Mirage...

I'm at David's. He's out of town and made the mistake of giving me access to his keys, suggesting I could use his car and apartment whenever/if ever I wanted. Of course I took the opportunity to go all teenager on him and take over his entire space. Later tonight I have fifteen people coming for a kegger. It'll be great.

Actually, I'm just doing laundry, drinking some white wine (it's hot outside! It's humid and 88 degrees! It's white wine season! Also, due to the water ban, I am forced to only drink alcoholic beverages. More on that later...), and am trying to research different avenues that I would like to follow as my life to progresses. I'm feeling pretty good about everything, especially seeing as I'm in a temperature controlled environment.

So, the WATER CRISIS! I haven't been too caught up in the excitement of the crisis (think Y2K-esque hysterics + bottled water storage), and all the information I've collected on the issue has been texted to me by caring friends. From what I understand, for the past 48 hours everyone in the city of Boston has been forced to boil their water like they're on some Oregon Trail expedition, or drink exclusively from bottles so as not to ingest any of the contaminated water that has infiltrated the water supply after some reservoir leaked, or something (if you want to know what really happened, just google it). Anyway, I celebrated the news of the leak/crisis/contamination as an excuse to solely drink delicious summer cocktails/beverages until the situation has been remedied.

I don't run for trains and I don't stand in line at grocery stores cradling my weight in bottled liquid. So, bottoms up, Boston! Here's to you and to hoping that I didn't accidentally kill myself while brushing my teeth last night with the tap!

Parched

For a hot sec. yesterday, I went to Rockport, MA for a healthy dose of ocean air. It's a picturesque town, to be sure, and like most tourist towns it has an array of candy/fudge/cupcake shops, sweatshirt stores, and art galleries that are situated on seagull-infested stoney bluffs that overlook the sea, which is all very good. But nice as it is, there is no way I'd be able to stay in Rockport for any space of time longer than 48 hours, or want to stay there for any more than five. Why? Because it's a dry town.

If ever there was a setting for a sticky, cozy bar with an ocean view and good beer, it would be Rockport. The fact that it's lacking in such amenities seems like an incredible tragedy.

Brent told me that Rockport is dry because, once upon a time the fishermens' wives got upset with their husbands always being drunk, so they took blunt objects and broke every bottle, cask and barrel of alcohol in the town. As we all know, women can be very scary when they want to be (though usually they are soft and kind and smell exclusively of roses). In this particular instance, the men of the town were too afraid to reintroduce alcohol to the locale and now it's banned by law (though I'm sure you can bring it in from, uh, wet towns and enjoy libations inside one's own dwelling). I don't know how true this story is- but it sounds about right.

Until this law changes, I will not go back to Rockport. Unless, of course, I really want some fudge and shellfish jewelry.

My Future Boyfriend

It's weird, I know, but at some point in my life I want to date a Foley artist. I'm not sure why seeing as the only other people who sit alone in small rooms are usually there by force and as punishment for some horrific wrongdoing. It's just that I imagine Foley artists have a really sensual attention to detail and would be really interesting to talk to. Like, they'd notice the little things- the noise of a mosquito hovering near the lamp, the way the ground quivers ever so slightly when the train goes past, or the way the spine of a hardcover cracks the first time it's opened. Someone who delights in such minute details must be a fascinating person, and someone who can recreate them with strange objects like aluminum foil, crunching masking tape and breaking celery sticks must be doubly interesting.



This Grey Goose commercial is, in my amateur opinion, a work of true Foley mastery. Even now, on this freezing February evening, I half believe I'm sailing somewhere off The Cape and am about to drink a crisp, refreshing glass of Grey Goose as I snack on fresh oysters and get a suntan. Literally, the sound in this commercial makes my mouth water and toes tingle as they're kissed by splashing sea foam. SO HOT!

If you feel so inclined, I suggest you watch the other Grey Goose commercials as well. They're good, too, but not as good as this one.

(And yes, I agree- Ketel One is better.)