In 2004, the people thought he was wooden. Aloof. Out of touch with the common man.
No one wanted to have a beer with him because it’d probably be a foreign and unpronounceable brew, made with boysenberries and the blood of Flemish peasants or something.
But when you’re running for President, you really don’t get the opportunity to show the best sides of you. The side that likes to rock out at boat parties, for example. As many experienced boat partiers already know, those red cups are significant; the red cups hold more awesome.
Beacon Hill is much the same way. It’s quiet, and has a large contingent of very, very rich people (like John Kerry) who like to work 12-16 hour days and then come home to total silence in the heart of the city.
But hiding in Beacon Hill’s narrow, cobbled streets is a small army of Suffolk Undergraduates, and the patrons of a few rowdy roof decks. From the chalk-scrawled bricks of the Beacon Hill Pub, to the classic and highly ironic “Curley for Mayor” poster at 21st Amendment, Beacon Hill is a neighborhood that knows a good time.
The best part is that living there gives you a ready-made excuse, should anyone catch you enjoying a little too much good cheer. Where John Kerry can fall back on his status as a Senator, merely posing for photos with constituents, you can fall back on your address as evidence of your upstanding moral character.
Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret.