If you were out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day over the weekend, I’ll do my best to write as quietly as possible. I’d even recommend that you turn down the brightness on your screen. You went out and celebrated the approximate date of birth of a Scot who spread Catholicism to the Irish. Any saint would want you to celebrate them by committing a mortal sin by hoisting a glass or eight.
The other big way to celebrate is by dressing somewhat Irish. I dress in relation to occasion for every holiday. At Christmas, I wear a Santa Claus hat, at Valentine’s Day, I wear nothing but a diaper and shoot pink-tipped arrows at passers-by, and on Arbor Day I stand motionless outside from a long time.
But there are other ways to go about celebrating St. Paddy’s Day. For the Boston Police, it’s all about breaking out the paddy wagon (which has to be deemed a racist term by now). Continue reading The McBournie Minute: Why Boston is a twofold shrine on March 17
Boston’s Public Health Commission, along with local social service agencies, have concluded their third annual Break-Up Summit for teens. The summit aims to teach local high school students the ins and outs of ending a relationship, from recognizing abuse to not using Facebook or texting to break up.
It is unclear, however, if students can earn extra credit by breaking up with their teachers.
No one really likes to be who they are, especially when it concerns their job. As such, it’s completely and totally understandable to want to pretend to be someone else. We’ve all seen True Lies. It’s sexier and so much more exciting to be something you’re not!
Unless that position is a government position.
And said government position tends to fall under the “single occupant” rule.
And the position is already otherwise occupied in your general vicinity.
I’m only (almost) six years separated from my time in college and it would seem that EVERYTHING has been changed. RUINED FOREVER, I SAY! RUINED FOREVER!
In my day, people would shove sauces and food into their mouth without a single hesitation, especially at a buffet. Grapes, cheesecake, fried rice, who cares, even more so if it’s covered in hot sauce (helpful hint: don’t do that). Now, though? Kids stuff the weirdest things into their mouths. Like an entire bottle of soy sauce! As such, he took a little trip to UVa Medical Center (I am all too familiar with that building). Just like you shouldn’t mix black with navy, don’t mix soy sauce with dog food. Your stomach will get all discombobulated.
But there’s still more change in the air for those youngsters! Tufts University has decided to nix their official sanction on the Naked Quad Run. Traditionally held to celebrate the end of the fall semester, the long held event is being ended over fear of the “inherent dangers it presents,” which is odd considering no one’s worried about the dangers until 2011? Look, if people want to run on icy roads all naked-like and potentially land on their soft and squishy parts, well, that’s their business.
Let freedom and nudity ring!
Airplane flights can be such a hassle sometimes. You’re taking off your shoes, your belt, emptying your bag and that’s just if you’re going through the easy route. If you’re not an exhibitionist, then be prepared to be subject to a happy glance.
And by glance, I mean, junk grab.
But that’s just in the terminal! Imagine having to go through annoyances once you’re on the plane-like, maybe, perhaps, a suspicious bag? That’s never enjoyable. Of course, there is a bit of satisfaction if the contents of a suspicious bag contain a bagel and cream cheese rather than things that sound like a song from Saliva. Though, some cream cheese can kill you if you eat too much of it …
Someone get me a train ticket.
Jesus comes in many forms and flavors: buddy, raptor, animated, internet and historically accurate (aka, black, aka, real) are just some of the ways he appears. However, there might be a new one arising (in three days, of course)-trailer park.
A valuable relic, a small piece of wood said to be a part of the cross on which Jesus was crucified, was stolen from a Boston church. Investigators looked high, and investigators looked low, but nary a splinter could be found. Until a tip was given. Police then went to Vermont to find the relic. Where did they find it?
In a trailer park. Possibly right beside a bottle as well. And a rusting air conditioner window unit.
Richard Duncan, a partner in the burglary, called Vermont state police from a trailer park about the item as he was arguing with an accomplice about it. Said partner, Earl Frost, returned the piece of wood to the barracks, but has now, for all intents and purposes, disappeared, contrary to the desires of the police.
Just how valuable was this object?
Church officials estimated the relic’s street value at between $2,300 and $3,800, but said the item is “priceless” to the church.
