A small and somber group of about 25 activists gathered in the shadow of the Hancock Tower today for a funeral on Copley Square. Dressed in all-black, satirical grief filling their faces, the mourners – representing MassUniting and likeminded progressive fronts – came to sink a casket for the countless jobs that cease to exist as a result of Hancock tenant Bain Capital's outrageously greedy practices.

A barista competition might not evoke images of training sessions lasting into the night, or enough blood, sweat and tears to fill a few espresso demitasse cups, but for the last two months, this has been Daria Whalen and Wolfie Barn's reality. 

Today I find myself in the frustrating position of having to urgently explain the term "rape culture" to two members of the mainstream media, in response to two isolated articles that desperately misunderstand 1_ the extent to which rape and sexual violence continue to prevail throughout the world at large, 2_ the ways that said sexual violence epidemic is normalized by the media today.

No more creeping outside No. 9 Park like a Charles Dickens character, watching the happy diners inside nosh on ethereal culinary combinations, or ordering the smallest salad on the menu at Petit Robert just so you can pretend you're in a Parisian bistro. (Not that we've, you know, done that.)

Welcome to "Meet the Mayor," a segment in which we interview local Foursquare Mayors in their natural habitats.

Sugar Heaven
Kaitlyn Elizabeth Soares

Is life, in fact, like a box of chocolates?
You never know what you're going to get, yes.

But lots of boxes of chocolate have labels on their insides describing the candy.

Earlier this month, Providence Phoenix contributor Malcolm Burnley wrote the story of how he unearthed the lost audio tapes of an event that almost noone knew had even taken place: a speech at Brown University by MALCOLM X. Among other things, Burnley's tale is a fine bit of academic sleuthing: after happening upon a photo of Malcolm X at Brown, he managed to track a few scant mentions of the event to an attic in Nyack, New York.

"Death and Football," an important and seminal article about the long-term impact of football injuries, written by Clark Booth for Boston alternative weekly the Real Paper in January 1976, is back online -- legally this time -- thanks to the New York Times.

Although the story got caught in the middle of an ideological cock-fight about copyright between myself and the Times, that skirmish is over, and it's a pleasure to be able to recommend you go immediately to the Times site and read Booth's piece, which is a classic.

The latest theater in the war against MBTA fare hikes and service cuts opened Monday with a bang on every corner of the train map. Occupy Somerville forces rallied in Davis Square. Their Jamaica Plain and Dorchester counterparts gathered at Forest Hills and Fields Corner, respectively, to sound alarms about troubling proposals.

Few things clarify the absurdity of partisan politics more than presidential elections; with their mud-slinging platitudes and vague assurances of a better tomorrow, red and blue would-be presidents present a continual tableau of the very worst of our politics and ourselves. We vote for them in the way we cheer for our favorite sports teams, paying more attention to the execution of their strategies than to the ultimate purpose of the game.

Dunno what your Saturday night Grammy pre-game was like, but ours involved a tough-ass veggie-and-chicken plate, the world's longest power-point presentation, and the company of every newspaper in New England not named the Boston Globe or the Boston Herald. Believe it or not, this is what passes in the fishwrap industry as a hell of a time, and don't be fooled by our cynical description of the festivities: we wouldn't miss this shit for the world.

Welcome to "Meet the Mayor," a segment in which we interview local Foursquare Mayors in their natural habitats.

Crack House
Sarah Ahearn

So you've labeled your apartment building the "Crack House"?
Yeah. It's just kind of sketchy-looking from the outside, and the floors in the elevator are cracked.

This reporter may have shirked a few responsibilities to keep an unmoving eye on the Twitter feed of Guchi's Midnight Ramen all the live long day. Like a hawk. Curiously, .0005 seconds after tickets were released, this was the result. Hopefuls are now crying foul across the Twitterverse.

Damn, ramen be (magically? impossibly?) sellin' like hot cakes. Or like hot ramen.