La dolce vita

If you were fortunate enough to be in Boston today, you already know how gorgeous it was. We spent the afternoon by the waterfront and in the North End, Boston's Little Italy:

At the farmer's market.
Tucked into a tiny alleyway.
Extra long sausage... you know what they say about Italian men.
One of dozens of yummy restaurants.

Gold tinsel crown.

Life is a highway

The road trip itch has been coming on for a while, right on time. It starts in March, when I'm about ready to kill myself if I see another flake of snow, then abates when we throw the clocks forward and the days are brighter and warmer. Summer arrives, and Fourth of July comes, and there are cookouts and daytrips and city excursions, and I'm perfectly happy right where I am. But then deep summer sets in, oppressive humidity, haze like the whole world's a dirty windshield, and I'm sitting in the office watching perfect beach days go by, and I'm totally unmotivated, and it's sliding into August and I know that summer's going to be over in a flash, and I can't think of anything but getting the fuck out of town. I want to pack a bag with tank tops and flip flops, stock up the car with CDs and snacks and maps, and go somewhere, anywhere. It pervades my thoughts. It makes me cranky. It refuses to go away.

Someone's got a case of the Mondays

Yes, a severe case of the Mondays, right over here. But there were good times this weekend, which I'll recap: after we broke out of work on Friday, Mardi and I went for lunch and then shopping. Everything I bought (a top, a skirt and a bra) was on sale, which is sweet. Friday night Joe and I took it easy; he ran out for a little while to do a quick errand and pick up dinner (I stayed home and watched What Not to Wear), and then we caught up on the latest episode of Six Feet Under.

Saturday my sister and I hung out. She came over to the house and we took a drive out to Amherst for a kind of college nostalgia tour. We drove around, went to a diner, visited Atkins Farm, and browsed the stacks at Barnes & Noble. I wore my new shirt and our waitress at the diner told me that it was "causing a stir among the staff"; I checked to see if I was showing anything I shouldn't, but it was just a dark brown t-shirt, not too low cut, so I guess she just meant someone liked it. We also went to Northampton, which is known for two things: Smith College and the Northampton State Hospital (which used to be known as the Northampton Lunatic Hospital).

The hospital, which has been abandoned for years, is on top of a huge hill, and its campus includes an imposing main building and dozens of smaller utilitarian buildings. The grounds are beautiful but creepy, which makes it a popular place for UMass students with Ouija boards to hang out at night. It used to be that you could drive right up to the main building, where it was always silent save for bugs in the overgrowth; you'd feel strange energy coming off the building's facade and dare yourself to peer in the windows. If you like stuff like this (which I do), there are some interesting sites about the hospital, including its history and photo collections of its interior.

We found out on this trip that you can't drive up there anymore. The road is all dug up and there is a large sign proclaiming the site to be the future home of The Villages at Hospital Hill, which will be a residential and commercial complex. I can see developing the area, but it is sad that the main building will be torn down, because it's such a fascinating, living historical artifact. Maybe it will help Northampton's reputation though. Undeniably, it is a strange town. It has a thriving downtown area with shops and restaurants, but it feels weird. Plus, as psychotropic drugs came onto the scene and the hospital started downsizing in the 70's, many patients who had been institutionalized for years were discharged; as a result, Northampton has a higher-than-usual concentration of disturbed individuals wandering the streets.

Anyway, that was a tangent I didn't really mean to embark on. Lauren and I drove back in the evening, stopping at Newbury Comics for CDs. She also bought the DVD of Dazed and Confused, so we watched the deleted scenes and bonus features, and then started watching the movie in French, which was bizarre but funny. By the time she left (after midnight) it was too late for me to join Joe and his school friends at the bar.

Yesterday we had a small, informal cookout. It was sunny and warm and not too humid, and we invited Becca and Steve and Mardi and Mark, and everyone hung out in the backyard and it was really fun, except for when I was pouring ice into the cooler and a can of orange soda exploded. We cooked burgers, dogs, teriyaki tips and italian sausages, drank blueberry beer and light Hawaiian Punch, and made s'mores. We listened to Becca's summer mix CD, hypothesized what the large pipe sticking out of the neighbors' yard was for (Steve: "Maybe it's the chimney of an underground leprechaun village. Maybe it's a vent for a squirrel condominium.") and tried about 50 times to take a group self-picture. Thank god for digital cameras.

Becca and Steve stayed late and helped clean up, then we watched Family Guy. I couldn't get to bed until 12:30 a.m. because I was too keyed up. I tried to relax by reading my new book, Pledged, which is about the secret life of sororities. I love it and am devouring it way too fast. I hate that, because I speed-read through it and it's done in two days. I don't know why I can't just read slower and enjoy it longer.

It's fixin' to be a lot better, man

Ahhh, Friday. I honestly believe my situation will be concurrently improved once 12:00 comes.

Last night we grilled out for the first time, ourselves. Well, technically only Joe did; I stayed in and made the salad. I'm not sure why the hell it took us so long to finally buy a grill, but whatever, we have one now, the first batch of burgers came out great, and now we're going to cook everything on there, including things that were never intended to be grilled. Also, the Sox pulled out a win in Chicago, so it was a good night.

