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A Phoenix staff writer since 2008, Faraone grew up in Queens, attended Hobart College in upstate New York, and eventually moved to South Florida, where he worked as a dorm-to-dorm vacation cruise salesmen and moonlighted as a stand-up comic. To sharpen his writing and further delay life, he enrolled at New School University’s Graduate Faculty, where he claims he was the biggest dope in the program. He has no regrets though; it was there that he daydreamed up the counter-intellectual philosophy which he dubbed roastmodernism©. Following some foreplay on New York’s then-burgeoning on-line literary scene, he enrolled at Boston University’s College of Communication in 2004 and has been here in Boston ever since. In addition to the Phoenix, Faraone has been published in the Boston Herald, Boston’s Weekly Dig, Boston Magazine, Spin, Elemental, Mass Appeal, The Source, Walkley's, Antenna, Yellow Rat Bastard (YRB), and Columbia Journalism Review, and has literally contributed to (and been re-published on) hundreds of blogs and websites. He is currently writing a book called How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Boston Red Sox.
More than any other city on the East Coast, Boston is addicted to property taxes. Could the Hub be hitting a crippling tax-levy ceiling soon?
In 2012, collections on homes, buildings, and private infrastructure will feed more than 65 percent of Boston's $2.4 billion budget.
The malt angels from Pabst Blue Ribbon were on hand to fuel us up, and to hook up sweat bands that, incidentally, would come in handy to absorb the blood.
Allston rap city
Allston alt-rap crew Grey Sky Appeal more or less avoid the local scene altogether, opting instead to play shows where people give a shit, and sometimes even enjoy themselves.
Wexler mocks the "anti-aging marketplace"
Take the most depressing movie imaginable, add The Golden Girls , multiply by Cocoon , and that's How To Live Forever .
Bostonians rising in anger -- and action -- against ableism, racism, Verizon, and Fox News
Union flags were flown, loud music roared, and fleets of motorcycles rumbled, as several thousand people marched for civil rights and human dignity, and, in at least one case, to scold moguls for banking gross salaries at the expense of workers.
Gimme Shelter Dept.
It didn't take long for the largely suburban horde to erupt into a frenzy at the free outdoor concert, which was dubbed, somewhat ironically, the Boston Urban Music Fest (BUMF).
Keith's ubiquitous props are often trumpeted on rap sites and comment boards, where he's cited as the chief influence behind everyone from Tech N9ne to Tyler, the Creator.
With no campus, accreditation, or heirarchy, Corvid College thrives underground
Named after a family of birds that is markedly playful and diverse, Corvid is a benevolent underground anarchist institute fostering eclectic inter-disciplinary thought.
A ggressive hippies
Director Marshall Curry's If a Tree Falls tells the full tale of the ELF's genesis in Oregon, and of the group's badass campaign of "economic sabotage" that left more than 1200 symbols of bourgeois excess (a Vail ski resort, an SUV dealership) burned to the ground.
Beyond hoop dreams
I asked Hypolite what it was like to film a train wreck in real-time, and about his opportunity to screen Push for the home team at this week's Roxbury International Film Festival.
The most boring movie imaginable
First of all, Michael Rapaport's feature-length doc on A Tribe Called Quest should have been called People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm .
Denehy and other Boston clam farmers have come to face two seemingly impervious hurdles: a safety expansion at Logan Airport that will deplete two of their richest beaches, and a jet-fuel spill from last October that some allege wiped out half of Boston's soft-shell population.
Duck Down (2011)
It's no wonder that it takes a 10-ton Uzi to get rap fans psyched about posse cuts these days.
Man Bites Dog (2011)
Although it's an imperfect effort in some regards, the somewhat conceptual OX 2010: A Street Odyssey testifies to Vast's highly developed steez, and does so with complements from MCs who effortlessly jibe with his arcane rhyme selections.
Steps inside the entrance of 152 North Street, exposed electrical boxes dangle out of a demolished drop ceiling. Dust fills the light beams bouncing through the hallways. There's a layer of gray soot fused into the tiles of the bathroom.
Four months ago, the Boston Phoenix published an exclusive story about Charlestown native Johnny Hickey, and his metamorphosis from Oxycontin bandit, to undercover anti-drug agent, to aspiring filmmaker. In the time since, his feature-length hometown tragedy, Oxy Morons, had a successful two-month test screening at Showcase Cinemas in Revere, where it placed second in the theater's box-office sales in its first week of showing.
Some people throw parades for firemen. Others wave flags at Marines: "Thank you for your service." But for those of us who live to subvert authority — and who have sensed a strange hilarity emanating from this shitty planet since before puberty — the late comedian extraordinaire Bill Hicks is the quintessential American icon.
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.
The beat goes on
It's hard to evaluate life-threatening illnesses if you skipped med school to kick rhymes.