Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Plane Driver, Call the Body Fixers! We've Hit a Sky Jumper!
Oh, it's back to work already. This weekend seemed pretty long, though (as I suppose the "long weekend" title would imply). A brief recap:
I went golfing with my Dad on Saturday morning, which was fun even though I couldn't hit a straight shot with my irons. We grabbed a bite to eat at a pizza place on Boston Ave, where I saw my sister and Jenn Hufton walk by outside, followed by a guy wheeling a keg. We stopped them to say hello, but let them go get ready for their BBQ.
Around 5:30, I showed up at 42 Adams Street, home to Sarah Adams, Jenn Hufton, et al. We were having fun, but the party was getting a little loud, so there was some concern that the neighbors would be upset. Luckily, as I've mentioned before, my sister's upstairs neighbors are professional clowns...and when clowns hear a party, they don't complain, they entertain. That would be a pretty catchy motto, huh?
"If people want to come outside, we'll do some tricks," they said. It took about three seconds for everybody in the apartment to empty out into the backyard. The drunken revelers were then treated to fire swallowing, fire juggling, and other things involving fire. After they performed for a while, everyone came back inside, figuring the show was over. We were wrong. The clowns entered the apartment, blue gymnastics mat in tow, and did some serious circus acrobatics for us. I believe the most common comment from any given member of the innebriated audience was "Is this really happening?". If anybody has pictures from the party or knows someone who does, send them to me at MesteeBlogger@Gmail.com so I can post them here.
On Sunday, Sarah, Jenn, and I picked Hufton up at Logan Airport around 11:30 PM. Since he was still on west coast time, he didn't have the immediate urge to go to bed and was actually able to tell us a lot about his trip and show us some pictures when we got back to Boston Ave. With the promise that Brendan probably wouldn't be back from Philly that night, Hufton shacked up in Fernald's bed and got a ride back to Londonderry before I woke up the next morning.
The weather on Monday was nice until right around 3:00, a half hour before I was scheduled to tee off with my Dad and Joe Taranto for nine holes at Lexington. There were a few drops of rain here and there, but we were able to tee off on time and play until the first signs of thunder or lightening. I was just hoping that I wouldn't be the one to discover the "first sign" of lightening. The course was surprisingly crowded, considering the conditions, so we spent a fair amount of time waiting to tee off at each hole. As we were waiting to tee off on the 4th hole, an errant tee shot from the 3rd hole came through the woods.
"Ray, I'm gonna hit it back. Should I hit it back to them?" Joe Taranto asked my Dad.
"Go for it," my Dad told him.
At this point, I surveyed the situation. To hit the ball back to the 3rd hole would mean clearing a line of trees, the road where cars drive to enter the course, and then the line of trees on the other side of that road. Also in close proximity: a parking lot full of cars owned by people that would not appreciate a golf ball-sized hole through their windshield.
"Dad, I don't think he should hit it. I can't see anything good happening from this." My Dad smirked, sort of knowing that trouble may be abound, but so curious to see the result of Joe's shot that he wouldn't stop him.
"Ray, I'm gonna put it right on the fairway for 'em."
I had sort of a nervous grimace (can't help but think that's an odd name for a happy purple character) on my face as Joe started his backswing. The ball took off and cleared the first set of trees, then the road, then grazed off a branch in the second set of trees, and bounced out onto the fairway of the 3rd hole, just as promised.
"Great shot, Joe!" my Dad said as he laughed, knowing that disaster had been averted. It's these kinds of things that reinforce my theory that I will be no more mature in 30 years than I am now...but I kind of like that thought.
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I went golfing with my Dad on Saturday morning, which was fun even though I couldn't hit a straight shot with my irons. We grabbed a bite to eat at a pizza place on Boston Ave, where I saw my sister and Jenn Hufton walk by outside, followed by a guy wheeling a keg. We stopped them to say hello, but let them go get ready for their BBQ.
Around 5:30, I showed up at 42 Adams Street, home to Sarah Adams, Jenn Hufton, et al. We were having fun, but the party was getting a little loud, so there was some concern that the neighbors would be upset. Luckily, as I've mentioned before, my sister's upstairs neighbors are professional clowns...and when clowns hear a party, they don't complain, they entertain. That would be a pretty catchy motto, huh?
"If people want to come outside, we'll do some tricks," they said. It took about three seconds for everybody in the apartment to empty out into the backyard. The drunken revelers were then treated to fire swallowing, fire juggling, and other things involving fire. After they performed for a while, everyone came back inside, figuring the show was over. We were wrong. The clowns entered the apartment, blue gymnastics mat in tow, and did some serious circus acrobatics for us. I believe the most common comment from any given member of the innebriated audience was "Is this really happening?". If anybody has pictures from the party or knows someone who does, send them to me at MesteeBlogger@Gmail.com so I can post them here.On Sunday, Sarah, Jenn, and I picked Hufton up at Logan Airport around 11:30 PM. Since he was still on west coast time, he didn't have the immediate urge to go to bed and was actually able to tell us a lot about his trip and show us some pictures when we got back to Boston Ave. With the promise that Brendan probably wouldn't be back from Philly that night, Hufton shacked up in Fernald's bed and got a ride back to Londonderry before I woke up the next morning.
The weather on Monday was nice until right around 3:00, a half hour before I was scheduled to tee off with my Dad and Joe Taranto for nine holes at Lexington. There were a few drops of rain here and there, but we were able to tee off on time and play until the first signs of thunder or lightening. I was just hoping that I wouldn't be the one to discover the "first sign" of lightening. The course was surprisingly crowded, considering the conditions, so we spent a fair amount of time waiting to tee off at each hole. As we were waiting to tee off on the 4th hole, an errant tee shot from the 3rd hole came through the woods.
"Ray, I'm gonna hit it back. Should I hit it back to them?" Joe Taranto asked my Dad.
"Go for it," my Dad told him.
At this point, I surveyed the situation. To hit the ball back to the 3rd hole would mean clearing a line of trees, the road where cars drive to enter the course, and then the line of trees on the other side of that road. Also in close proximity: a parking lot full of cars owned by people that would not appreciate a golf ball-sized hole through their windshield.
"Dad, I don't think he should hit it. I can't see anything good happening from this." My Dad smirked, sort of knowing that trouble may be abound, but so curious to see the result of Joe's shot that he wouldn't stop him.
"Ray, I'm gonna put it right on the fairway for 'em."
I had sort of a nervous grimace (can't help but think that's an odd name for a happy purple character) on my face as Joe started his backswing. The ball took off and cleared the first set of trees, then the road, then grazed off a branch in the second set of trees, and bounced out onto the fairway of the 3rd hole, just as promised.
"Great shot, Joe!" my Dad said as he laughed, knowing that disaster had been averted. It's these kinds of things that reinforce my theory that I will be no more mature in 30 years than I am now...but I kind of like that thought.
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