Plunk

During one of my uneventful moments on the dock, waiting for some hapless fish to get stuck on my hook, I discovered that at some point, Laura's reel had lost a screw. While I was sitting talking to her, slowly reeling in the line, I discovered that I was turning the reel, but nothing was happening. I looked down to discover the handle was in one hand, the rod in another. Neither one of us had heard the screw fall out, and we most certainly should have heard the plunk. At any rate, later that same evening, Matt was sitting with me while Laura helped with dinner. I continued to fish, for I had discovered that as long as I held the handle carefully, it would stay in place until we had gone to the hardware store to buy a new screw. I was explaining to Matt the mysterious injury to the rod, when I cast the line, and heard a tell-tale PLUNK! There was a split second of silence while Matt looked down at the water, and I began hysterical, uncontrollable gales of laughter. He asked me what it was, and when I could not control my laughing, I just held up the rod and showed him the handle-less reel. Both of us were in hysterics for quite some time. I spent a few moments trying to figure out the proper way to explain it to Laura... I finally decided on: "Before I tell you this, I want to tell you I will fix it... Now remember that plunk we didn't hear before? Well... I have since heard it, and it sounded exactly as you would expect it to sound...."

These Are All Mine Now.

Matt taught me to play poker the other night! I have wanted to learn, but no one has successfully explained it to me. Matt was quite the teacher. I discovered that the game is all about playing odds, and appearing as though you know what you are doing. I am good at that sort of faking. He explained the different hands to me, and betting strategies. Soon, I was more or less able to play without constantly asking questions. At one point, I laid down my cards, pointed to the chips and said in a sweet, innocent voice, "So these are all mine now, right?" They laughed and agreed that I was not entirely helpless. I had a wonderful night of beginner's luck, and Laura and I had to loan her father and husband chips in order to keep them playing. Poker is just no fun if there are only two of you!

Fishing with the Peanut Gallery

On this trip, I was actually able to fish a few times. I, by no stretch of the imagination, know what I am doing while fishing... I have but the vaguest idea of what I am supposed to do. But Laura and I had a hell of a time sitting on the dock, fishing, and shooting the shit. I caught several little fish, while Laura managed to get a small-mouth bass that was big enough to eat. We of course decided that it was necessary to eat what we had caught, so her father brought us down to the shore and showed us both how to properly clean a fish. I can honestly say it was a touch gross, but not so bad it would keep me from doing it myself, should I catch a fish large enough. We sauteed it with butter, salt and pepper. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. There is something existential in catching and eating your own food. Maybe just empowering. Anyhow, I was on a mission. Wednesday morning, I actually got up at 5:30 in the morning to sit on the dock with a rod and some worms! It was gorgeous. The weather was perfect, the water calm, and I even got to see a sunrise for the first time in years! Unfortunately, the only fish I caught was not really large enough to eat. And, he was troublesome... the little bugger jumped out of the bucket 5 times! He managed to time it so that each time he made an escape attempt, I had just cast my fishing line. I tried to reason with him... told him that jumping onto the dock where he would suffocate was going to help no one. I finally decided that I didn't really want to eat a fish that was so hell-bent on dying in the first place. So I let him go.

Sunrise, Sunset

It is easy for one to forget the simple things in life. Lola had become so engrossed in her studies, music, and beginning a career that she had forgotten how much she loved the outdoors. While in NH, she was able to just sit back and listen for once. And yes, believe it or not, she was quiet. One morning, she got up at the ass crack of dawn, and was able to see the sunrise over the mountains across the lake. One cannot watch the sun rise or set without feeling some intense sense of awe and wonder about the world around them. The sounds of creatures in the woods was relaxing, as was the constant breaking of waves on the rocks along the shoreline. Maybe Lola will buy a house on a lake in NH when she is rich and famous.

Noodles on for Safety

It turns out the technological black-out was not the end of my universe. In fact, it was quite nice. I arrived in NH at the camping place (whose name I have sworn I would not mention in this blog) to meet Laura (my dearest and apparently most patient friend), her husband Matt (a constant source if intrigue) and her parents (lovely and fascinating people). Shortly after arrival, we all decided it would be prudent to head down to the lake, as it was so hot. We came up with the brilliant idea of placing lawn chairs into the lake, and brought along a cooler. Laura and I got some of those styrofoam noodle things and set about fastening ourselves into the chairs. We used one as a makeshift seatbelt, and the other as a floating footrest. After several beers, it occurred to me that should a good wave come, and either of us was dumped into the drink, we would be floating ass-end up, unable to right ourselves since we had used the noodles for "safety." Her comment was "Do scoop me up if I should go ass over tea-kettle." I do believe that is what best friends are for... to pick you up when you have gotten yourself into some situation that seemed like a good idea at the time.

