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Crap-ass Valentines
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Lifespan CEO George Vecchione's compensation is tops in the region
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Recent elections, as you may have heard, have been about change.
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The Massachusetts-bred street artist Shepard Fairey returned to his home-turf this month to "bomb" the Phoenix offices, conduct interviews, and unveil his latest work at the ICA.
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You know what I haven't done in a while, for plenty of very good reasons? Listened to the whole cotton-pickin' Billboard Hot Country chart! Yee-haw!
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Jason Voorhees's bloody hands have developed green thumbs.
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Boston's Irepress weren't supposed to be an instrumental band. What they've evolved into just happens to be too stylishly sinuous to lend itself to lots of words.
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Craving steak but counting your pennies? If so, churrascarias (Brazilian grilled-meat restaurants) offer some of the best deals around.
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I travel to Manhattan a lot, and since 9/11 have found Amtrak's Acela service out of Back Bay Station a far more pleasant and hassle-free way to get there than flying.
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In lieu of action, character development, or plot, The International offers architecture.
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Lifespan CEO George Vecchione's compensation is tops in the region
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Incredible, but true: until this past Friday, America was on a fast track to outlaw grandmothers selling children's sweaters for charity.
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Recent elections, as you may have heard, have been about change.
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Imagine if you scouted Boston's pre-eminent hip-hop artists — from the grimiest coke-slinging corner cats to the roughest coke-sniffing bar rats — and teamed them up with virtually every underground MC who's made noise in the past three years.
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A few months back, one of my best friends from high school slept with the guy to whom, years earlier, she had lost her virginity.
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Whatever your race — and whatever you think of his résumé, or his politics, or his yen for tax-cheating cabinet nominees — Barack Obama's arrival in the Oval Office is something to celebrate.
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It's what's on the outside that counts.
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The New England Press Association (NEPA) annual newspaper contest has always been good to us.
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I put on the obligatory hard hat and walk through the doors of what used to be Avalon on Lansdowne Street, across from Fenway Park. To the layman — me — it's all dust, noise, metal, and mess.
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Their name sort of gives them away.
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