Mestee Blogger

The first two articles I read from the Boston Globe today made me feel like I was living in the 1950's. Some people in Boston apparently think that A) gay people should not be represented at a sporting event and would be better off "keeping it to themselves" and B) Pop Warner football teams consisting of mostly white kids should not have to play against teams consisting of mostly black kids. There's even a message board to weigh in on the Pop Warner topic...here are a few excerpts:

"What's going on is that someone has finally recognized that the black kids can't differentiate streets from the field. Keep them separate, mental integration might be beneficial but physical integration could be harmful to the white kids."

"Racism, in its present form, is a term used by blacks to intimidate the majority into getting what they want. If you want to be accepted, act like adults and human beings."

Act like adults? They're kids between the ages of 7 and 14 years old! If they're too rough for the white kids from Wellesley, maybe you shouldn't be playing football. As far as the Queer Eye antics at Fenway, they teamed up with the Red Sox to raise money for the little league parks that were destroyed near the Sox training camp in Florida. Those damn charitable homosexuals! Why wouldn't they get booed at Fenway, they're trying to help out people who've been affected by a natural disaster! Alright, I'm done venting.

I was thinking how nice it was that it was still really early on Saturday evening and I had already gone to the gym and eaten dinner, but then I fell asleep on the couch, woke up shortly before Hufton arrived, and before I knew it we were hustling to catch the 9:30 commuter rail into Boston to meet Jenn and Sarah.

We caught the train with Jimmy and a few of his friends, but once we got to Faneuil, they decided to head over to Sanctuary while we waited for a few people we were supposed to meet. In the meantime, I was unable to convince anybody else to take a sip of the luke warm blue gatorade and whiskey drink that I had quickly mixed before we left the house. I thought Hufton was going to start dry-heaving if I even made him look at it again. To his credit, he tried it a few times on the train before deciding that it was the most disgusting beverage he could imagine.

After waiting for ten minutes or so, we finally met up with Nate, who is Jenn Hufton's friend but a second cousin of Sarah and myself (If our mothers are cousins, that means we're second cousins, right?). He and his friends were wearing sneakers and shorts, so we wouldn't have been able to get into Sanctuary, so we headed to the bar where the tequila flows like wine and the underage kids flock like the salmon of Capastrano: Jose McIntyre's. It was an okay time, though the highlight of the few hours we were there was probably leaving a ridiculous voicemail for Irf, where Hufton and I talked about how we were "at the club". Like I said, it was just okay.

Hufton and I took the Night Owl bus back to Davis, then caught a cab home from there. We contemplated getting some Chinese food at the Golden Light, but Hufton pointed out that Jimmy and company had a bunch of leftover crab rangoons sitting at Boston Ave. Plus, he decided that we would get Chinese at Rose's on Boston Ave for lunch on Sunday. A few hours after waking up, Hufton knew it was time to place an order at Rose's...but then, disaster struck. Upon looking at the menu, Hufton realized that Rose's doesn't open until 3:00 pm on Sundays.

We were going back to Londonderry anyway, so we figured that the lunch specials at Super Wok would have to do. Sarah and Jenn met us there, where we were the only customers. As we looked through the menu, there was another terrible discovery: No lunch specials on Sundays! They had already brought us some waters and a complimentary snack, but we wanted to leave. Our waiter went back to the kitchen, and I could see that the two women who were at the hostess station weren't there anymore.

"They're not there anymore," I whispered.

Sarah took command and quietly but firmly barked "Five, six, seven, eight!" like a dance instructor gone mad. We all got up on command and began to exit as quickly and silently as possible. Unfortunately, Jeremy was the straggler and had just gotten a few feet from the table when the waiter returned. None of us looked back while Hufton was forced to give the uncomfortable explanation for our abrupt departure.

We drove down the street to Ginger Garden, which does, indeed, offer lunch specials on Sundays. Score. Hufton and I were ravenous at this point, having already been shut down twice in our first two attempts to consume some cheap and delicious Chinese food, so we ordered up Crab Rangoons and Dumplings to go along with our soup before the meal. Jenn asked Jeremy something about the dumplings, either what they were or what their origins were, and Jeremy gave a very serious explanation during which he spoke Chinese that almost sounded authentic...but nobody laughed. The silliness of Hufton pretending to speak Chinese and/or claim to know the origin of dumplings didn't strike me until a few moments later, when my mouth was filled with both crab rangoon and soda. It was too late to control my reaction, so I expelled most of the food and beverage from my mouth onto my plate while breaking into hysterical laughter. Brian Raymond Adams: Taking the "CL" out of "class" since 1978.

I had a link to crazy celebrity baby names a few weeks ago, but Penn Jillette of Penn and Teller may have outdone them all.
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