Monday, July 11, 2005
Don't Call it a Comeback...
Hello there! I'm back from Maine, slightly more tanned, and completely unprepared to return to the real world. How about you?
The Friday before I left for Maine, Spiro called and told me he was going to be in town for the night with his friend Craig and Craig's friend from high school, Dave. We met up a Jillian's and decided that not only was the bar practically empty, but the drinks were way too expensive, so we had to find a new place to go on Landsdowne. We were definitely in "casual" dress, so our options were limited. We walked down the street and approaced Jake Ivory's, which has the potential to be fun, but not always. After we got carded, we approached the inner entrance and found that there was an eight dollar cover. Craig, who is funny, loud, and willing to strike up a conversation with anyone, decided that we should not pay the cover and that he would try to charm the girl collecting the cover charge until she let us in for free. The four of us talked and talked and talked, with Craig leading the way, until the girl said "You guys are so annoying that I'll let you in for free, as long as you promise to stop talking to me." Done deal.
The $8 we saved on the cover charge was about enough to buy a giant corona, which I barely managed to finish before we decided that we'd had enough of this piano playing nonsense and figured it would be best if we headed to An Tua Nua instead. We spent the rest of the night holding a four-man dance party on the floor at An Tua Nua, then went to the tiny bar across the street for last call. Le Fondler de Nez may be gone, but Spiro is alive and well.
The next day, I began my official vacation with my family, spending a week living in a SWEET house overlooking the ocean in Kennebunkport, ME. There was a lot of lounging, a good amount of swimming (the heated pool is clutch), a doubles tennis tournament, and naps. Lots of naps. My Dad and I also played golf at the Cape Arundel Golf Club, where Bill Clinton and George H.W. Bush teed off the week before. The house we stayed at was actually just a half-mile down the road from the Bush Compound. There was a little inlet on the road across from the Bush family residence for people to park their cars and take pictures of the compound. I even saw an artist with an easel there. A fascination with the Bush family still eludes me, so I never pulled over -- not even to take pictures for you (though there will be pictures).
During the tennis tournament, there were five teams playing a single elimination format:
Mom/Dad V. Sarah/Uncle Paul
Uncle Pete/Katie v. Aunt Karen/Meghan
Brian/Aunt Mana (First Round Bye)
Aunt Mana and I drew the winner of Mom/Dad v. Sarah/Uncle Paul, which turned out to be Mom/Dad. My Mom hit some clutch shots and my Dad managed to keep the ball away from me throughout the match, so they beat us and would become the eventual champions. Did I mention we all wore matching t-shirts? Yeah, like I said, there will be pictures.
Yesterday, I went to a housewarming party for Janet's former roommate, Amy, who now owns a condo just beyond Porter Square. When I first arrived, I found out that Janet was in New Hampshire and would probably not be attending. It's moments like these that I realize I am terrible at meeting new people. I'm not sure why I can't act like myself around strangers, but I can't. After a few minutes of awkwardly standing in silence while nursing my beer next to a few other shy party-goers, Amy came by and helped to start up a conversation. I soon realized that the other two people were both researchers at MGH, and all I had to offer was that I had taken part in a study for an experimental oral sunblocker, where I had to lay in the doctor's driveway for a few hours while they placed grids on my back. I tried to tell the joke about how the doctor walked into the room and told Irfan that he was "too dark" to be a subject in the study. It didn't fly. Janet eventually showed up and I talked to her and this other guy who had somehow scored a deal testing out shoes for Puma. He gets to wear these shoes for 4-8 weeks at a time, then just tells them what he thinks of them. Apparently, all of the test shoes are size 9, so that's a pretty key qualification to be a tester. He said that they picked size 9 because that's the average size. If I'm a size 12 (occasionally 13), that means that for every guy like me, there's a guy walking around with a size 6 foot? Until yesterday, I wasn't sure that I'd ever known anyone with less than a size 10. If you know a guy with a size 6, please let me know. I'm convinced that they don't exist.
I watched a good amount of Celebreality on VH-1 last night. Whoever casts those Surreal Life shows is a genius. Omorosa, Balky, and Jose Canseco? I dare you to pick a more bizarre combination of people. I almost shed a tear when I saw a washed-up version of Jani Lane on Celebrity Fit Club. Warrant was my favorite band when I was in 12, so it was tough watching their lead singer in shambles. If only I had known of Jani's drastic physical decline, maybe I would have dedicated my karaoke version of Heaven to him before performing at John Demaske's apartment.
