Whenever I hear Wham’s “Last Christmas,” I feel such emotion. Perhaps it was most fully realized one night walking by the Charles Hotel in Cambridge in Harvard Square. They were opening the ice skating rink that night. It was a dinky one about the size of a large room. The mayor was there, I think.
Last Christmas came surging over the speakers, maybe a teen-pop girl cover, the synths chirping brightly, and Harvard’s synchronized skating team, clad in sort of matching skirts from the bargain basement, came out, skating in circles. The rink was too small for the team to be so synchronized. Some girls were better than others. I wasn’t in any place to understand George Michael’s lament, but it was a piercingly sad lament to love lost and how the holidays are linked. Watching Harvard girls fail to ice dance together to a song so melancholy just hit me hard.
File this under Death of Print: One of my treasured hanging out with my parents traditions is waking up and eating breakfast while reading The Boston Globe. These days, the paper is so gutted that it doesn’t even last me five minutes. What’s sad is that the Globe arts section was always fairly robust, but these days, “G” means one feature article, a space for a column (because that hack Alex Beam still needs his job) a smattering of listings, a review or two, but that’s it. It’s shockingly small. It’s getting to be that the sports section is really the only thing that the Globe pays attention to. It’s certainly bigger than the metro/business section! It’s really heartbreaking.