Here's the thing: I'm kind of a secret, Grade-A hermit. Not a hermit in a traditional sense of course, but more of a lounging afficianado. I do booze around and let my proverbial hair down way more than my paycheck allows, yes, but it's this thing where, if you were to hold up my favorite pair of sweats and a free press dinner side-by-side, for one embarassing and shameful minute I will actually consider the sweatpants.

The Boston Urban Iditarod is a creative take on the traditional Alaskan dog-sled race -- substituting sleds for shopping carts, dog teams for humans (dressed in costume), and tundra check-points for a cross-town pub crawl. While Urban Iditarod competitors can win trophies, prizes, and notoriety -- that all depends on which teams filled their sleds/carts with the most non-perishable donations for the Boston Medical Center food pantry.

While one side of the river is either running the marathon, getting drunk and watching the marathon, or stumbling out of Fenway Park after the annual 11am Red Sox game, the other side of the river is enjoying our fakest spring holiday the way nature intended: by starting hyperlocal hashtag memes.

En fuego right now: #prcmoms, which caught us off guard at first -- who knew the Photographic Resource Center had a mom? -- until we realized it was shorthand for "People's Republic of Cambridge Moms."

Last September, New Yorker staffwriter (and former Phoenix staffer) Susan Orlean laid out the case for keeping fresh poultry in the backyard: it's cheap, it's safe, it's fun, and it's environmentally sound. You would think that would be enough for the city fathers of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

This shit just got real.

We were forwarded an e-mail this morning from the folks at Lorem Ipsum Books in Inman Square, Cambridge. In short, the e-mail says that Lorem Ipsum, one of the best book stores in the general Boston area, needs to move, and they need some money to do so, so they're holding a book drive.

I used to hustle street corners for political campaigns in New York City, registering voters and fielding questions about candidates. For a bullshit Picasso like me, canvassing was the ideal summer job; if constituents wanted a city councilor who could fly, I was there to sell them Superman. I did this for years – until I developed a conscience and grabbed a notepad – and the only time I ever hated work was on days when I was dispatched to the Upper East Side.