How the Midwest's stupidest sport is taking Boston by storm
When I left Chicago for Boston three years ago, I expected to leave a few things behind. Friendliness, for one, and deep-dish pizza, and modernist architecture, and perfect hot dogs, and . . . cornhole.
Summer in Boston traditionally means exploring the city, getting sunburned, and ironically (but totally seriously) drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. But now that meals-on-wheels mania has put the boot on our fair city, it also means chasing down every foo
Mikey Connors of Peabody growls at his opponents from across the folding table. Whipping the crowd into hysterics, the beer-pong heavyweight steps back from the edge and starts to kick his heels up like a bull about to charge.
Summer art in New England means driving up Route 1 in Maine with the car windows down, past the odd and amazing roadside metal giraffes and caterpillars, and discovering — as I did a few summers back — a nondescript house that turns out to be Fawcett's A
Because you can only spend so much time reading Dan Brown novels on the beach
Midsummer television has a terrific offering of new and returning shows about aliens, firefighters, crystal meth, and more to turn that beautiful brain of yours to Play-Doh and keep you thoroughly entertained.
The Elvis Presley–themed musical All Shook Up has all the makings of an entertaining train wreck: a bunch of Elvis songs strung together with inane dialogue; silly characterization; an implausible plot.