tallying up the gold chains and Ed Hardy shirts, I realized that Boston- the city of my people- might be filled with more dislikable people than I ever though imaginable.

I mean, where were the hipsters? Where were the skinny jeans and the Asics? Where were the Chucks, the Western Button downs, the beards (not the chin strap ones either), and the shag hair cuts? Where were the ironic cut off corduroy shorts? Why was I seeing so much gel and so many tribal tatoos? Why did everybody look... like fucking Massholes?!?!?

And then it hit me: Massachusetts is full of Massholes.

With the exception of a few pockets of Boston and a few outlying suburbs (of which Pepperell is not one), the state of Massachusetts is full of lots and lots and lots of absolute, complete, total chuckahs.

Some of you may have heard that I have a strict No New Hampshire Policy, but I am thinking of changing that to a No Past Melrose Policy (might have to be adjusted to Lynnfield) in the North and a No Past South Boston Policy for the south. But given some of the ass clowns down there, I might have to make that policy in the south a No Past Chinatown Policy.

Now I know. I am sounding like a complete and total snob/poseur/elitist/pompous douche but I really don't like Massholes. Especially when they are guys.

I don't like the Yeah Dude thing, I don't like The LA Looks styled hair, I don't like the white hats, I don't like untucked striped button downs, and I definitely don't like guys who want to get in fights. I used to think that Massachusetts women were way classier than the dudes and to an extent, I still definitely do. But while Masshole Chicks are certainly more fashionable (thanks Forever 21, for making inexpensive rip offs of the clothing from The Hills and Gossip Girls) and less outdated than their male counterparts, they are often not much better, what with their love of guys who wear white Polo hats. They can be just as Massholey and have you ever really listened to the Boston accent on a woman? You know, that really thick South Shore/North Shore one? It sure ain't good.

I realize that some of this may be chalked up to my age. Perhaps I'm becoming wiser to such ridiculousness. perhaps I was a lot more like the aforementioned dudes when I was 23. Perhaps I'm just morphing into a salty curmudgeon.

But what I do know is that I never liked Faneuil Hall. I never liked The Rack or The Purple Shamrock and while I did spend my fair share of nights at Three Floors of Whores, I do know that I always preferred the Burren.

And so as I stood in stunned silence trying to take the collection of Massholes stnading before me, I realized that Boston is just too small. It's too close to the suburbs and there is literally no other "city" to go for almost an hour in any direction. While Providence, Worcester, and Portsmouth are all fun, are you really driving to those places if you live in Wilmington, Burlington, Tewksbury, Reading, Dedham, or Hingham? No, you're not and so the only place you have to go is Boston. And since the only place you know is Faneuil Hall, then you are all going to end up in the same place. Fanueil Hall is like the Masshole Perfect Storm. It's a combination of every suburb within a fifteen mile radius and all the little subcultures that each of these suburbs bring. It's Hollister, Uggs with a denim skirt, over sized button downs, baggy jeans, tilted hats, bad tatoos, and Dustin Pedroia shirts all rolled into one. It's like the Masshole melting pot.

And I can't blame these people really. What should they do, drink at the Benigans in Woburn on a Saturday night? I mean, yeah, that would benefit me and my fellow wannabe, poseur Bostonians (I'm from Burlington! That's like when Sue said he was from LA and he was really from Anaheim!), but it's not going to happen. But that's okay because we have other places to go.

And it appears it is those other places that have really thrown me for a loop. Because I have been sheltering myself in the various squares of Cambridge and Somerville with the occassional foray into the line free bars of Beacon Hill, Fenway, Boylston, and The South End, I have forgotten that Boston is not really the city I think it is. And really, why would I think it is? We are always late getting to the party fashion wise, our go out outfits are often adorned with the Patriots logo, the women are often not attractive, and there is nary a cool LA/Brooklyn/Brit Pop band to be found. While we CLAIM to be progressive politically and socially, we are about as far behind the pop culture/coolness charts as... Little Rock.

And that kinda sucks. Because if you want to live in the city, but stay in the area, you have very few choices. It seems that other cities (this from the guy who never travels) have much more city like people socializing/going out in them. I mean c'mon, there's no way that a bar in The Village or Soho or The Lower East Side sees a dude with the same haircut the Gotti Sons made popular five years ago, is there? Does San Fran and Chicago and Montreal and Austin and Seattle and Paris have this problem? Do those places have their own versions of Massholes invading THEIR cities just as we Bostonians have an invasion of Skecher wearing goofballs invading ours? For their sakes, I really, REALLY hope they don't.

But as I drifted out of Faneuil Hall, headed toward my dinner in The North End (there's a WHOLE OTHER scene! Does anyone there use their inside voice when speaking in The North End?), my irritation subsided, because I know that Faneuil Hall isn't the REAL Boston. I know that I still have my own secret enclaves where I could hang out amongst MY people- meaning poseurish white dudes who are too old to be wearing concert tee shirts. I know there are "hidden gems" where the beards are on hipsters and not on guidos. I know the places where you can find the PBR on tap and Feist on the jukebox.

And as I walked out of The Worst Place on Earth, I looked back for the briefest second, just to make sure that I wasn't in Doc's Delorean. Because if I was in said time machine, I probably would have seen some dude in a bucket hat, Abercrombie shirt, and jorts chanting Go, Go U, Go UMass and screaming about what a great pick Kurt Warner was in the last round now that he was starting over an injured Trent Green. Loser.