In small recognition for having made it through a dickshit crazy week
One afternoon in 2003 or 2004, my friend Jon Bender and I saw a Red Sox game at Fenway. I was in the stands for Pokey Reese’s inside-the-park home run, so for the sake of this story let’s say that it was that game: May 2004 and the Sox had just beaten the Kansas City Royals. We filed out of the park and headed over towards the Fenway D Line station, and ended up in a big crush of people waiting for the train.
Walking along right behind us were two overweight guys in their 50’s with grey crew cuts, dead on the stereotype. If you were casting bartenders retired from BPD, these were your guys. And as we shuffled along, they had the following exchange, which I treasure like an old favorite afghan:
Guy 1: Saw Cirque du Soleil the other week.
Guy 2: [skeptical] Oh yeah?
Guy 1: You gotta see it. It’s not queer.
Boston is my adopted hometown and I love it with the complete fervor of the converted. There’s an element of truth to every knock you ever heard about it, and for each of those there are ten beautiful truths, and I think that’s the highest esteem that you can have for any person or place that you really understand.
Way to go, Billy the Fridge.
No no no, Westboro Baptist Church. THIS is how the world works.