Got a little bogged down in the funk there last time, didn’t we? Well, we’re leaving Dudley Square and all that funky shit behind!

On to the lovely, Concrete-Gothic Ruggles Station, where Bus #8 intersects with the orange line. Bet you didn’t know this: Ruggles is home to Avian Flyaway, inc.’s “bird relocation system,” which puts it in such illustrious company as the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials and the Treasury Dept. in Washington DC, The New York City Police Department, and Circuit City in Tampa Florida! See, the T cares enough about your pointed little head to keep birds from pooping on it.

And the great thing about Avian Flyaway’s system is it’s totally “harmless”. According to their literature, Avian Flyaway’s system is “based on Pavlov’s Theory of Behavior Modification - By ‘harmlessly’ training unwanted birds to Flyaway & Stay Away.” Pretty ominous, those quotes around the word “harmless” though, don’t you think?

But Avian Flyaway’s brochure assures us: “Birds contacting the System are ‘Reverse Rewarded’ - With a mild, non-lethal electric stimuli: ‘Don’t Land, Don’t Reap Reward.’ - After one or more events, birds associate reward with area & relocate.”

I remember being “harmlessly” “reverse rewarded” with ass-whoopins whenever I got into trouble as a kid.

But isn’t it funny the way they put it like that? I think it is. Disclosure: I’m not a big pigeon fan. But that’s hardly the point. The pigeons don’t care whether you call it a “a mild, non-lethal electric stimuli” or a “short, sharp shock.” It’s pretty much the same to them.

We think of political correctness as a liberal academic thing, but really it’s as much a function of a litigious society and the free market aversion to alienating anyone. I think it has a lot to do with the degree of conservatism in our culture, even amongst so-called liberals. Political correctness is, after all, an essentially authoritarian idea.

Which shows the inadequacies of the ways we conceive of and visualize our politics. Because in politics, beliefs and behaviors, ideologies and methodologies aren’t all lined up on the x-axis like so:

You want a more accurate picture, you’ve got to just bend it ’til it looks like this:

Of course this simplistic terminology comes from the simple fact that in the Congress and Senate, democrats sit on the left side of the aisle (facing the dais), and republicans on the right. This practice of sitting on party sides of the main aisle dates back to around 1877. (It’s a remnant of the seating arrangement of the French National Assembly of 1789). This has a practical purpose: allowing senators and congressmen to huddle with their “teammates.” But nowadays, as a metaphor for the people’s politics it’s lacking, and we continue to use it at our own peril.

Sure, there are a lot of different ways to conceive of and represent our politics, but to be even remotely accurate, they’d have to use more than just the x-axis. One slightly more complex way to visualize our politics can be found at politicalcompass.org. You can take the test and see where you come out.

My results put me rump-to-rump with Ghandi. And despite the illustrious company he’s in on this chart, I’m sticking with him. And I didn’t cheat, either.

Which brings us back to why there are surprisingly few pigeons in Ruggles Station. It’s the revolutionary reverse-reward system. If only Ghandi had known about this, he might still be with us today.

The Ruggles area is incredibly rich in history and culture. The old site of the baseball park commonly known as the old South End Grounds, which from 1871 to 1914 was home to Boston’s major league team, variously nicknamed the “Red Stockings,” “Beaneaters”, “Red Caps,” “Rustlers,” and “Doves” (they eventually hit on the “Braves,” and are, as you may have guessed, ancestors of the Atlanta Braves).

The old outfield is now an NU parking lot, and the former site of the grandstand and the infield is now a parking garage. There’s a commemorative plaque at the T station.

No reason to get off the bus at Ruggles, though. The #8 will drop you off at the doorstep of the Museum of Fine Arts, which is getting a behemoth new “Art of the Americas” wing. This is good news. Art is good, and more is better. But the slogan “Art for Everyone” being bandied about on the MFA’s website is nonsense with knobs on. In fact, if you ask me, it’s nonsense on stilts.

The current price of general admission is fifteen dollars and exhibitions can run to twenty-five bucks. Now that may be a lot of things, but it’s not “Art for Everyone.” “Art for everyone with forty bucks.” Yes.

The argument that forty bucks is nothing to pay, given the wealth of art, is made by people with forty bucks to spend. But never mind. Free museums have gone the way of the dodo. The British Museum is free to get in, but it’s in London. You can’t get there on the T.