Of course it was.
In case you hadn’t heard, Sen. Ted Kennedy died last week. Unlike Chicago, the U.S. Senate does not let dead people vote, so the Commonwealth of Massachusetts is in a wicked pickle. They need to replace Kennedy and they need to do it as soon as state law allows them (five months) so that they can really be represented.
And just like when Superman was died, all of a sudden a bunch of impostors have come crawling out of the woodwork. The list is long, but the most recent name added is that of former Boston Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling.
In a radio interview, Schilling said the Republican party had contacted him about running for the vacant seat, but the limping millionaire was tight lipped as to whether he was thinking about it.
“Asked whether he would run, Schilling said, ‘As of today, probably not.'”
Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it. Curt Schilling will seek the vacant seat in the Senate!
It’s October 17, 2004, a miserable excuse for a Sunday. I’m tired as hell from my trip to New York, and its production night for Bryan McBournie and me at our college newspaper, The Tartan. We go in to start our layouts, and hardly say a word to anyone, people want to ask us if we’re ok, but even the non-sports fans knew that today was not the day to talk. Today is our death march. Today is what we have come to expect as individuals. Today we have our souls carved out again. Today is hell. Today the Red Sox get swept, and there is not a damn thing we can do but watch.
Normally when we go to our watering hole, BT’s, its all smiles. We know the bartenders, know the waitresses, and are occasionally rewarded for our patronage with a warm shot of house tequilla for free. Not tonight though. Even our most familiar bartender Todd has a grimace on his face when we come in during the sixth inning. He fills a pitcher of Keystone, hands us two mugs and forces a smile. McBournie and I sit in the semblance of a dining area that only a college “restaurant and fine dining” bar can offer. The game is on the big screen, it’s 4-3 New York, and we know were its headed, this is our fate as Red Sox fans. Doom. Elevated hope that eventually crushes even your will to want to even get up the next day. It’s sick that we get this way as fans, but we’re a different breed, and fate is a fickle broad. Continue reading Eat My Sports: Boston translation
If you’ve been following the Henry Louis Gates, Jr. situation, you might be a little disappointed. Sgt. James Crowley turned out not to be as much of a cross-and/or-book-burning Cambridge gestapo than we hoped.
Worse yet, they’re settling this problem with a beer, so Gates might not be as much of a latte-sipping, vagina-painting snob than we thought.
Honestly, all we ask for–as a news-reading public–is a little over-the-top racism. Black-on-white, white-on-black … who cares? Didn’t you see the box office numbers for Gran Turino?
And that’s where Boston police officer Justin Barrett saves the day. Let’s go to the quote box:
“In Barrett’s e-mail, which was posted on a Boston television station’s Web site, he declared that if he had ‘been the officer he verbally assaulted like a banana-eating jungle monkey, I would have sprayed him in the face with OC (oleoresin capsicum, or pepper spray) deserving of his belligerent non-compliance.’
“Barrett used the ‘jungle monkey’ phrase four times, three times referring to Gates and once referring to [Boston Globe columnist, Yvonne] Abraham’s writing as ‘jungle monkey gibberish.'”
Mm, delicious. But that’s not all! What did Barrett follow it up with after he got in trouble?
“‘I have so many friends of every type of culture and race you can name. I am not a racist.'”
Gonna need a cigarette after that. Nothing beats old-timey “some of my best friends” crackery.
Pittsburgh and Los Angeles had a heck of a weekend, as I understand it. I didn’t watch either game, mostly because I don’t care about any of the teams, but I know how they turned out. Kobe Bryant has a non-Shaq-related ring, and Bing Sidney Crosby gets to carry around a big silvery cup for a day.
I’m not here to talk about the sports, I’m not even here to talk about why I don’t care about who won and who lost. No, I am here to ask–why not my city? When will I get a chance to burn a police car?
This has been a recurring theme in my life. I never end up living in the city of a championship team, and when one of my teams does win the championship of whatever sport it is they play, everyone heads downtown to climb a few lamp posts and smash some windows. Meanwhile, I’m hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away. Continue reading The McBournie Minute: When do I get to riot?