Love That Dirty Water...

The dry air of the Northeast winter has killed my tan. The skin is going to all peel off, and I'm a little upset about it. So I made the rational choice-- booked a ticket to Miami for the long weekend in February. Only to keep things true to my style, I first made sure to get the weekend wrong, and actually book my ticket for the week before the long weekend. Thanks to that little clerical error, I now get 3 long weekends in 4 weeks, or as the rest of the world would call it, a french calendar. I've never been to Miami (phonetics: mee-ah-mee), but my friend Hugh stopped there during his drive from Texas to Boston, apparently because it was on the way, and said I will love it and to bring lots of pastels. Right now I think my only pastel accessories are in my bottom drawer at home in Massachusetts-- a little plastic bag filled with colored elastic bands I would use to decorate my braces from grades 6-8. And they say the early teen years can be awkward. Ha!

Spent the weekend in Boston to catch a show of some high school friends and then play designated driver for my brother and pals out of Cambridge, the official host city of the DUI Olympics. On the iditerod back to the car from the club, we were accosted by a man who accused us of stealing his pizza, passed by three 50something women and a black guy who was either gay or a very low-rent pimp all arm in arm and badly singing Jackson 5 "ABC", and a man who had managed to open his car door but got no further before needing to lean against the frame and relieve himself on the inside of his own door, keys still in the lock.

And the football was everything I expected it to be. Pats-Steelers party this Sunday will be the one-year anniversary of the drunkest I've ever been in New York: the all-night sloshfest at Zum Schnider after the Colts win last AFC championship that found me in on the LES frozen stuck to the sidewalk by the beer that had been poured down the front of my pants. I remember throwing up on a red car and landing in a trash can with my pants off, but not much else. Go, Pats!