into the arms of america

You know you’ve been working too hard when you get more excited about the errands you’ll run on your day off than the parties you’ll attend. Which is how Friday started: running to the bank for quarters, starting a load of laundry, picking up fifty dollars in dry cleaning (one suit, three pants, two button shirts, three polo shirts), swapping a load of laundry, going to the library, whoops!, strike that, library’s closed on the 3rd of July, mailed a package at the post office, got my laundry. Made a very light lunch.

Then I went to Joanna’s annual Independence Day barbecue – a day early, but we all had the day off, or took it – just ahead of some rain clouds. They followed me all the way to Porter Square, no matter how fast I walked. I came in on a foursquare game that was just wrapping up and Joanna’s roommate Matt stringing an impromptu tarp over the grill, lashed between the fire escape and one of the fences. Some of us hung out inside and drank, listening to Serpico talk about parties in Jersey, until the rain let up. I had a few hot dogs, Katie S’s brother (never did catch his first name) confused me with Robert Parish (“CHIEEEF” he yelled, once or twice), Sylvia stole my camera and we ran out of peanut butter cups but hey, it’s okay with me.

Ended up at 90s Night, as always. I picked Meghan O’ up from the bar at ImprovBoston, having a beer and chatting up the night staff. The Harold show let out a little after 10:30, so I said hi to cast and audience. As such, we got to Allston later than I might have liked and ended up waiting in line. DJ Phatmike couldn’t do anything for us – the cops were out in force for the long weekend, and headcount was tight – but the queue moved at a reasonable clip. I met Flannery’s mythical husband Nate and her friend Martha, and I didn’t miss “Flagpole Sitta,” and I never have a bad time there anyway.

And that’s just Friday. Did I mention the weather was gorgeous?


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