The Neighborhood Meeting

Recently, my wife asked me to go to a neighborhood meeting, and I said no. Then she asked why, and I told her it was like asking me, Do you want to go to a Poultry Convention in Alabama? Do you want to go to a Feminist Beekeeping Seminar? Do you like to attend a course on how to do Mitt Romney impersonations? No. Why? The question is not essential. Then she said it would be nice if I were to go — translation: take notes. So here are the notes. I’m not an expert in South Boston culture, but in my two years living here, I know that on one corner, we have the Southies, who think of themselves as the original and worthy residents of the neighborhood. They are tough. Some look rough, too, possibly due to smoking and daily drinking. Their facial muscles sag due to years of yelling phrases that begin with “fuck you…” in reply to questions that range from “Excuse me, ma’am, is this seat taken?” to “Would you like to contribute to the Rose Kennedy Greenway Conservancy?” Southies love Boston sports to the point they’ll slay one of their babies and offer it to the Gillette gods to see Tom Brady pass for a touchdown. <a href="https://medium.com/@HadesUnited2/the-neighborhood-meeting-9725fcec555f">Read More</a>