I don’t understand real estate prices

For real. Even though developers in Boston and the surrounding areas keep knocking down all the fun things, real estate prices and rental rates keep going up. This makes no sense. Who wants to live somewhere there’s nothing interesting to do?

Take, for instance, a travesty that has befallen Cambridge’s Porter Square neighborhood. The Gourmet Express, a 24-hour pizza and various etcs. restaurant and convenience store, has been demolished to make way for a 27-unit residential building. This is a debilitating body blow to the neighborhood that should have resulted in the collapse of the area’s real estate market.

For one thing, now there’s nowhere to get pizza at three in the morning. For real. There is essentially a pizza curfew enforced in Porter Square. Combine this with the recent conversion of Central Square’s Hi Fi Pizza to a fucking Clover and it’s not hard to imagine a dystopian Cantabrigian future where there is no pizza, only overpriced flatbread that’s a poor facsimile of our beloved pies of old. Herman Cain tried to warn us about this horror. Please tell me I’m not the only one who listened.

Gourmet Express was also frequented by quite the gang of misfits. Stoners, drunks, losers, bums…the place was full of the supposed dregs of society. Personally, I’d redefine that term so it includes investment bankers and people who enjoy the Big Bang Theory, but I digress. You’re probably wondering what the problem is. After all, the place in which those dregs congregated is now gone. Isn’t that a good thing? No, you fucking dope! Answer me this: do you know where the dregs are now? You don’t, do you. That used to be a really easy question to answer: they were in the Gourmet Express! Now the dregs could be anywhere. They could be in your bushes. They could be breaking into your house while you sleep looking for pizza that’s now become much more difficult to acquire. There could even be one behind you RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. You looked, didn’t you? Ha ha! Loser.

Similar scenes are playing out across the Boston area. Prices along Route 1 have failed to fall despite the loss of the Hilltop Steakhouse and the pending removal of the big orange T-Rex. Rent in the Seaport is sky high even though the closure of Anthony’s Pier 4 means there’s nowhere to get Ritz crackers with cheese from a chain-smoking waitress while enjoying an array of seascapes. This makes no sense.

Real estate is stupid.

Shit I Don’t Understand, September 2012

I don’t understand why bars that print a new receipt after every order do so after the first drink order of a customer reading a dinner menu. If I were a bartender at such a place, having to do that would drive me nuts.

I don’t understand people who say they like Mitt Romney. How do you actually like that dufus? He’s that out-of-touch rich guy people suffer through friendship with just so they can use his pool. He’s the poster boy for how much the two-party system sucks; no way he’d be in the position he’s in with a bigger field. There’s nothing wrong with saying you’re voting for Mitt because you don’t like Obama. Just admit it. Hell, I’ve never actually voted for a politician I actually liked, but Jesse Ventura hasn’t run for president yet.

In related news, I don’t understand why I miss Herman Cain so much. Oh, wait…it must be my love of pizza.

I don’t understand NFL coaches that challenge matters of field position early in a game. Losing such a challenge almost always means not having the challenge necessary to review an important fourth quarter play. I feel the same way about teams that call timeout to avoid delay of game penalties on third and long. What’s five more yards added to a down you’re probably not going to convert? Save the timeout for something important, dumbass!

I don’t understand junkmail. Surely the assholes behind that scourge know that I’ve never responded to a single piece. The amount of car insurance offers I receive is asinine, especially considering that I don’t drive. And that Scott Brown advertisement I got today? I disowned my beloved Doug Flutie because I saw him playing the drums at that twat waffle’s victory celebration. Someone needs to update their demographic information.

Shit I Don’t Understand, August 2012

I encounter a lot of things in my daily business that leave me scratching my head or wondering if we’d all be better off if we’d never evolved our so-called “advanced” intelligence. The following are some of those things.

I don’t understand why this bartender is so intent on having a jellyfish as a pet. Seems like about as much fun as having a pet rock–except you never have to worry about asking a friend to pee on a sting you received from your pet rock to neutralize the venom.

I don’t understand why no one has invented a specially angled mirror to assist people with muffin tops with ensuring they don’t spill out under their untucked shirts. Such a device would make the view from a subway seat a lot less offensive.

I don’t understand why Boston thinks it needs an Innovation Center, nor do I understand what the hell people would even do at such a place. Are we no longer allowed to have ideas in the North End or the Back Bay? And why am I picturing the Innovation Center as a big, bare room populated by a few dirty hipsters holding cardboard signs begging me to donate to their Kickstarter projects?

I don’t understand why the MBTA thinks it needs a mascot. Did fares go up to pay for this? Is it a plan to reduce customer service calls by giving us a walking avatar of the MBTA on which we can take out our frustrations? Are we all supposed to punch Charlie in the face when we get mad at the T’s shitty service? Is there any way we can get Charlie into a cage match with the Sebastian’s walking salad mascot?

I don’t understand why Snooki gave her son a relatively normal name. I was hoping for Smush-smush Martini or something equally as fun, and all I got was Lorenzo. If she’s going to pretend to be a real celebrity, damn it, she needs to name her children like she’s a real celebrity. The Jersey Shore producers must not have been allowed into the maternity ward.

I don’t understand why a lot of the politicians commenting on Senator Akin’s stupid remarks about rape felt the need to preface their comments with “As the father of two daughters…” To me, this construct implies that they wouldn’t give a crap if they didn’t have daughters, which makes them natural scumbags who wouldn’t have known better without female offspring. If that’s not the case, then that clause is unnecessary and their speech writers need to go back to fifth grade English. But they’re still all scumbags. Unless one of them wants to hire me to write speeches, because that guy would be awesome.