Slow Adventures in Slothville

October 4, 2004

Almondy Sloth

Filed under: Boys, Celebrity Whoredom, Family — shhville @ 1:09 pm

Hi Everybody!! I'm back and rip roaring to take a nap! I hope you all had a lovely, relaxing two weeks and I also hope that you watched the 1st presidential debate. Yeah, baby!! This here is a picture of the sea oats on the dune between our deck and the beach.

I was the color of a Brazil nut, but now I am sort of almondy.

Ok, so does everyone remember how this works? Here is the travel journal from when I was away. You get pictures and a whole lot of randomness, but don't worry – I didn't write in my journal every day that I was gone so it shouldn't be too too painful. Also, the pics get better. And to clarify, I was vacationing with my uncle Barry, his friend Carol, my dad, Kris and his wife, Cindy.

Monday, September 20th:

The seas have been high for two days and the wind is blowing enough to shake the house. It's officially a Nor'easter – the progeny of Hurricane Ivan. We drove through Ivan on Saturday when we traveled down from Maryland. Some of the terribleness had been taken out of him and thus deflated he was simply Ivan the Annoying.

On our way here we noticed a tree down here and there, but nothing like the war zone landscape after Isabel last year. Less carnage and destruction afforded me a view that I was too distracted to notice a year ago. The verdict is that America is sometimes very beautiful and sometimes very ugly. I saw a rusting metal sign for an abandoned strip mall gone to seed that simply said "PAROLE." A few towns away in Currituck we drove by a billboard advertising newly built condominiums. The complex of properties was called "River's Edge" and I was immediately flooded with images of Crispin Glover gesticulating madly over a naked corpse. But the Potomac River Bridge was gorgeous and frightening and the landscape along the way was lush with vines and a kind of vibrant green that you don't see in Boston.

On Thursday night before I left I went to see Davy Rothbart at Brookline Booksmith. He's on tour with his brother Pete, promoting the "Found" book. Davy has furry shoulders and a wicked underbite but there is something deeply, unavoidably attractive about him that caused me to clam up and turn pomegranate red when I approached him to sign my book. I wanted to tell him that I had changed my flight so I could attend the reading but I couldn't make the words come out of my stupid mouth.

Davy is one of those rare people who has a knack for embracing life in a way that is inspiring to other people because it's accessible. He doesn't do intimidating things like climb Mount Everest or paddle around the world in a kayak. He does things that anyone could do except they usually don't. He talks to strangers even when they're a little bit scary and it always turns out ok. He picks up scraps of paper blowing down the street and sometimes they turn out to be spectacular windows into other peoples' lives. He keeps his eyes open. He sees and listens and he embodies the quirkiness of the world in a way that I find myself envious of. It's that effortless, joyous kind of alpha male energy that makes me want to smooch him.

But anyway. There were people there filming a documentary about Found Magazine so I might be on television all red and sweaty from laughing so hard. Pete's "The Booty Don't Stop" song had me cackling until I couldn't breathe and Davy's rendition of two girls writing back and forth to each other in class ("Brokedown bitch!!!") was a near-pants-peeing moment. I'm so glad that I went to the event – it was one of the most unique and amusing experiences I've ever had.

So I'm sitting here in my p.j.'s while the house trembles on its stilts and the red "No Swimming" flag flaps furiously at the top of its pole. The ocean is a noisy brown monster pushing proteinaceous foam up onto the beach. I love the way the sea oats turn golden when the sun sets. I hope they survive the gale. Well, it's after noon. Time for breakfast.

7 p.m.

Carol arrived from Annapolis a little while ago. I've finished the "Found" book. Twice. Moving on to Carl Sagan now. And tomorrow will read about Hinduism. The sky is a ridiculous color at the moment. Sort of a baby blanket, Hallmark card, corny, cutesy kind of pink and blue. Makes me think of babies and their sour milk smell.

Barry made guacamole and told me it would taste better tomorrow after the flavors had fused. As I stuffed a mound of mushy avocado in my gob I explained that that would only be a theory as long as there were chips left.

Seems as though I officially have a crush on Davy Rothbart as I have been thinking about his punk ass since Thursday. Oddly, my last unattainable crush was on another person affiliated with NPR. I've never seen Jason Beaubien's face but I fell in love with his voice when he worked for WBUR. Then he got married, had a baby and moved to Africa. Oh well. Now the television is on. They're watching "Friends" which means I may have to leave the room to preserve my sanity and/or pride.

That's it for now – tune in tomorrow for another day at the beach. Ciao ciao!


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