Some months ago when students were coming back from Summer break, all the free papers did their obligatory “Welcome back to Boston” issue. In theirs the Phoenix had various suggestions as to where to meet people. Like for hook-ups. There were separate articles for girls and guys, girls and girls, and guys and guys, and for the latter, one of the places the author Kurt Malec suggested was the MFA, particularly when you don’t want to end up “later that same night [snogging, let’s say] in a bathroom stall.”

Psst, Kurt: the MFA has bathroom stalls, too.

Anyway, Kurt says that for “boyfriend” material, “The Museum of Fine Arts and the Boston Public Library courtyard are great places to find the intellectual type.” But I think this is an urban legend, like the one about the last car on subway trains being the gay cruising car. Somebody prove me wrong, please. But seriously, just go on the internet. That’s where the boys are.

By the way—a little off-topic, I know, but Kurt goes on: “If you don’t feel like putting on an air of intellectualism to approach those studying studs, I recommend bookstores like Trident Book Sellers. You’ll find scenesters, hipsters, and homosexuals reading, drinking, and lounging in the café. And let’s face it, it is a lot easier to make small talk with someone who is reading Paris Hilton’s latest than someone contemplating a Renoir.”

Is Paris Hilton an author now, too?

And what’s so hard about sidling up to a looker looking at Dance at Bougival, say, clearing your throat, and saying, “Why shouldn’t art be pretty? There are enough unpleasant things in the world.” That’s a direct quote from Monsieur Renoir himself, by the way. Or you could just cut to the chase, poke him in the small of his back and grunt: “the men’s john, in five, bitch. Be there.”

Not that museums aren’t great places to cruise, but admission’s got to be free. Forty dollar museum trips and free love just don’t mix. But even artfag haute couture is no guarantee you’re gonna meet someone any more decent than in the reeds at the Fens. I mean, look at what happened to Angie Dickinson in Dressed to Kill.

Hmm. Hold that thought, gentle reader. Once again, our time is up…

Ah, Route 8. There are few routes so rich, yet so humble. You could live your whole life on route 8. Start out at the Obstetrics and Gynecology Ward at Beth Israel; get an education on the way at UMass, Northeastern, or Simmons College; check out an exhibition at the Fine Arts Museum; go to a game at the Fenway; plant a garden or have anonymous sex in the Fens; have a rapid HIV test at Project Trust at the Boston Medical Center, and then celebrate your negative results by buying smack in Franklin Square Park; and after loads of cool adventures, finally end up six feet under in Columbia Square Cemetery in Dot. All this and more, without ever leaving our featured route of the day!

Here’s my suggestion for a fun-filled and action-packed day trip. Hop on at UMass Boston after a trip to the JFK Museum on the harbor and hop off at Kenmore Square (yes, this route boasts perhaps the two greatest and best-known symbols of 20th Century Boston: JFK and the Citgo sign!) and enjoy life’s rich pageant along the way. WOO-WOOOO! All aboard!

Our first stop (though not THE first stop) is South Bay Shopping Center! Are you a subcontractor or just a do-it-yourselfer? Well, there’s a Homo Depot right here at South Bay Center, and Bus #8 will drop you right at its door. Need some cheap immigrant labor for that little gentrification job you got going on? Look no further. We’ve got Mexicans, Brazilians, Cape Verdians, a virtual 31 flavors hanging out in front of the Home Depot and Target just waiting to assist you for a fraction of the cost of legal day-labor! ¡Venga, venga, venga, muchacho! ¡Dese prisa! ¡El autobús se está yendo! ¡ariba ariba, andele andele!

Next, let’s hop off at the Boston Medical Center, a medical research hospital associated with BU! It has a slightly complicated history of mergers, but its various individual institutes were founded in the mid-nineteenth century. The former Boston City Hospital (BCH) was the first municipal hospital established in the United States. Nowadays BMC is THE place to BE if you’re afflicted by a STD!

Bus #8 runs through the South End, too. Of particular interest: the aforementioned historic Blackstone/Franklin Square neighborhood. There are two big parks there with big-ass birdbaths as their centerpieces. The parks seem to serve as spill-over for the Pine Street Inn, which is, surprisingly and unfortunately, not on our tour today. Those of you interested in visiting the Inn will have to tune in for featured routes #9 and #49, coming soon! Until then, feel free to get to know some of the Inn’s eccentric denizens in Franklin Square!

