What I did with my Memorial Day vacation.
By Hannah Wallace
Cheetah Club Boyfriend declared it “a whole lotta weekend: beach, party-crashing attempts, basketball hats, ducks, comedy, deep-fried hot dogs, Stanley Cup finals and love bugs.”
(Add to that list last night’s Tool concert—which, oh my God, you guys, was so damn cool—and that pretty much explains why I’d be perfectly content to spend the next year in a quiet monastery in the hills of Kentucky, the ringing in my ears the only sound.)
That also explains my choice paralysis when it comes to picking a blog topic this week. And so, here’s an explanation of CCB’s chronologically scattered but fairly comprehensive list of weekend activities:
BEACH: Despite my fear that somehow the beach would be so crowded that I’d live out the rest of my days in a traffic jam on St. Armands just trying to get there, Lido was perfection on Sunday. Warm sun, cool breeze, cool water, happy Hannah.
PARTY-CRASHING ATTEMPTS: Relaxing on Indian Beach Saturday night, we (CCB, Big J, Little J, Ally’s Mom and I) were drawn by the siren song of a raucous gathering up the street. And, really, we just not-so-casually strolled by the party (twice) before deeming it unworthy of our cool selves (read: we were scared) and moving on instead to play in the trash. Which leads us to…
BASKETBALL HATS: Who throws out a perfectly good children’s basketball hoop? OK, so it was slightly…snapped in half…but it made for a stylish bonnet, I thought. (On a side note: People, please don’t point cameras at me when there are props around. God only knows what I’m going to put on my head or stick up my nose next.)
DUCKS: I think all I can really say about this is that the duck tried to bite my toe.
COMEDY: Three openers and a headliner at McCurdy’s Saturday night. The first guy to open was hysterical; the second opener was so painful I almost cried. Turns out, jokes about the water in Clearwater? Not so funny.
DEEP-FRIED HOT DOGS: Saturday’s pre-McCurdy’s dinner. Three guesses where these came from. Actually, Big J, with Ally’s Mom in tow, needed three guesses just to find the damn place. After we planned to meet up at 8, this was our 8:15 phone conversation, verbatim:
BIG J: Hey, where are you?
ME: Salty Dog. Where are you?
BIG J: Salty Dog.
ME: Really? (Pause.) Which one?
BIG J: Siesta.
ME: Dammit, I said the one by Mote.
STANLEY CUP FINALS: Game one on Monday, which almost got preempted at the Sports Page by a guy who wanted to watch, I kid you not, a classic car auction. Dude: Buying a car? Not a sport.
LOVE BUGS: Do they need an introduction? Anyone who’s stepped outside in the past week knows what they taste like, never mind what they are. And yet? Summer was never sweeter.