Saturday night snapshots

— Jean: “So you take a left on Hemlock …. as in ………….Socrates …”

— Brian, the birthday boy, got yet another tattoo, in honor of his big day. His favorite beer is Miller Lite – so he got the freakin’ bar code for Miller Lite tattooed on his side. He kept saying, “I can’t wait to see if it scans …” You can’t wait to see if it scans? I can’t wait to see if it scans. Can you imagine some checkout person at Stop & Shop trying to scan his side? The tattoo still had the big gauze patch over it – but I got to peek. And there it was. Genius.

— There was a larger than life size papier-mache R2-D2 in the corner. Made by Brian on his 2 days off. He said to Jean, kind of matter of factly, “Yeah, the feet are made of pizza boxes …”

— Red Sox. A bunch of us standing around in the garage, looking up at the television. Or a bunch of us sitting around in the dark living room, looking at the television there. Wherever you were in the house, the Red Sox game could be seen.

— Booming voice from behind us: “What is so weird about my socks?” Turned around to see Ryan – with rolled-up pants – showing us his sock garters. It was just so funny because nobody had noticed his big entrance into the room – because we were all staring at the television. But he had obviously gone into his room, put on his funny socks to show to us, and stalked out into the main room … and so had to just shout at us to get our attention, as though we had seen him come in and said to him, “Wow, your socks are weird.”

— This was on top of the fridge.

— Ryan had made a bunny cake for Brian’s birthday (and for Easter too, I suppose). Pink coconut – with chocolate ears – and little candies as eyes – seriously, the thought of Ryan making that cake – the detail that went into it – and also, if you could see what Ryan looks like … to picture him making this sweet little bunny birthday cake for Brian’s birthday … and also Brian, too – who is so not a fluffy pink-coconut bunny type of guy – it’s one of the funniest most incongrous images ever. We couldn’t stop staring at the cake. It was almost as though it were alive. A quiet watching pink-coconut-ed presence on the counter.

— Candles lit … the cake was brought out to the garage, where a secondary party had convened … Brian (tattoo notwithstanding) didn’t like to make a big deal about his birthday (way too late. There’s a pink fluffy bunny cake with your name on it comin’ towards ya …) – so as everyone crowded into the garage, singing “Happy birthday” – he protested, “Come on, you guys … it’s Jesus’s day!” So then someone began to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful” immediately – and it caught on – and the entire crowd of people, all holding cigarettes, or beer bottles, joined in. “JOYFUL AND TRIUMPHANT, O COME YE O CO-OME YE TO BETHLEHEM …” I love crazy people. I am one of them, so I feel so happy when I am around my own insane kind.

— Someone had brought a capgun to the party. Hijinx ensued. One guy (who seriously is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met … Like – the funny NEVER stops with him.) – anyway, he did not want to let the cap gun go. He was shooting everything. He shot the television during the 9th inning. He shot people in the balls, with a blase air, a la Indiana Jones with the knife-wielding Bedouin in Raiders. Like – he wouldn’t even look at his target, just hold out his arm and “BAM”. At first I would jump when I heard the cap gun – but by the end of the party, I was totally over it – since the sound became so constant. Oh whatever, there’s a gun going off. Yawn. Best Moment: He kind of went a little bit nuts in the crowded kitchen – shooting up at the ceiling – over and over and over, with this truly insane googly-eyed look of bliss on his face …. and the air filled with the burnt smell of the cap-gun – He held the plastic gun up to his nose, took a long rapturous sniff, and sighed happily, “Ahhhhhhhhhhh …. smells like middle school.”

— Huge backyard. Darkness, salty air – the ocean is right down the street. Fire pit over in the corner, people sitting around it in lawn chairs. It was chilly – early spring weather. Sparks from the fire flew up into the black.

— Jean called out to Ryan as he walked by, “Ryan – sing Danny Boy for my sister!” Without missing a beat, Ryan – he of the sock-garters – stopped, turned and began to bellow in a beautiful baritone (complete with Irish accent) the lyrics (all incorrect) to Danny Boy. I just loved how he was on his way somewhere else – the request from Jean came shouting in – and boom, he stopped, opened his mouth and began, “Oh Danny Boy – my mother’s grass is dying – up to the trees – and down to glen and dale …” It was like: NONE of the lyrics were right. Hilarious!!

— Everyone talking about Dice K.