I've said enough. Pictures will be here soon. Good day.
|
The Friday before I left for Maine, Spiro called and told me he was going to be in town for the night with his friend Craig and Craig's friend from high school, Dave. We met up a Jillian's and decided that not only was the bar practically empty, but the drinks were way too expensive, so we had to find a new place to go on Landsdowne. We were definitely in "casual" dress, so our options were limited. We walked down the street and approaced Jake Ivory's, which has the potential to be fun, but not always. After we got carded, we approached the inner entrance and found that there was an eight dollar cover. Craig, who is funny, loud, and willing to strike up a conversation with anyone, decided that we should not pay the cover and that he would try to charm the girl collecting the cover charge until she let us in for free. The four of us talked and talked and talked, with Craig leading the way, until the girl said "You guys are so annoying that I'll let you in for free, as long as you promise to stop talking to me." Done deal.
The $8 we saved on the cover charge was about enough to buy a giant corona, which I barely managed to finish before we decided that we'd had enough of this piano playing nonsense and figured it would be best if we headed to An Tua Nua instead. We spent the rest of the night holding a four-man dance party on the floor at An Tua Nua, then went to the tiny bar across the street for last call. Le Fondler de Nez may be gone, but Spiro is alive and well.
The next day, I began my official vacation with my family, spending a week living in a SWEET house overlooking the ocean in Kennebunkport, ME. There was a lot of lounging, a good amount of swimming (the heated pool is clutch), a doubles tennis tournament, and naps. Lots of naps. My Dad and I also played golf at the Cape Arundel Golf Club, where Bill Clinton and George H.W. Bush teed off the week before. The house we stayed at was actually just a half-mile down the road from the Bush Compound. There was a little inlet on the road across from the Bush family residence for people to park their cars and take pictures of the compound. I even saw an artist with an easel there. A fascination with the Bush family still eludes me, so I never pulled over -- not even to take pictures for you (though there will be pictures).
During the tennis tournament, there were five teams playing a single elimination format:
Mom/Dad V. Sarah/Uncle Paul
Uncle Pete/Katie v. Aunt Karen/Meghan
Brian/Aunt Mana (First Round Bye)
Aunt Mana and I drew the winner of Mom/Dad v. Sarah/Uncle Paul, which turned out to be Mom/Dad. My Mom hit some clutch shots and my Dad managed to keep the ball away from me throughout the match, so they beat us and would become the eventual champions. Did I mention we all wore matching t-shirts? Yeah, like I said, there will be pictures.
Yesterday, I went to a housewarming party for Janet's former roommate, Amy, who now owns a condo just beyond Porter Square. When I first arrived, I found out that Janet was in New Hampshire and would probably not be attending. It's moments like these that I realize I am terrible at meeting new people. I'm not sure why I can't act like myself around strangers, but I can't. After a few minutes of awkwardly standing in silence while nursing my beer next to a few other shy party-goers, Amy came by and helped to start up a conversation. I soon realized that the other two people were both researchers at MGH, and all I had to offer was that I had taken part in a study for an experimental oral sunblocker, where I had to lay in the doctor's driveway for a few hours while they placed grids on my back. I tried to tell the joke about how the doctor walked into the room and told Irfan that he was "too dark" to be a subject in the study. It didn't fly. Janet eventually showed up and I talked to her and this other guy who had somehow scored a deal testing out shoes for Puma. He gets to wear these shoes for 4-8 weeks at a time, then just tells them what he thinks of them. Apparently, all of the test shoes are size 9, so that's a pretty key qualification to be a tester. He said that they picked size 9 because that's the average size. If I'm a size 12 (occasionally 13), that means that for every guy like me, there's a guy walking around with a size 6 foot? Until yesterday, I wasn't sure that I'd ever known anyone with less than a size 10. If you know a guy with a size 6, please let me know. I'm convinced that they don't exist.
I watched a good amount of Celebreality on VH-1 last night. Whoever casts those Surreal Life shows is a genius. Omorosa, Balky, and Jose Canseco? I dare you to pick a more bizarre combination of people. I almost shed a tear when I saw a washed-up version of Jani Lane on Celebrity Fit Club. Warrant was my favorite band when I was in 12, so it was tough watching their lead singer in shambles. If only I had known of Jani's drastic physical decline, maybe I would have dedicated my karaoke version of Heaven to him before performing at John Demaske's apartment.
I've said enough. Pictures will be here soon. Good day.
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
| Post A New Topic |
|
View Message Board |
| Search The Internet |
