The Pill, the epicenter of Boston Britpop, mod, soul and indie subculture and home to Boston’s ambitious outsiders, misshapes and beautiful ones, took its final bow after 16 improbable but mostly glorious years at Great Scott this past Friday night. I was 430 miles away. A part, yet apart.
The other day I wrote about my dream involving the Hotel Morrissey, which naturally housed a Cafe Morrissey in its lobby. How this respite for weary travelers existed only in my dream no one can really know, but that was no excuse to not formulate marketing and product strategies!
A Facebook post followed, and thanks to some truly ace ideas from a couple of friends, it cemented in my mind that this was perhaps the single greatest idea I had ever had!
What follows are the fruits of our labors. Special thanks to Brian, Mario, Marc, Steve, Marya and Lauren for fueling the fire. Please feel free to add your own ideas so that some day the Hotel Morrissey will become the reality it was meant to be. Morrissey is such the lyricist that this could go on forever (in which case I’m doomed). Continue reading “Hotel Morrissey – the marketing”
In my dream, I stumbled around a corner of a large building and noticed the art deco sign, cast in shiny aluminium on the wall: The Hotel Morrissey. That’s pretty cool, I thought.
From there, I jumped a railing into the hotel (it’s a dream, if you have to ask), and ended up alone in a lobby cafe. Glancing up at the menu hanging from a wooden beam at the counter, I saw the familiar silhouette of Steven Patrick Morrissey, highlighting a house specialty, The Last of The Famous International Cappucinos. Brilliant.
We often grow accustomed to things just… working, in our lives. Especially the small things. We power on our laptop and it boots itself up. We hit ‘Start’ and the microwave pops our popcorn. We pull a lever and a goose blares as a horn for our makeshift car put together with spare parts in a back lot by a bunch of street urchins. Wait, I think that last one was just in the Little Rascals.
When these automated tasks don’t go as expected, we’re usually able to work our way around them. But it’s still funny how some of the simplest of tasks not working can leave us utterly confused and lost, as I witnessed today.
When my blood was a bit younger, I used to think about how much cooler it would have been to have come of age five years earlier. While I grew up during that glossy decade known as the 1980s, I was just a little young to truly appreciate the bands I came to know and love, bands borne of the late 70s-early 80s post punk movement, until later. Now that I’m 37, I’m quite thankful to have that extra five years ahead of me. Still, my nostalgia and appreciation for many things 80s remains intact, so all it took was a phone call from my cousin Abby about an 80s prom party in New York City for me to dive headfirst into my closet in search of my long-lost parachute pants. Continue reading “Forever Young”