Lola Travels

At the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow, I will be venturing off to the wonderful, tax-free land of New Hampshire. I will be camping for an indeterminate length of time with my best friend and her husband (and various others, apparently). I have realized that I am looking forward to this trip far more than is rational. After all, I have been to NH a hundred times before. But for some reason, this one is different. I have just finished school, and am about to begin teaching once again. In a way, this is the time to take a breath before I leap. The last few weeks have been somewhat tumultuous, and I am looking forward to the dead quiet of NH.... or rather, the extreme nature-noisiness of the outdoors. At any rate, for several days, I will be away from computer, internet, and most likely any sort of cellular reception. I am terrified. I used to camp quite frequently, but at some point in life became dependent on technological devices that I am not entirely sure how to properly operate. As I will be away from the laptop, I will actually have to write by hand... on paper... with a pen. I fear that this trip might result in a mild case of carpel tunnel. I am not entirely sure if I can even remember how to physically write in the English language. I suppose time will tell.

F#%* The Fung-Wah Bus

This past Saturday was the big move back to MA. As if the entire ordeal of packing and saying my goodbyes was not stressful enough, I had a bus try and kill me not once but twice on the way home. The actual packing portion went well.... we got most everything into the UHaul on Friday, and had Saturday morning just for the last minute things. On the road by 9, and all was well.... until we get to CT. As I have lamented before, this particular state is a state of confusion and irritation every time I drive through it. Saturday was no exception. The traffic was not terrible, but not fantastic either. One nimrod had clipped the mirror on the UHaul, and the Fung-Wah bus tried to kill me. For those of you not in the know, the Fung-Wah bus is a shuttle from China Town in Boston, to China Town in NY for a nominal fee. On two separate occasions during my trek through CT, the same friggin bus changed lanes without checking his blindspot. I know this, because I was in said blind spot, and the front of my car almost got demolished not once, but twice! No... I am not bitter. But I have since realized that I am the reason there are gun control laws... If I had had some sort of firearm with me in the car, there would have been a nasty little postal incident.

Discard Fallen Insects

Triumph! Today I have waged war on the wasps living under my tarp. And by my tarp, I mean the one that covers the bike I am too lazy to ride. They have built quite the impressive little nest there, and I have been somewhat leery about venturing outside into their domain. So I borrowed some flying insect killer from my father. Which is another issue..... why on earth do bug destroying companies make these gargantuan bottles of insecticide? Chances are, the people buying it are not trying to wipe out an entire insect population. But I digress. So I read the directions on this bottle of poison quite intently, only to discover that is intended for indoor, not outdoor use. Ok.... so the question is, do I actually buy the proper chemical for outdoor use, or do I just bite the bullet and spray the hell out of the hive? After all, the last thing I want to do is spray them with a weak toxin that merely pisses them off. As if wasps aren't cantankerous enough to begin with. I chose the latter. This morning, before the little nasties had properly woken up, I opened up the sliding door, used a mop handle to pull the tarp aside, and went to town. I sprayed the HELL out of that wasps' nest! MWAHAHAHA!!!! After a few seconds, they started to twitch and fall to the ground. I happened to see, at the end of the bottle's directions, to "Discard Fallen Insects." Discard fallen insects? Wha? That makes them sound like martyrs... I don't fuckin' think so. No, I shall not discard them. But I might give them a Viking funeral.

New Beginnings

And so Lola sits, very sad on the couch, as the countdown begins to the Great Move. For the past 2 years (exactly, as of yesterday), Lola has been living an interesting, if somewhat less than riveting existence in NJ. Whilst here, she has finished her Master of Music degree; no meager feat. She has also met people that would change her life irrevocably and help her grow as a person. But the time has come.... graduation has been and gone, and she needs to move in one direction or another. After much deliberation, Lola thought it would be best to move home to MA. After all, the piano is there (and thus her business) and it is also rent-free. Being a recent graduate makes pretty much all of one's immediate decisions financial ones. Lola knows that what she is doing is exactly what she needs to do at this point in her life. But she can't help but feel angst and trepidation over leaving the wonderful friends she has met while here in the Sometimes Stinky State. So whenever if you happen to remember a time in your life when you had to make a heartrending yet exhilarating choice, say a little prayer for Lola. I know I will.

Cheney/Voldemort '08

So there I am, horrifically irritated on I-95 on my way back to MA for a cookout at my brother's house. I have made this drive innumerable times, and am quite sure my car could make it without me. I merely point it north, and it seems to know the way. This particular trip, however, is less than ordinary. When I started out from NJ, there was rain. I am not talking a bit of water, I am referring to the Ark-building rain where one cannot see more than 50 ft in front of one's car. This was problem number one. Then, of course, there is CT. I firmly believe that New England would suffice perfectly well without this particular state (sorry to all you Connecticutians). We could just blow it up and then stitch RI and NY directly together. Or just have areally big bay. It is the bipolar state. Half the state think that they belong to New York, and thus root for the Yankmees. The other half has the decency to act like proper New Englanders and root for the Red Sox (no matter how trying this is at times). CT is also famous for more than its fair share of un-driving. While I am trying desperately not to get killed on a fun strip of highway in New Haven, some jackass who got his license out of a Cracker Jack box, flies by me and proceeds to cut me off, so as not to end up on I-91 by mistake. I look closely, and notice this fool has a bumper sticker that says "Cheney- Voldemort '08." Despite his obvious lack of driving skills, I guffawed as I pondered this little witticism. I suppose even CT has a sense of humor.