my cousin kate has a story from her childhood that exemplifies the practical/repressed mindset of our parents when we were little. it was summer vacation and she had slept over at the neighbor’s house, hung at the pool with them, had pizza and cake and was invited to sleep over a second night in a row. kate was thrilled by the prospect of extending the party another day, but her mom said no. kate did what any 8 year old would do − she asked why not. her mom’s reply: “it’s just too much fun.”
i might have received similar castigation for the way i conducted this weekend. here are some things i did:
- got blonded at blow and tried to convince my pal david that paul mccartney/wings wasn’t all terrible. i even burned him a cd … he was nonplussed and tried to rope me into an either/or situation comparing post beatles paul to post beatles john. i told him to shut it — that if paul had died too we’d not been having this convo, and hell why does everything have to be compared to the prior body of work? he said john was on track to being perennially cool and i said okay fine but why do we have to put someone (paul) down?
- mailed several letters with shiny heart stickers on them.
- watched Julian Schnabel’s the diving bell and the butterfly. love love loved it and cried tons. need to read the book.
- had dinner with a delightful group on sat. night. learned about the u-nanna-versity of vajayjay, youparklikeanasshole.com and an amazing show on fx called damages.
- went down the shore with my girls. we laughed our asses off. sat amongst jersey’s finest tattoos, piercings, guido talk. i swam in the ocean and the water was peeeeeeeeeerfect. when my hair dried i looked like spicoli and ali quoted him and i twittered it.
- i left my wallet in new jersey (safe in a phyll’s car but still – tres inconvenient).
- i went for a bike ride (sans helmet − rebel yell!) and saw a rainbow.
- i bought one can of cat food ($.75) with some loose change so aretha won’t starve and talked jill into meeting me for drinks (that she’d buy) at the piggy.
the douchebag of the day award goes to the guy who wore the tshirt that said: “my labradoodle loves me no matter what my golf score is.” the runner up was a passive aggressive biker who snottily yelled out to a band of tourists as he rode by, “thanks for blocking the path!”
if a life this fun is wrong, i don’t want to be right.