But I would be remiss if I failed to mention this area is now home to the trendiest, priciest, loftiest new neighborhoods in Boston: SOHA and SOWA, both very much in walking distance from the Blackstone/Franklin Square Neighborhood. But you are probably not taking the bus or reading this if you are living there. So I think it’s safe to say there is something slightly sad and wannabe-pathetic in these cutesy-chic, Manhattanistic loftihoods, which were not invented by down and out but devil-may-care artistes but by sleazy developers and snooty realtors who have by now priced all the squatters out (many now reside in the Pine Street Inn and Franklin Square Park). Yes, there were and are plenty of artist studios in the hood, but it’s been utterly defunkified in the process of luxury loftification. Not knocking it, just telling you. Because there are gonna be people out there who will say things like, “Oh, SOWA! That’s kinda funky!” But it’s Queer Eye funky, at most. Which means occasionally you’ll see someone using a vintage necktie for a belt.

One place on our route that is off the scale on the funkometer is the Dudley area of Roxbury/North Dorchester, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Boston. And this is why (as The Dudley Street Neighborhood Initiative (DSNI) informs us):

“This diverse community of African American (37%), Latino (29%), Cape Verdean (25%) and White (7%) residents has a per capita income of $7,600 compared to nearly $16,000 for the City of Boston as a whole. The median family income for the area is $20,848. The unemployment rate is around 16%. Approximately 32% of the area’s population falls below the poverty level.”

Now, no offense to anyone, but that 7% figure above is crucial to the funk factor of any neighborhood. Sorry. When white people think of something funky, it’s usually something like the “funky chicken,” a dance whose invention is attributed to Rufus Thomson, a rhythm and blues and soul singer from Memphis, which involves acting like a chicken; flapping your “wings” and flailing your legs around. All well and good, but is it really funky? While Thomson’s credentials are impeccable, he was never able to adequately explain how or why or under what specific circumstances impersonating a chicken is funky. Personally, I think it was an ingenious way of selling the idea of funky to white folks who haven’t got a clue.

The truth is white people have been searching for the meaning of funk ever since the word entered the slang lexicon. And it’s a word with a particularly rich etymology. The Oxford Unabridged gives some tantilizing hints as to the connection between funky and chicken. One possible origin is the Flemish fonck: “cowering fear, a state of panic or shrinking terror.” In 19th century English, as a verb, it was slang for “to flinch” or “to try to back out of” something. Horatio Walpole was quoted in 1886: “The last time I saw him here [Eton], was standing up funking against a coduit to be catechised.” As a noun it could mean “a kick,” as quoted in J. Halley’s Life (1842) here: “He placed his hand…unluckily just on the spot where Mr. Pony is rather touchy. Sundry vehement funks…were the immediate consequence.” Flinching and kicking, hmm? Maybe old Rufus was an etymologist after all.

But when it comes to the adjective “funky,” things get even clearer. It showed up in its more readily recognizable form in 1954, 170 years after its first sighting in English (”sweet or funky cheese”). But here’s the clincher, from the December 31st, 1960 issue of Melody Maker:

“Horace [Silver] recalls that the use of the word funk in the modern sense goes back to his composition, ‘Opus de Funk’. ‘When you put a lot of little blues inflections in the solos, people would say you were really funky, by which they just mean bluesy.’”

Which introduces another intangible into the discussion. But never mind. Even Cecil, of The Straight Dope has entered the fray. One of his faithful readers claims the following origins for “funky”:

“[It] seems to derive from the Ki-Kongo lu-fuki, `bad body odor.’ … Both jazzmen and Bakongo use funky and lu-fuki to praise persons for the integrity of their art, for having `worked out’ to achieve their aims…. This Kongo sign of exertion is identified with the positive energy of a person. Hence `funk’ in American jazz parlance can mean earthiness, a return to fundamentals.”

To which Cecil replies: “YOU SAY IT’S FUNKY, I SAY IT STINKS.”

As far as funk’s concerned, the only thing that’s for sure is this: if you have to ask you’ll never know.

The long and short of it is: any way you slice it, Dudley Square is funkier than SOWA.

Hmm, well we’re about halfway through our tour, and I don’t know about you, but I am BEAT, my babes. So We’ll have to finish this action-packed route another day. And if you have any suggestions for sights I may have missed so far in our journey from UMass to Dudley Square, feel free to toss in your two cents!