* Right off the bat, my apologies to Harry McLintock, Woody Guthrie, Joe Hill and any other hobo or vagabond that made this country great.

Looks like unemployment will be kicking in shortly, so, folks, the Thunderbird wine is on me. They’ll be pie in the sky when we die. (By the way, check out the drink recipe for “Donnington Brainstorm” from that second link. That shit’ll kill you.)

Next you’ll find me jumping the freight train that goes right by neighborhood and heading to greener pastures.

Speaking of which, reading this article linked from this neighborhood site got me thinking about another plus to blowing this burg. When you head out to other towns, from power poles and kiosks and blank walls you see all sorts of alternative shit happening everywhere. Boston/Cambridge has bands, but the completely out there performance scene is comparably miniscule. Fucking puritanical, Boston bullshit has a hand, no doubt.

One of the forces that keeps the talented comics depressed at their prospects and the sucky ones thrilled at the status quo, mainstream scene.

Boston standup needs more dada and less self-congratulatory ’80s nostalgia. That was then, boys and girls, this is now, and now needs some radical juicing.