I beg to differ, Lambchop, Allston did not used to be Berlin. That is wishful thinking on Allston’s part. But everyone knows that Lowell is the new Prague! I am trying to convert people to move up there and open a transvestite disco with me. And I say “up there” like it’s the great Arctic circle or something, really it’s 30 minutes from Boston. Why, you could all hop on the train and be wearing a lampshade in my living room in no time. As soon as I have a living room. And some lamps. Speaking of lamps, Happy Fun Lamp has a spiffy new design.
Also, Lambuel forgot to mention one other shared fond spot for us: drinking under bridges. Why, when she was accepted into graduate school at Yale, what did we do? We shared a bottle of grape-flavored Mad Dog in a paper bag, nestled under the Swan Boat bridge in the Public Garden. Also, we had plastic knives. For protection. We met a lot of wackos that day, go figure. There was the guy who staunchly believed in the Kirlian camera. A brigade of fur-coated women mincing along with tiny dogs glared at us.
Oh, and then the next week there was an official celebratory brunch. We stayed up all night doing things that are bad for us, and popped out for the New York Times and a box of Munchkins as the sun rose. As the various roommates woke, we were doing the crossword puzzle and polishing off our 40s. Then during the brunch, the omelettes started talking to me. I had to excuse myself.