Inman Square Stroll By.

I've been a denizen here now for as long as anywhere in Cambridge that I could call home.

It is a strange vain place, a kind of stage within stage for various flavors of yuppies to have their various mating and conspicuous consumption rituals. And, beyond the hardware store and a few other improbable practical things it has devolved into fluff. 

Style stomped substance into a tiny grease spot so long ago, there are few hardy elders left who recall the days when it was a workaday Jewish immigrant neighborhood or a place where Van Morrison went to chill for a beer when he was rat poor and waiting on his record deal.

And the later period of the 1970s, what I call the Great Lesbian Migration, has now been largely effaced as lesbians were hit hard by disparities in income generally affecting women when the neutron bomb, economic cleansing, impact of yuppification washed over and had them fleeing to parts more affordable.  

There was a notable jazz venue, the 1369, which is now a smug hell hole of  caffeinated milk beverages and solipsists engaged in public display rituals that entail pasting ones face to a laptop, net book or tablet screen to do the time honored Boston Yuppie "Look how busy and important I am" ritual, that is strictly reflexive at this point and greets the inevitable ensuing indifference with a counter stroke of stunning self absorption.

This latter spills fully out into the streets in the form of a never ending ditz parade which will leave an alert person wondering what ever became of the cognitive.