Monthly Archives: July 2011

Tasting Brooklyn

Our friends’ seven-year-old son: “My friend Nathaniel licked the wall outside Rite Aid.”

Hats off to Nathaniel and his adventurous palate. We’ll check in with him in 10 years and see what he is up to. Any guesses?

Supersize Me

I was purchasing wholesome toiletries at the CVS in Brookline and stumbled upon an entire wall of condoms. There were the usual extra-sensitive, super-lubed, ribbed, some new ones such as the “for her pleasure” with a battery-powered stimulation ring, and then a doozy of come-on marketing: Extra-large condoms marked with a giant XL.

I don’t really believe these are any bigger than every other condom out there, but assuming they are, who wouldn’t buy a box and replace the condoms inside with whatever condoms are appropriate to one’s anatomy?

I’m seeing Billie D. Williams as the spokesperson for these bad boys. Malt liquor in one hand, a pack of Magnum XLs in the other, beautiful woman on the sofa, he turns to the camera:

“Bigger is Better.”

Sly smile and wink, he pivots towards his date. Fade to black.

Nice Package. (Bonus Detail: Notice the Photographer's Reflection in the Photo. Do I Sense a New Spokesperson for this Excellent Product?)

A Global Plea

Trader Joe’s, please come to Switzerland.

The Idiot’s Guide to Driving

To all dumb drivers, plug this basic program into your dim brains:

10 If you are in the left lane and not passing any cars, then 20
20 Move into the right lane

The left lane is for passing. That is all you need to memorize.

The left lane is not a sightseeing lane. It is not your lane even if you are going exactly the speed limit. It is for fucking passing. If you are not passing anyone, go to the right lane. Stay there. Until you have to pass. Move into the left lane, pass, and then get back into the right lane. Duh.

The Twitter Blog II

American drivers are selfish. In Switzerland, people let you into their lane. Americans are in it only for themselves.

The Twitter Blog I

Driving between Cape Cod and Boston the last two weeks, in traffic exponentially longer than sitting in traffic over nine months in Switzerland. Grrrrrr.

Hunter Gatherers

We went clamming yesterday. My father has a clamming license, and we all headed to spectacularly beautiful Monomoy Beach in Chatham with nets, clamming rakes, buckets, sunscreen, towels, water and beach chairs. Jessica and my mom read magazines as the men fulfilled our biological destiny and raked the bottom of the ocean for bivalves to sustain the family.

My dad and I started, and then the boys did some raking. We came up with lots of clams, a few crabs, an abundance of horseshoe crabs, and one little fish (which Jessica delicately released from the rake tine). We then went onto the beach and foraged for steamers. The method was simple, though required patience: look for a small hole in the sand and dig. You needed to be delicate as steamer shells are easily crushed. Jack and Adam proved to have the winning touch, bringing in about five steamers.

All told, we had about 42 clams, which my dad cooked up and served in an awesome broth. For one evening, we lived off the land (full disclosure: we had backup from the pizza delivery guy).

Clam Hunters

Found Objects 2

Ewww. I found something in my father’s 1998 Mercury Marquis. Worse than a used condom, a snuff film, three-week old bacteria-encrusted Wendy’s chili n’ cheese. I found a Kenny G CD. Gross, gross, gross. I would have thought any notion of him and cool jazz were left behind in the 1980s. Kenneth Bruce Gorelick, why did you do this to us?

An Unwelcome Blast from the Past

Found Objects

I needed some vaseline to sooth my dried lips. So I asked my mom, and she quickly produced a jar that has clearly been in existence for as long as I have. I recognized the jar from my school days. I am sure this was used to soothe my diaper rash. I am truly impressed with the product, because the stuff was as sound now as it was 40 plus years ago.

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Time Machine

You can go home again. You just may not want to.

Jessica’s still in Basel and I’m at my parent’s house on the Cape with the kids. And I found myself clutching the telephone trying to talk to my friend Bryan, screaming at my father because he was annoying me and not giving me privacy for my conversation. So I finally grabbed my lap top, screamed some more, and stormed off to the guest room, aka, “my room.” I slammed the door, my mom called out “What is going on?” I grunted and resumed my conversation with Bryan. Yea, I’m a 16-year-old again. Thrilling.