Poor Greg took six or seven hours to get up here from Westchester so we started the weekend with a little pre-gaming in my kitchen, catching up on gossip and bitching about the chronic inadequacies of Boston street signage over a bottle of wine and some brie and blackberry jam on toast, my latest craze.
Once Greg was successfully defrazzled, we headed over to Elissa & Sarah's party in Cambridge. Most of the Milky Way crew was in attendance, so it should come as no surprise that it took under an hour for us to start paying supplication to the karaoke gods. Sarah's sister gave her the magic microphone which stores 100 songs and a plethora of schmaltzy postcard images from around the world and plugs right into the tv. One room rocked out to that while in the kichen people were playing guitar and singing 70's peace and love ditties. The third roommate's friends hid out the entire night, leaving only to scurry to the kitchen for more beer, which reminds me that like most geek activities, karaoke is its own universe and is alienating to outsiders, who look on it with fear and derision. I worried for five minutes because there wasn't enough alcohol in the building to get Greg to sing, but he seemed totally chill and was chatting people up. If he was a K-planet, he'd be Pluto, which is close enough to count in my textbook.
Saturday I woke up blissed out with the sun shining on the trees outside my open windows, jumped out of bed and collected Mary for her first ever nia yoga class. Nia = dance, in this case a sort of hippie/tribal/improvisational/meditative dance, which is the closest I get to going to church. And it's so much fun I don't mind getting out of bed before 10 no matter how hard I party the night before.
In the afternoon, Justin, Mary, Greg and I checked out the Greek fest in Brookline - fab gyros as one might expect and M turned us onto these fried dough balls soaked in honey which were so good they should have sold tickets to Athens at the next table over. Then I got a wild hair and decided the thing I most wanted was to go to Revere Beach, so I brought the boys and we had an awesome day, running around in sand as soft as baby powder, getting at least knee deep in the water which naturally took until September 16 to get to a comfortable temperature which will thusly last for about six hours before the weather turns cold (New England, you are a harsh mistress). Also made the requisite Kelly's stop for a crab roll.
While at the beach we started planning for the Lost party (ok, I am a total Lost geek and if you haven't seen the show the rest of this will be meaningless) - Justin collected a bunch of shells for decor, and Greg found - no shit - the perfect toy plane for Kate to walk around with. On the way home we picked up tropical fruit and airplane-sized snacks, drinks, and shot bottles, all of which were consumed out of Sawyer's suitcase. Greg bought lotto tickets for the entire party - sadly, none of us turned out to be Hurley. And we had just enough time to print out the Dharma logo as a marquee and set up the 108-minute countdown clock on my computer. It wasn't a big party, but it was a fun party - chatting, watching some Lost, chatting some more, and the highlight of the evening was when Justin suggested we play I Never with the shot bottles, ala Kate & Sawyer. Hooo-boy! We all learned, ahem, a lot that night, but what happens on a deserted island stays on a deserted island. At least until the show goes into syndication.
Sunday, Kristen & Ryan's short but sweet visit took us to Centre Street for excellent brunch - there is a God, He's from New England and He invented strata - then headed to the South End for open studios, and a little side-trip poking around in Bobby's of Boston (mostly men's vintage store like you've never seen) and the neighboring Restoration store that sells everything imaginable you can strip from old houses and churches [both in the SoWa building - check them out!]. Then that night headed down to Westwood for a semi-private dance class where a broadway choreographer taught us how to dance like Fred Astaire.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am so happy I live here.