If heaven were a place on earth, it would be the Boston Harbor Hotel’s new John Adams Presidential Suite. Showcasing drop-dead-gorgeous waterfront views from its floor-to-ceiling windows and terrace, the 4,800-square-foot retreat is bolstered by a glass-domed ceiling, a freestanding soaking tub overlooking the harbor, and a private elevator (because if you’re paying $15,000 a night, why mix with the hoi polloi?). 70 Rowes Wharf, Boston, MA bhh.com.
When Diddy ran the New York City Marathon as a last-minute, made-for-MTV fundraiser/publicity stunt, he was able to enlist the legendary Alberto Salazar to help him through his crash-course, five-week training regimen. You, obviously, are not Diddy. But you can at least have your stride expertly analyzed by former Olympian Mike Roche, who will film you jogging on his in-store treadmill, study the footage in slow motion, and then put you in the sneakers best suited to the quirks of your stride. Just be sure to give yourself more than five weeks to train for your big race. 121 Charles St., Boston, MA 2114, bostonrunningcompany.com.
Spared the ever-shifting trends that rule women's fashion, men have the luxury of building their accessories wardrobe from time-honored staples. From leather belts to sunglasses to silk ties, the best last a lifetime—and can usually be found at Bobby from Boston, where shelves are stocked with premium vintage merch that looks as snappy today as it did decades ago. It's like raiding the closet of the debonair great-uncle you never had. 19 Thayer St., Boston, MA 2118, .
By far the most complete facility in the Hub. A South Station shuttle totes the club's downtown professional clientele to its palatial Summer Street facility; a kiddie gym takes care of the little ones while parents pump up; and a swimming pool, driving range, and squash, tennis, and basketball courts offer every possible perspirational opportunity. The BAC also has in-house trainers, nutritionists, hair stylists, masseurs and masseuses, and a restaurant and TV lounge. The BAC serves with fin-de-siècle family style, and members wouldn't have it any other way. 653 Summer St., Boston, MA .
The headquarters for Samuel Adams Beer offers a tour that is truly informative. You'll be introduced to the technicalities of hops and barley malt, then get to sample a few beers. 30 Germania Street, Jamaica Plain, MA .
You know what they say about cleanliness and godliness. Which must be why visits from Crystal Clean always leave your home so divine. A four-person team buffs and shines down to the hard-to-reach spots and tops it all off with finishing touches—dusted reading glasses, triangle-folded toilet paper—that other services often skip. Boston, MA 2116, crystalcleanboston.com.
Better than home. Each stall is a spacious 5'9" by 5'9". Rowes Wharf, Boston, MA .
Not all dogs are created equal. There are the flavorless grocery-store tubes (we're looking at you, Oscar Mayer), and then there is the behemoth from food truck Boston Super Dog (formerly Speed's). This half-pound frank is marinated in apple cider before it's smoked, grilled, and basted in barbecue sauce (go all the way with chili, mustard, chopped onion, and relish). You'll never look a packaged dog in the bun again. Roxbury, MA 2118, bostonsuperdog.com.
The most utilitarian and private: The Boston Center for Adult Education. The most romantic: The 57 Restaurant.
In June, the Metro columnist was briefly cut back from writing two columns a week to one, owing to a number of errors in his stories, including a column on the first black law-school dean in the region who, a subsequent correction informed us, turned out to be the second black law-school dean in the region. The good news is that, unlike his predecessor Patricia Smith, Walker made factual errors.
Filling in for Joe Sciacca one morning last month, the Mayor (or whoever ghostwrote the column for him) gave as good as he has gotten all these years. But he also showed a charming self-deprecating wit (which again suggests it was ghosted). If only he carried that over to his day job—it would be like that Alcatraz would finally be off his back.
He's everything sports punditry has never been in this town. In pages dominated by aging Irishmen, yes, he's young and black. More to the point, he's aggressive, witty, and stylish. Plus, it's nice that a Boston sportswriter finally realizes it's only a game. And the girls think he's a babe.
This perpetually lame Stepford scribe's reports on suburban life actually make you yearn for Mike Barnicle's cheesy bluster.
Admit it. The Globe's better. It has more local news and fewer turgid front-page reports about Australia devaluing its dollar. But Jack, are we having fun yet?
Yeah, yeah, he writes for us, too. He's still the best.