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boston skylineEd. Note – We’ll be diverting from the usual brand of crude comedy for the following piece discussing the collective response to the bombings of the Boston Marathon.

Alright, since I live a few miles away from where this shitstorm went down a week ago and have gotten to experience the last week up close and personal, I feel I need to weigh in on the reaction to the Marathon bombing and ensuing manhunt that has taken over the collective mind of Boston, and apparently, the entire World.

First of all it goes without saying (but I will anyway) that praise need to be given to first responders, the authorities that tracked down the perps and, most of all, the families of the deceased and those injured in this whole ordeal – who’s mental and physical fortitude is likely much stronger than mine. These are the true victims of these types of events, and too often the focus gets turned away from them to other trivial, self-serving BS that gets spewed out when things like this happen (see: ‘Sweet Caroline’).

But there comes a time when we all need to put this behind us and move on — and it seems that my city is having a hard time doing this, mostly because the media won’t let us and because of this prevailing jingoistic attitude among some residents here that somehow Boston responded in a way that is better or more unique than the response would have been if this happened elsewhere.

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stuff we don’t get at gillette stadium these days

Your team just scored the go-ahead touchdown late in the fourth quarter. The place is going absolutely mental. Now the kickoff team is coming out on the field, pumping up fans and trying to get mentally prepped to charge 70 yards downfield and pop somebody.

So what better of a song to build on this momentum than this?

Seriously? Fucking Bon Jovi… Too bad Gary Glitter had to go and molest girls in fucking Thailand or something, otherwise we’d still have the “Hey” song and all would be right in the world.

When are stadium DJs going to realize not everyone going to sporting events these days are the stereotypical over-the-hill, wrangler-wearing white dudes trying to relive their 70s and 80s glory days? (and don’t even dare bring up Springsteen.)

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see this pic? this was the chick i was creeping on while you were all sitting around bitching about your relationships

I know I’m not going to make many friends with this hit-job, seeing as the CBS lamestream rom-com ‘How I Met Your Mother‘ gets like 15 zillion viewers a night even when they’re airing shitty re-runs, but I can’t take it anymore.

In case you don’t have a television, HIMYM (yeah, this acronym sucks but the chances of me typing the show’s name out repeatedly are less than me finishing this article without destroying my workstation a la panda below) is your run-of-the-mill situational comedy about the fake problems, trials and tribulations of NYC thirty-somethings and the totally sheltered life they live that revolves around working (i think?), sitting around at a bar doing a lot of cheers-ing but not drinking, bitching about relationships and debating the inner philosophy of pick-ups or something.

my usual reaction to the question ‘hey did you watch how i met your mother last night?’

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Ed. note – Here’s the latest guest post from our female TMF correspondent, who we’ll now identify as Jules since this is her third article and deserves some damn recognition. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll have her own login for the fourth…

So, self-marriage is aself marriagepparently a thing. Not a big trend I pray, at least not yet, but it’s a thing:

“On her 30th birthday in 2003, [Dutch woman] Jennifer Hoes had a self-wedding, complete with cameras…. Several people since then have taken the vows of self-marriage as a way of contractually binding themselves to matrimonial values.”

Obviously this isn’t a legal ceremony (Santorum sit down), but its proponents tout it as some sort of celebration of singleness and independence.

I have to hand it to Jennifer; she’s pretty ingenious. She really made the wedding all about her and took the groom out of the picture altogether. After all, isn’t a self-marriage just like marrying someone else, only you’re marrying yourself? Oh wait, no it’s not.

This makes every other delusional, narcissistic bride look reasonable in comparison. As a girl, and therefore someone who has been pressured to plan my “dream wedding” by relatives and commercials on the Oxygen Network alike for as long as I can remember, I can almost empathize with these women. I can almost relate. Then I remember that I’m not a loser and these women are crazy bitches and I move on.

