Sean "too big/legit to fail/quit" F.'s Profile

Great lunch special: 3 entrees for $20. We split the chicken + asparagus, squid + mustard greens, and sauteed spinach and garlic.

The ingredients were very fresh and not at all greasy or heavy. The place was crowded in a good way, and while we didn't have to wait to be seated for lunch, we did share a table. The service was fast and accurate.

The decor is a mish mash of "Chinatown chic" --including the obligatory small fish tank (presumably) with tomorrow's lunch swimming around, but it's definitely worth coming for the food.

BUFF brings underground (hence the name) and cult films that you'd otherwise never get to see to the big screen in Boston. They always manage to attract a large number of the filmmakers themselves too, who are surprisingly approachable.

There's a BUFF party just about every night of festival and the INSANELY CHEAP "All Access VIP pass" gets you into EVERYTHING: screenings, Q&A talks, performances, parties, awards ceremonies --and occasionally even the staff's hotel room!

Seriously, last year the All Access VIP pass was $75 for the entire 8 days!

The parties are at fantastic venues like Noir in Harvard Square and almost always include appetizers as well as complimentary booze! Last year Maker's Mark sponsored the festival parties, ensuring that we were all barely able to get up for the next day's screenings.

Admittedly I'm not a fan of every movie at BUFF. The films are considered "underground" for a reason, meaning that you might love some and hate others, but you'll also see some really unique stuff that you wouldn't get to see otherwise.

Last year I saw some amazing films: Anywhere USA, 9 to 5 Days in Porn, and short called Thumbnail and I'm still shocked that I haven't seen these films anywhere else.

Lastly, BUFF is usually held in late March, when it's still suck-ass cold, wet and miserable in Boston. What better time to sit inside watching movies all day, and drinking bourbon and dancing all night?

You thoroughly, entirely, undeniably, unequivocally, indisputably, unambiguously, incontrovertibly, unassailably, emphatically, thoroughly, unreservedly, unconditionally, definitively, altogether, irrefutably, in every way and in every respect, totally, utterly, completely, and absolutely downright SUCK!

P.S. Please don't audit me.

They say you can always tell a Harvard man; you just can't tell him much. One thing they do know however, is that there are some things dad's Amex Black card can't buy, and for those things there's dad's Bank of America ATM card, linked to a portfolio of financial assets which include an interest-bearing, yet somehow tax-sheltered, trust fund. In short: CASH.

Harvard men know that cash is the duct tape of upper class society (actual duct tape is still the duct tape of lower and middle class society). Fortunately, the magic walls of this lobby can dispense enough cold, crispy, oddly-fake-looking new American dollar, dollar bills to patch up your proverbial Titanic, no matter what iceberg Ivy League life sends floating your way. Whether you want a little crush-n-snort "study break" in the Widener bathroom, or need to retroactively re-brand a minor bout of "date rape" into just another "crazy Wellesley party", cash can make that happen.

While even China realizes that US currency is a worthless fiat-backed shell game, everyone in Harvard Square is too busy downloading new Twitter apps for their iPhones to notice or care. Businesses in the 02138 are still surprisingly willing to accept greenbacks in exchange for everything from ironic t-shirts to ...well ...regular t-shirts.

When entering this glass-facaded cathedral, built on fractional-reserve lending, $29 overdraft charges, and the occasional sub-prime loan, one can't help but be awed. I sure as hell can't explain why these ATMs need to be housed a room roughly the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall, but clearly these BoA folks know what they're doing -- they are no AIG, or WaMu or Lehman. No sir. Not these guys.

While you're well-protected inside, you and any attaché should exercise caution when exiting with your new Benjamins. The hundred or so feet between this swipe-card-protected temple of capitalism and the insular gates of the Yard will test your resolve like no other challenge -- except perhaps that time when you were 13 and you took a fifth of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and dad's J105 out for some night sailing around the Vineyard. Thankfully, as a minor, those records are now permanently sealed.

Still, the denizens of the Square, buskers, communists, and filthy activist-bloggers, know that you now hold on your person the very fuel by which the social injustice machine purrs along, and they will stop at nothing to deprive you of it. Begging, propaganda, cardboard signs, more begging, and the occasional mutilated Bob Dylan song are only a few of the weapons in their considerable arsenal. Avoid eye contact and walk briskly across Mass Ave.

These people are not your problem.

People in Hi-Fi Pizza fall into one of three categories:

1) People who are drunk at 2am after seeing a show at the Middle East and who want a slice of greasy pizza
2) People who are about to shoot somebody
3) People who are about to get shot

If you find yourself at Hi-Fi Pizza and you're not sure why, take a moment to ask yourself the following two questions:

Am I drunk and eating pizza right now?
Am I carrying a gun right now?

If you answered "no" to both of the above questions, you unfortunately fall into category 3, and you are about to get shot.

Erectile disfunction got you down? Wife upset because the fertility treatments are a bust? Son decided to change his major from pre-med to art history after you paid $220,000 for Williams College?

Deal with those woes the American way: through conspicuous consumption and redecoration. Whatever your first world problem, this place likely offers an espresso-veneered first world solution to gloss it over, often with an optional matching ottoman.

The friendly staff have a surprisingly detailed recollection of which patterns and colors were discontinued when, so while they can't necessarily match last year's couch to this year's chaise, they can tell you exactly what date to set your TARDIS for, if you want to travel back in time and do it yourself. Or you can buy everything that needs to match at the same time. Crazy, I know! You don't need to be a conspiracy theorist to see there's some planned obsolesce going on here.

While some of the products are so close to IKEA-quality you can practically taste the Swedish meatballs, the prices, much like Boston circa 2004, are nowhere near IKEA. That said, at least you won't have to spend your weekend assembling furniture, as C&B has had the foresight to force some Malaysian child laborer to do most of that for you. Generally though, the quality is good and the designs are well-thought out, if somewhat conservative. There are some good finds -- particularly on the 3rd floor "outlet attic". The unflattering fluorescent lighting lets you know you're saving money.

After months of searching, I managed to get a fantastic discontinued couch here for almost half of the list price. Randomly, it also matches a love seat owned by a previous girlfriend. This rare bit of fabric swatch destiny might've one day been the basis for rekindling our relationship, if my friends and house guests didn't manage to spill the entire USDA food pyramid on my furniture at seemingly every opportunity. On a related note, they'll stain guard your couch for around $60. In retrospect, probably worth it.