Annoying Boston

Tonight I noticed a copy of the Improper Bostonian on the kitchen table. Some jackass from a second rate show that'll probably be cancelled by the first week of November was on the cover, surrounded by a group of thoroughly uninteresting headlines - save for one that managed to completely fool me.

The title read "Annoying Boston." I thought to myself, "Hey, that sounds like something an asshole just like me would write!" I was looking forward to a clever, poignant, funny article. What I got was drivel any fourth grader who's heard anything about the city probably could've written. Highlights of things to be annoyed about in Boston included the weather, the confusing T, the cost of housing, getting a cab after last call, and an overall lack of beer deals during Happy Hour.

I hope whoever wrote this didn't spend a lot of money on that journalism degree from the University of Phoenix online. It was neither clever, nor poignant, nor funny. I was extremely disappointed.

And I thought to myself, I'm a New Englander who's easily annoyed. I can do better.

So, without further ado, "Annoying Boston: The Unabridged Scott Colby Version"

• People who are confused by the T. Fucking seriously. Inbound is toward Park Street, Outbound is away from Park Street, and if you get lost, just ask the smelly guy in the corner raving about angels and Judgement Day - chances are very good he lives in the tunnel. Plus, the T's website has this handy dandy trip planner that will tell you step by step how to get anywhere in the city. If you can use Myspace - and I know you can - you can figure out how to use the T.
• Idiots sitting in the outside seat who do not stand up when you're sitting in the inside seat and are trying to get out. Are your legs broken? Do you suspect that even though the aisle looks like grungy plastic, it's really molten lava in disguise waiting to singe off your big toes? In the two stops you've been riding the train, have you worked such an excellently comfortable butt groove into the seat that it would be a damn shame to ruin it? If the answer to all of the above is no, stand your ass up, step out into the aisle, and get out of the way. I have made it a point to attempt to pass wind in front of anyone rude enough to remain seated while I'm trying to get out past them, and I suggest you do the same. Together we can curb this epidemic! (Note: also works well on anyone who thinks their backpack deserves its own seat)
  
• The lack of quality journalism. For a city that supposedly plays host to three pretty good journalism universities (Emerson, BU, and Northeastern), the publications here are absolutely horrid. I wouldn't wipe my ass with the Herald, and I'd refrain from using the Globe unless I had diarrhea. The Metro is an ok way to get a basic handle on what's going down in the nation and the region...but don't spend too much time searching the small spaces in between advertisements for a sign of in depth reporting or intelligent analysis, because you're not going to find it. And don't even get me started on the Improper.
• Amalia Badadadadadadadadadada. I swear, every time that woman signs off on a report, the number of "dadas" is different. Amalia, pick a number and stick with it...or marry a guy named Smith.
• Dick Albert, the bald guy who used to be on Channel 4 or maybe Channel 7, and that Dave guy who looks like he couldn't bench press a Bud Light. Earth to Channel 5...JC Monahan, the hottest woman ever to put on a pantsuit with a lowcut jacket, is a proud member your roster of weatherpeople, and yet you consistently deprive her of valuable screentime so you can put these three old men on the air. The 18 to 30-year-old male portion of your viewership weeps, as do the "creepy old man" and the "she's in a pantsuit, so she might like carpet" demographics.
• The lack of decent places to take a leak. If there was one thing this city could do to improve itself, it would be to build a slew of public toilets. Currently, if you have to take care of bidness, you have two options - find an alley, or use a restaraunt bathroom. Most alleys are generally occupied, and although Itchy Earl will give you good lavatory conversation, you don't want him telling you how he's got a rash that looks just like that one above your thigh. And restaraunt bathrooms...good luck. You've either got to drop $50 on a cheeseburger so the classy joints will give you the keys to their clean stalls, or you have to make a mental note to burn your shoes when you get home if you use any place that doesn't guard the door to the john. So Boston, I implore you...either build some public restrooms, or clear the homeless out of the alleys and install tp holders on the side of every dumpster. And don't worry, it'll all just wash into the Charles.
  
• That time of year where every conversation involves at least one participant bitching about the price of heat. This one really gets my goat. These people act so surprised...like they didn't know it was going to be five fucking degrees out in December. "But Scott Colby, next year it might be 70!" Shut the fuck up. You know the entire city's about to do its best impersonation of a witch's you-know-what. And you know why it's putting a hit in your wallet? Because in June, when you had the extra money that you could've saved to help pay for heat, you instead chose to spend it on Punky Brewster Commemorative Plates or a bikini wax for your poodle you stupid shit.
• The pilgrims. Granted, I went to school in South Central Worcester County (represent!), but I have to assume things are the same out here. Every damn year in elementary school, we'd spend the last half of October and all of November learning about the fucking pilgrims. "But Scott Colby, local history is important!" Well, so is teaching kids something new every year, asshat. Maybe this is why your little nose goblin can't pass the MCAS. Thanks to all that time spent learning about Plymouth, I can now make a Pilgrim hat out of construction paper blindfolded, with one hand tied behind my back, while a dyslexic MassArt chick who's been tripping on E for the past few days tries to tattoo the word "Mom" on my ass. Seriously, test me.
• Commercials starring Ernie Boch, Jr. Hang it up, dude. Your "C'mon down!" doesn't hold a candle to your father's. Somewhere, Ernie Sr's turning in his grave and trying to figure out how his son grew up to look like David Hasselhoff without the acting ability.
• Radio personalities. It really doesn't matter what who the duo du jour happens to be. Opie and Anthony. Toucher and Rich. Douchebag and The World's Smallest Lumberjack. They all sound exactly the same. They all do stupid shit involving sex, retards, and bodily functions, and then they sit there and laugh repeatedly at said stupid shit, even when said stupid shit isn't funny. I'm waiting for one of these stations to just replace their morning guys with a three hour long recording of fart noises. No, seriously, I'd be mildly amused by that.
• White dudes who only attempt to dance to "Gold Digger." This very well may happen everywhere, but it needs to be addressed. Next time you hear Jamie Foxx's vocals announce the coming of Kanye, step aside and just look at the bar. You'll see a sea of uncoordinated white dudes bouncing up and down out of time to the beat, like if all the kids on the short bus tried to do the wave. This needs to stop. First off, no gold digger worth her hooker boots would ever mistake you for a mark. Second, either actually try to dance, or clear the dance floor so Scott Colby can do the Lawnmower, the Sprinkler, or (ladies beware) the Microwave.

That's it, I'm done. Hopefully something in there at least made you giggle once or twice, which is a lot more than the article in the Improper will make you do.

And you know what, since all that was slightly negative...I think the next entry will focus on the good things about Boston - unless, of course, you'd prefer an update to the List of Bad Things to Give Trick-or-Treaters...