I have another suggestion for these chicks, and that’s suicide. Because it’s just like killing someone else, you see, only you’re killing yourself. Then the rest of us can go on and enjoy other weddings that have the one thing that all weddings are supposed to have: an open bar.

phish worcester 2012

a semi-accurate visual account of what we were seeing night one (photo courtesy doug buckley)

Ed. note — This is a guest post from a friend who had the good fortune (or misfortune, depending on your opinion of the band) to attend Phish’s summer tour kick-off — a two-night adventure in beautiful (read: disgusting) Worcester, Massachusetts filled with drugs, sketchy wooks, high school graduates, beer, glowsticks and alley dogs. The following is a recap of his experience of Night One.

Last week, I traveled to Worcester, MA for the pair of Phish shows at the DCU Center that began their 2012 tour. The plan, in the works for months, was simple for both nights – get drunk, find some drugs outside the venue (hopefully our friend Molly) and get minds blown by Trey and Co.

I, like many other “Phans” arrived early at my hotel to get settled before making the one mile trek over to the venue. Based on the scene, it was clear to me that the hotel would be filled almost entirely with concertgoers. This, unfortunately, was also clear to the hotel — I was asked to sign a fucking contract just to get my room key. Some nonsense about “no parties, no smoking, no drugs or else.”

“Yup, whatever.” Signed.

Stepping off the elevator to my floor, I quickly discovered the “Yup, whatever” attitude had been adopted by the masses. I was greeted by a swift pot punch to the face — a major step in the right direction for my pending drug search. I started pounding beers while awaiting the arrival of my partner in crime.

My buddy arrived at the hotel a few hours before the show and the party began – the high-five party. After five minutes of joyous hand slapping concerning our awesomeness, it was time for the beer chugging party. The joint smoking party soon followed which inevitably started the coke snorting party. I know, a lot of party going on, but it is Phish after all — a band who’s fans only goal seems to be taking over entire cities and making sure each show is the biggest, most drug and alcohol-fueled party on the planet. With heads finally clear, it was time to make for the show and acquire some “real” drugs. After a final hotel puff and snort, and we hit the hallway for the 15 minute walk toward the madness.

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While I usually reserve the new music for fellow TMF writer and roommate putitupto11, I’m going to beat him to this and post the latest track from Grizzly Bear titled “Sleeping Ute,” which was released today along with a bunch of new tour dates.

In case you’re unfamiliar, Grizzly Bear are an indie-folk outfit from Brooklyn, who’s last effort — 2009′s Veckatimest – absolutely tore up the charts and was considered by most tastemakers to be album of the year. They also happen to be one of Radiohead’s favorite bands, which I would imagine would add a bit of pressure to the latest recording process.

Fortunately, it looks like they have another winner with this track (esp. at the 3:10 mark…my god).

Their new album drops September 18, and you can click here for Grizzly Bear tour dates.

parenting magazine february 2012

Ed. Note – The latest submission to TMF is history in the making. Why? It’s our first second submission from a female. And this diatribe against Parenting bring some serious fire. So, to all the ladies who are loyal TMF readers, this one’s for you — as long as you don’t think your snot-nosed kid will be the next Steve Jobs…

I have lots of problems with the local post office. Over the years they’ve lost packages I’ve sent, delivered stuff to the wrong address, and subjected me to horrendous, hour-long waits in line. But by far the worst offense has been their insistence on putting Parenting Magazine in my mailbox each month. Since I can’t bring myself to actually flip through the magazine long enough to find the publication’s contact information so I can ask them to count me out of their circulation, I continue to be assaulted monthly by stuff like this (above).

Parents are already notoriously delusional about how their kids are the best thing ever, and Parenting Magazine feeds this terrifying fire by telling them that they can raise the next Silicon Valley oligarch. This is just depressing because most their special little angels will grow up to be absolutely average in every possible way. Not to mention that the child in this cover photo is making me straight up NERVOUS. Moving on; it gets worse:

parenting magazine

In case your little jerks aren’t entitled and superficial enough yet, make sure you dress them like the daughter of Xenu’s first couple, or the son of the dude from Bush. Also, the nineties are calling. They want your diaper bag back. How embarrassing!