Obey Your Inner Douche

Tanya and I went to see the Shepard Fairey exhibit at the ICA last night, because Thursdays are free there, and because now when someone asks me if I’ve been to the exhibit, which happens every time I wear Obey clothing, I can say, “yes.” We didn’t stay long. It was filled with hipsters, as expected, and filled with people who love to hear themselves expound on art, like all art exhibits. Plus, Tanya was tired. I kind of want to go back before it’s over August 16th, and kind of don’t maybe ever want to go back there ever again.

In stark opposition to seeing art, we started off the evening by going to the Atlantic Beer Garden. We’re sorry. We didn’t know what we were doing, and it’s close to the ICA. It’s the worst place I’ve been to in Boston in a long time. It’s worse than the awful new House of Blues and it’s worse than going to Tavern in the Square when it’s full of assholes, which is often.

The non-descript shithole looks like almost any boring franchise restaurant would look like if you stripped it of whatever gimmick they used to cover the walls and put up boring Boston sports pictures instead. The place is covered in flat screen TVs, which was a nice diversion to draw the eye away from the teeming hordes of post-work douchey blue shirts and their female cohorts. Luckily, there is a deck out on the watah and a roof deck, too (wicked awesome), so most people flock there. Those who weren’t coming from nearby work were of the typical trashy South Boston stripe, something one can never totally scour away from any part of South Boston, even a part that is newer and mostly businesses and diversions.

We sat at a table away from the crowd, but a depressing cluster of women sat at the table next to us, the kind of women who seem to take style tips from Chelsea Clinton and who are far less attractive, the type of women you hope will always be alone, but you know that won’t be the case, because there are equally awful and boring men out there.

The menu is underwhelming, as is the beer selection, which is kind of odd for a place that calls itself a beer garden. The whole place is about as interesting as its name. I mean, it’s out on the Atlantic, they sell beer, and, well there’s no garden, but two out of three ain’t bad, although everything about the experience was.