We've asked our international correspondents to to tell us a little something about what goes on in their respective cities. Ursula Murphy continues our series in Boston, MA.

As most of us know, living in the same city for a number of years can take its toll on any amicable feelings one might have for said city. This is the point I'm at with Boston, where I've lived for the past six years of my adult life. I took on the role of MASH roving correspondent with hopes of rekindling long dormant feelings of real interest in my hometown; my usual sentiments regarding Boston lean toward blasé disenchantment to downright distaste depending on the number of Boston University or Northeastern students I've run into on the T that day. (Note to reader: NU = bad, BU = much, much worse. And T, of course, = subway.)

Starting on my journey to kinder, gentler feelings toward Boston, I figured, hey, a little cultcha never hurt anyone! I headed off to The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (www.mfa.org) to see the exhibit - "Van Gogh: Face to Face," a comprehensive show dedicated solely to Van Gogh's portraits and self-portraits. The exhibit began with drawings from the early 1880's of so-called orphan men - elderly gentlemen living in the poorhouses of The Hague. These were almost like caricatures: old men with worn-out jackets, beat-up top hats and maybe an eye patch or two. Van Gogh's inability to afford more traditional models seemed to work in his favor. These character studies, along with intimate portraits of the Roulin family - and of course the self-portraits - were my favorite parts of the show. I did make the mistake of going on one of the last weekends it was open, so the throng of annoying tourists pretending to be cultured blocked my view at almost every turn. I was out of there much faster than I would have liked, but over all I did enjoy the exhibit. While at the museum I wandered into "Beyond the Screen," an exhibit of Chinese furniture from various periods and places, which was literally deserted and, truthfully, more interesting than a bunch of paintings I'd seen many times before.

The Oak Bar at the stodgy Fairmont Copley Plaza was next on the agenda. This dark, crowded hotel bar with 35 different kinds of $20 martinis had the absolute worst service I have ever encountered. What's worse, the room was filled with middle-aged traveling businessmen who give middle-aged traveling businessmen a bad name. In other words, it sucked. We drank our champagne cocktails, contemplated chewing and screwing, admired the bar's old world décor and left. Never again. Oh wait, maybe when I'm over 40 and lame.

Now that I had my dose of art, culture, and irritating middle-aged people, I felt ready to take on the world of heavy drinking. I trekked over to the B-Side, a retro-style lounge featuring great food reasonably priced and fabulous cocktails (with fresh-squeezed juice if you so desire). Now, I hadn't been to the B-side in a couple of months and was shocked and dismayed to find khaki-clad college students heavily encroaching on what was once strictly musician/artist/otherwise cool person territory. This is no good. Another bar ruined by these people, don't they have their own places to hang out? I suggest a moral code as well as dress code - no khakis, Julia Roberts fans, bra straps showing behind spaghetti strap tank tops, current or former wearers of baseball hats, psychology majors, or Tommy Hilfiger. I am not recalling any sort of fond memory about Boston yet.

Next on the agenda was the newly opened Flash's, a bit off the beaten path of crowded nightclubs of Newbury, Boylston and Lansdowne streets. It wasn't exactly loaded with hip, attractive scenesters but was a) quiet enough to actually have a conversation without yelling b) a pretty nice looking place with a large oak bar and gigantic windows open to the street, and c) only one horribly stupid pickup line was uttered to me the entire two hours we were there. Drinks were surprisingly inexpensive and large, too - always a plus - and the walls were filled with local art. Things are looking up; I think this might become my newest hangout.

The music scene is the one thing I do love about Boston. I had difficulty picking from fantastic shows at Bill's Bar, the Middle East, etc. I had to go with seeing one of the biggest bands in Boston right now, Waltham at t. t. the bears in Cambridge. Waltham is sort of a Journey meets Rick Springfield throwback and while that may sound terrifying, it's actually great. The band is five guys from - you guessed it - Waltham, a skanky, low-rent suburb of Boston, and a couple of them have the mullets to prove it.

Regardless, they packed the place wall to wall and even installed extra stage accouterments and video monitors for patrons to watch while waiting on line to get in. The show rocked; it was cool and smarmy at the same time - lots of ballads with titles like "Maria" and "Nicole" and the like. The band's fans were a die-hard bunch who screamed every freaking word of every freaking song whether they went to Waltham High or not. A friend of the band even got to sing one of their ditties to his wife for their anniversary (she cried hysterically). I look forward to seeing them again.

Okay, so Boston doesn't suck so bad. Plenty of people like it here, there's gotta be some good things about it right? Behind the never-ending Big Dig construction, the bewildering fascination with the Kennedys, the enormously high rents, the stodgy conservatism and the tendency to drop r's, is ... is ... something of which I've gotten glimpses but don't see all the time. Perhaps if I weren't so jaded I might be able to find it. Or maybe I should just move.

Reporting from Boston, MA, this is Ursula Murphy.

Next month: Audrey Gebber treats us to a pub crawl in Oxford, England.