Every line I enter into my computer about the Hub is also part of a love story, because like a parent in the 1950s (or today, I guess) attempting to rationalize smacking their kids, I truly love the objects of my animosity. Oftentimes, it hurts me more than it hurts Boston to level such relentless criticism.
A friendly reminder that Boston is a city that runs on cyclical demolition and rebirth. Counterculture never left.
It's time to revisit your old NES. Boston's own chiptune band is on the rise.
It goes without saying that this a seriously subjective roundup, compiled by our brain trust and the interjectors who barged into our discussions at the coffee shops and bars where our list blossomed.
Go forth and explore this week. Stuff is still happening you know.
Because sitting around watching the snow melt is for suckas.