Weekend Odyssey: Part 1
...which I guess would be the bit with Telemachus and the suitors. Only for "suitors" read "many, many nice middle-aged folks in formal dress", which is probably better and involves fewer people getting killed with arrows at the end.
Although the street planners in Charlestown could use some arrowy death. And I was none too pleased with my GPS at the beginning, either.
"Turn left on Washington? You mean drive through the concrete highway barrier and across two lanes of oncoming traffic? No, I don't think I will be doing that, actually."
"'Arrive at destination on the right' my ass. Okay, now I...a roundabout? Fuck. This."
"Okay, it is NOT a street if it's narrower than MY ACTUAL BODY, and furthermore, fuck this."
"Hi, Emi. Hi, Ben. Get in the car before I get arrested."
Ben drove up to Maine. This was in flagrant violation of my rental agreement, but hey, if I'm not flagrantly violating *something*, it's not a weekend. I dozed; we listened to Jack White; we eyed the landscape with forboding.
See, the route between Boston and my parents' place varies a lot depending on weather. When it's sunny or snowing, the landscape is charming. When it's gray or rainy, it's like a goddamn Russian play, and Friday was totally The Collected Works of Anton Chekov, As Performed By Northern New England.
We coped with it as we always do: with excessive snideness.
"That flea market--"
"Okay, first of all, it's a 'Pick 'n' Paw'. Get your terminology straight."
"It had a sign in the window that said 'Guns'."
"Yep."
"Can you buy guns at a flea market?"
"What, you don't want to get slightly used deadly weapons?"
"I can't believe this hasn't featured on Law and Order."
We discussed NPR. Emi's boyfriend likes it. Emi and I contend that the news is good, and This American Life is sometimes cool, but when half your "human interest" bits come right out of the more depressing end of John Updike stories, having them read in a contemplative monotone is going a bit far.
"It's like, if more than half of your test audience has the will to live after your audition, you don't get the job."
"Coming up on NPR: we'll take another look at earnest old people trying to keep up a cherished institution, and we'll dwell extensively on how they have no money and the next generation mocks their hopes and dreams. Next, on 'Jesus Christ, Just Start Drinking Now'."
Up in Bethel, we tumbled out of the car and into my folks' temporary house, hugged Mom, fussed with the coffee maker--sorry, the second coffee maker, since Dad is having philosophical differences with the main model--changed, and headed over to the school dining hall.
Did you know that I'm working in Boston now? Because many, many people know that I'm working in Boston now. Oh, hey, shrimp platter!
Emi said, at some point during the evening, that this was our retirement party as well as our parents': there will probably be other awkward small-talk-with-near-strangers parties, since our cousins keep getting married and all, but this was really the last time we'd have to put on the dresses and the makeup and the manners and be The Kunkle Girls. (Also a really awful thirties band.) True.
And a moment of bonding, walking back to the car:
"You know, kid, you have great legs. I've always hated you for that."
"Well, I've always wanted your abs. You vile bitch."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Awww!"
We may have hugged. Ah, sisterhood.
Back at the house, all five of us discarded formal clothes and shrimp platters in favor of sitting around on sofas in a variety of bathrobes, eating leftover chips and drinking...well, whatever came to hand.
"Hey, Mom? You know what goes great with this herbal tea of yours? Cherry brandy!"
"You're a disturbing child. Always were."
Next time: New Hampshire, man.
Although the street planners in Charlestown could use some arrowy death. And I was none too pleased with my GPS at the beginning, either.
"Turn left on Washington? You mean drive through the concrete highway barrier and across two lanes of oncoming traffic? No, I don't think I will be doing that, actually."
"'Arrive at destination on the right' my ass. Okay, now I...a roundabout? Fuck. This."
"Okay, it is NOT a street if it's narrower than MY ACTUAL BODY, and furthermore, fuck this."
"Hi, Emi. Hi, Ben. Get in the car before I get arrested."
Ben drove up to Maine. This was in flagrant violation of my rental agreement, but hey, if I'm not flagrantly violating *something*, it's not a weekend. I dozed; we listened to Jack White; we eyed the landscape with forboding.
See, the route between Boston and my parents' place varies a lot depending on weather. When it's sunny or snowing, the landscape is charming. When it's gray or rainy, it's like a goddamn Russian play, and Friday was totally The Collected Works of Anton Chekov, As Performed By Northern New England.
We coped with it as we always do: with excessive snideness.
"That flea market--"
"Okay, first of all, it's a 'Pick 'n' Paw'. Get your terminology straight."
"It had a sign in the window that said 'Guns'."
"Yep."
"Can you buy guns at a flea market?"
"What, you don't want to get slightly used deadly weapons?"
"I can't believe this hasn't featured on Law and Order."
We discussed NPR. Emi's boyfriend likes it. Emi and I contend that the news is good, and This American Life is sometimes cool, but when half your "human interest" bits come right out of the more depressing end of John Updike stories, having them read in a contemplative monotone is going a bit far.
"It's like, if more than half of your test audience has the will to live after your audition, you don't get the job."
"Coming up on NPR: we'll take another look at earnest old people trying to keep up a cherished institution, and we'll dwell extensively on how they have no money and the next generation mocks their hopes and dreams. Next, on 'Jesus Christ, Just Start Drinking Now'."
Up in Bethel, we tumbled out of the car and into my folks' temporary house, hugged Mom, fussed with the coffee maker--sorry, the second coffee maker, since Dad is having philosophical differences with the main model--changed, and headed over to the school dining hall.
Did you know that I'm working in Boston now? Because many, many people know that I'm working in Boston now. Oh, hey, shrimp platter!
Emi said, at some point during the evening, that this was our retirement party as well as our parents': there will probably be other awkward small-talk-with-near-strangers parties, since our cousins keep getting married and all, but this was really the last time we'd have to put on the dresses and the makeup and the manners and be The Kunkle Girls. (Also a really awful thirties band.) True.
And a moment of bonding, walking back to the car:
"You know, kid, you have great legs. I've always hated you for that."
"Well, I've always wanted your abs. You vile bitch."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Awww!"
We may have hugged. Ah, sisterhood.
Back at the house, all five of us discarded formal clothes and shrimp platters in favor of sitting around on sofas in a variety of bathrobes, eating leftover chips and drinking...well, whatever came to hand.
"Hey, Mom? You know what goes great with this herbal tea of yours? Cherry brandy!"
"You're a disturbing child. Always were."
Next time: New Hampshire, man.