So you were once a Harvard wunderkind, a spritely hipster with real talent, but then you blew your decent gig at a major alt-weekly by fabricating, of all things, the details in your cover story. You got canned, your editor resigned, and your name became synonymous with journalistic jackassery. For such a young guy, you fucked up pretty badly.
Some might say you're a complete tool. Others may pity you because of your obvious mental deficiencies. And yet more will declare that your writing career is over.
But not the Boston Phoenix. The Phoenix understands, man, and it's not gonna judge. It will pick you up, dust you off, and put you right back where you were at that other alt-weekly, reviewing music. You're going to do well there. Really well. Hell, they might even let you write a cover story someday. And so it will begin again, the circle of your alt-weekly life.