What are we? A library or a function hall? We see more caterers than patrons these days...how are the fees for use of Bates Hall and all the other spaces used? Where does the overtime money for the custodians & security come from? Perspiring minds want to know!

By The Way:

Love what you're doing to the courtyard. McKim would have a stroke, no doubt. Leave the statue where it is, fix the centerpiece of the McKim, and get cracking on that Tea Room! That money isn't going to wait forever! I'm sure some other deserving institution would love to accomodate that grant.

This photo says it all, I think.

Except it doesn't ask the question, "Just what the hell was wrong with the old number?!?!?!" We're not all superstitious jerks here in Boston. This is a fairly big city, with a long history of intellectual pursits, and de-bunking hoo-doo and poorly thought out popular culture is something of a way of life for some of us residents. "666" is just a number along the Number Line, a whole number, preceeded by 665, and followed by 667. Just because some psychotic wrote down a vision he had (assisted by copious amounts of ergot-infected bread and wine of wildly varying strength). "The number of the beast shall be Six Hundred, Sixty, and Six" if I recall the King James edition....

and we all know this is the real entrance to Hell

Nonsense. "666" was a mnemonic device, a way for the oral storytellers to easily remember the number (as was the constant recurrence of numbers in other parts of the Judeo-Christian scriptures, for instance: Seven year of surplus followed by Seven years of famine...or the seven plagues set upon Egypt in Exodus...)

The number change to the boring and forgettable "700" has cost the City of Boston money, and for what? I'd really like to know. Could the "700" be a discrete nod the the "700 Club"? How does the Radical Right fit into this? An interesting route for someone to follow...

This is the only achievement of the current administration for over 2 years! Since the mighty Change Teams went belly up, there is nothing to show for these years except an ever growing pool of employees that are seriously counting down the days until their retirement, and/or the expiration of "El Presidente's" contract. (5 years, wasn't it? Can we hold out? Can we maintain? How long, oh Lord, how long?)

Seems not all the Trustees are thrilled with El Presidente's tenure...but many folks find it questionable that the Trustees reviewing his performance early next year are the same ones that brought him aboard...Conflict of Interest, anyone??? Not that we should be too surprised,given the Imperious nature of at least one Trustee (Evita was done better years ago, and Facism is OUT these days, at least in the Western World...West Roxbury included)

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Respond! Reply! Let loose with your poison spleens and be purged of .....um.....er.....poisonous spleen, of course. All submissions will be confidential, names etc changed for web posting, but we want the Juice! You like the Juice? We Like The Juice! Dish!!! No reward but self satisfaction and knowledge of yet another thorn in El Presidente's backside...and our eternal thanks.

Keep Coming! Things change, and so will this page.

This Proud member of the IBC* supports the Peace Process, where ever it is...

*Irish Boys Club...nice title, think I'll appropriate it...thanks June.

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And now a little request from Bobo, Fred, Old Stick-In-The-Mud, Mop Top, Shortpants, and Hands-In-Pockets....An oldy but a moldy

Ziggy played guitar, jammin' good with Weird and Gilly, The spiders from Mars, he played it left hand But made it too far Became the special man, then we were Ziggy's band

Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo Like some cat from Japan, he could lick 'em by smiling He could leave 'em to hang Came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan

So where were the spiders while the fly tried th break our balls Just a beer light to guide us So we bitched about his fans and should we crush his sweet hands?

Ziggy played for time, jiving us that we was voodoo The kids was just crass. He was the nazz With God given ass He took it all too far, but boy could he play guitar

Making love with his ego, Ziggy sucked up into his mind Like a leper messiah When the kids had killed the man I had to break up the band

Ziggy Played Guitar

When hunting the big cats, you must use all your cunning, or face the prospect of posing with the stuffed one at Mr. Ochombo's Safari Tours...