We watched Dazed and Confused, too. The same insignificant mental critiques come to me every time I see it and I'd like to get them out there once and for all:

1. In Texas, in mid-to-late June, do people really wear long-sleeved shirts? I'm not saying that half-buttoned purple blouses with tight white bellbottoms isn't a good look on a guy, I'm just asking.

2. You know the part after O'Banyon & Co. bust Mitch after the baseball game, and Pink tells him about when it was his time, and he says how "the guys waited for me after baseball practice"? That's like the exact same fucking circumstance! They couldn't come up with something more original? Even if it was the same, wouldn't he have said something like, "Yeah, they got me just like you, after baseball... except there were ten of 'em."

3. Somebody, I forget who now, says, "That sucks." What in the 90's lexicon now? It should be something like "That's a drag, man."

But I forgive them these gaffes because Dazed and Confused has one of the best tertiary characters in all of cinema: the guy in the convenience store when Mitch goes in to buy a sixer. I love that guy: "Remember, eat a green thing every day." The vest, the sherrif pin, the gum, and best of all, the bored salute. That guy rules.

Okay, time to pack up. Good day, gentlemen. And until that day comes, keep your ear to the grindstone.

Slaughter rule

Last night I gave Joe a bunch of grief about having to go play softball three towns over at 9:30 p.m. His team is always desperate to have enough girls to meet Boston Ski & Sports Club's "Is it fair or is it sexism? You decide" co-ed regulations, so Joe becomes a used-car salesman and starts recruiting every female he knows, and of course I get hit up first and worst. I agreed to play in this game weeks ago, so it's my own fault. Sometimes I like playing, but it's totally a mood thing. A gorgeous June evening, down the street, at 6:30? Sure. 9:30 during the muggiest week of the summer, after a late night, a long day, and the gym, getting bitten alive under the lights? Not so much.

Anyway, I went, albeit with an attitude. I caught the first inning because two girls hadn't shown up yet, and in that inning the other team scored like 9 runs. It was crazy. I cut my finger and took a hard foul tip in the kneecap. Joe's team had done well all season (8-2 record) but this game was a disaster.... they called the mercy rule in the 6th. Our side was so unproductive that most of us only got two at-bats; I went 1 for 2 with a run and 2 RBIs. My hit was solid and went over the shortstop's head. The umpire was stupid and called everything strikes on us and everything balls on them. Our pitcher walked 5 batters. In my second at-bat, the umpire called the first pitch a strike even though it was high, and I swung through strike two. The next pitch was short of the plate and low but I had to swing anyway because she probably would have called it strike three. Anyway, I grounded out.

It was over in an hour and the final score was something like 20-7. It sucked that the season ended that way, but at least we were home by 11 and able to catch up on what's going on in the funktastic 70's House. Oop! Oop! Shit, I just got this overwhelming urge to go home and watch Dazed and Confused. I want to live in that movie sometimes. I miss that last-day-of-school euphoria, knowing you don't have a damn thing you have to do for three months, and the 70's seem so weird and fun, when the superficiality and selfishness of the 80's hadn't yet set in.

Rick Astley is my hero

Last night Joe discovered that on iTunes you can look up the top 100 billboard songs for any year. We stayed up until past midnight listening to everything from 1980-2003, a retrospective of pretty much our whole lives. It was great. For some reason it was really interesting to see how tastes moved from arena rock to new wave to hair bands to pop to dance to grunge to rap to alternative to whatever you want to call the derivative crap we have today. I can also tell you with some authority that 1989 was a great year for music. Rick Astley is a pimp.

Moving through the years, I kept getting socked with memories, from when I was a kid up until about when I lived in Brooklyn. The strongest memories were the ones about camp. I've always had a random mental soundtrack for those times, and whenever I hear one of the songs I have to stop for a second and revel. I want to make a mix CD but I'd have to find more songs, because it would need to be totally authentic. A random sampling of what would be on it:

Til Tuesday - Lucky
New Order - Regret
Corey Hart - Never Surrender
Bryan Adams - Summer of '69
Aerosmith - Cryin'
Cheap Trick - The Flame

In other news, I kicked ass at the gym this week. On Wednesday I did a power step class, which was hilarious because 1) it was advanced and I've never done step in my life, and 2) it was highly choreographed and I quit ballet in kindergarten. But I stayed and jumped around doing my own thing and it was a good workout, so whatever. Then last night I did kickboxing, which I liked a lot more. The instructor didn't act like it was boot camp, and the combinations were easy to follow, and I sweated buckets and thought I was going to be crippled afterwards, so it was great. I'd do that one again. I came home and demonstrated for Joe my killer jab, cross, hook and uppercut.

Four more hours of work and then freedom! I'm looking forward to a relaxing weekend after the nonstop action of last week. 4th of July weekend was a lot of fun and Amanda's visit was great--I was so happy to see her and it was awesome to spend time together--but toward the end of the week, several bits of disturbing news came in at once and there was way too much to think about. The routine of work/gym/home, work/gym/home has been a relief. But now I'm ready for a break.