xtcian

hello cruel world

8/16/04

Ladies and gentlemen, my family. I despise people who play up their family in that sort of "my big fat" precious oh-so-wacky kind of way, so suffice to say THANKS FOR FILLING IN! My hope is to someday have the sort of blog that Kos has, where a revolving cadre of respected guests gets a spot every week or so. Obviously, I can't do this current format forever, and neither would any of you read it forever, but I'd gladly give my mom a day a week here. As you can see, she's awfully culturally literate for 72. And cute, too!

My beloved blonde and I just got back from Maine, where we like to go every chance we get, because, well, we're white. We stayed at the Black Point Inn, and speaking of white people, that place is The Inn That the Preppie Handbook Never Forgot.

Tessa said it best: it's as if every prep in America were waiting for Izods and braided belts to come back into fashion and breathed a HUGE sigh of relief when they did. We saw periwinkle sweaters tied around necks, madras pleated shorts and docksiders with no socks, Laura Ashley dresses and school ties from Exeter. They were not fucking kidding around.

Of course, Tessa and I eschewed our preppie past and covered ourselves in drawn butter and the deliciousness of a hundred lobsters. The beach, a craggy, intense shard of twisted rock straight out of the wreckage of Pangea, was insanely beautiful.

We found out we must ship out to Los Angeles for September and October, which is fantastic career-wise, but it also means I will not get to taste one thing I've grown all year in the garden. Hours of backbreaking labor, and it will all go to the deer, or to houseguests willing to try heirloom tomatoes.

This sounds stupid, I know, but the one thing that kept me sane this spring - while we were being dumped, courted, raved about, ignored and blessed in Hollywood – is that no matter what happens, I can always just go raise pumpkins. Our soil is perfect for it, and you can average about $10 a fruit.

During one meeting with a very high-strung mean-spirited studio guy, I actually drifted off and thought about various pollination techniques I'd use. If only I had that defense mechanism in my arsenal in 1999, I might not have had a nervous breakdown.

today's view - post-storm - driving up the Taconic Valley on Rt. 22 (click for bigger - thanks, Dan H.!)