Viking Superstars

Last week we were enjoying a beer at a local watering hole . . .

. . . as one does, especially when this is the view out the window . . .

. . . and a couple of guys I recognized from serving at the Tavern earlier in the day walked by.

We got chatting . . .

. . . as one does, inspired, as we lucky New Londoners are, by the Hygienic Art's gorgeous columns, watching over us all.

The boys joined us, and we spent the afternoon downing sipping cocktails. (Get this: they were drinking white Russians -- drinks with milk -- together with shots of tequila. I know!) and yakking. They were catching an 8 o'clock ferry to Montauk and had the day to kill in New London, which is not the worst thing in the world.

They're swordfishermen out of North Carolina who had been fishing -- successfully -- up in these parts. They'd been out for 20 days and then there was some story about an engine on a borrowed boat blowing up which meant taking a ferry from Orient Point to New London or maybe from Orient Point to Bridgeport to New London. . .

. . . I don't know; I wasn't listening. Clearly. Instead I was looking at Steve's photos of 335-pound swordfish and tuna, and him cleaning them on the boat wearing only his oilers. I know!

Anyway, we had a great day. Captain Chris kept saying "We can't miss that ferry," and I kept replying, "Dude, the ferry's at 8! It's only 5! I mean 6! You're going to be fine!"

And then all of a sudden it was 7:30, and they had to go. Even though their fourth crew member was still MIA.

Chris, Steve and Jason weren't missing that 8:00 ferry, though. No way, no how. We said our good-byes, and watched them head off down Bank Street.

But then we thought to ourselves, "Well, that's not very neighborly, is it? We should see them off, wish them a bon voyage, crack champagne on the boat or something."

And so we did. We had a joyous reunion at the ferry terminal. Poor ol' what's his name never did show up, though. Nor did he have his phone on. Hey, who can blame him, really? Who wants to leave New London?

Well these guys did. Twenty days is a long time to be away from home, hauling in giant fish and cleaning them wearing only oilers . . .

Ahem. Anyway, and so the boys were off . . .

. . . Oh wait! Not yet! I asked Jason if we could see the tattoo he got during his day in New London, so we could record it for prosperity posterity.

Salt Life. The outline done by the boys right across the street at Whaling City Tattoo Museum. To be filled in later by some lesser North Carolinian tattoo artist.

I bandaged Jason back up. Mistah told him I was half-nurse.

He bought it.

And then finally, finally, they boarded the ferry. This time they really meant it.

Just like that, as if they didn't have their boat blow up and their car stranded in Montauk and their friend left behind lurking in the shadows of New London, they were off.

Um, not so fast, Kowolsky.

There was, naturally, a medical emergency. An elderly woman fell off a ladder and hit her head and cut her leg and had to be taken off the boat. She was okay, but terribly embarrassed. And her Fourth of July plans in Montauk were squelched.

But then? Well, then they were really off . . .

Our favorite North Carolina fishermen . . .

. . . our young Viking Superstars . . .

. . . our three boys back in the Salt Life, right back where they belong. Back to continue their circuitous voyage home.

Bye salty boys. New London misses you already.

it's all fun and games til the paranha comes along

We had houseguests over the weekend! We love when the peeps come, despite the fact that we in no way appear prepared or arranged for visitors. With the Sanford & Sons inspired landscaping, the tiny uncomfortable futon, and the 97 pound gorilla who tries to eat the faces off of those who sleep, why would they come? Yet come, they do! At least once.

We had the pleasure of a quick, surprise visit by the lovely Meg, daughter of Bill's sister, and her boyfriend, who were passing through San Diego en route from Seattle to Phoenix. How's 115 degrees treating you, Meg?

So how lucky are we, to have TWO cousin visits in the last two weeks? Very. My kids have a grand total of 14 first cousins. That is a paltry number of cousins, puh-leeze. Have I ever mentioned that I have 65 first cousins on my mom's side? Something tells me you'll be hearing more about those clowns in the next month or so. But I digress. Cousin Meg came for a tiny little visit, and we made the most of the moments we had together.

When the occasion calls for a multigenerational activity that sparks both creativity and conversation, where else must one turn than toward sidewalk chalk?

It started simply enough, with chatting and the usual lollipops and squiggly lines and flowers and odes to pie.


Meg did a rough (rough!) sketch of the roadtrip that she and Sanjay were wrapping up.

While Sanjay did something clever

and naturally, everyone jumped on board

That Meg is quite an artist. Nice egg!

Meg was also instrumental in the conceptualization of Clara's air

The Gym-E was all his doing

It was a lovely, lazy morning.

But just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.......

Guest blogger Central PA: Backyard myth busters

Have you ever wondered just who MY&E's almost daily commenter, "Central PA," really is?

You know she frets about the weather - that much she's made clear. But who is she? Central PA, aka, Dorothea, is one of my oldest friends (well she's younger than me, actually, but I've known her for a long time).

From the first day that I entered a new 4th grade class part way through the school year and was asked to perform a math problem on the black board that I did not know how to do, and consequently dissolved into a puddle of tears, Dorothea has been a good friend to me. She escorted me to the bathroom so that I could get a grip, and was nothing but kind from that day forward.

That's the type of person she is. And she remembers everything from way back when, and stays in touch with everybody. If you need an address or the scoop on anyone from elementary school on up through high school, she has it.

She also has adorable kids, and apparently, a pretty kick-ass backyard.

So, without further ado:
---------------------------

Have you ever wondered if you could make a zip line with a rope connecting a tree at one end of the yard with a tree-house at the other end? Don’t have a $149.95 for the proper equipment? All you need is a field hockey stick, some nylon rope, a carabiner, and siblings to motivate you to take the plunge.

Do you think it will work?



Wonder what other myths will be busted this summer…

International T-Shirt Appreciation Month

July, as you probably know, is International T-Shirt Appreciation Month. I-TAM for short.

July 1: July 1.

Mistah invented the holiday -- the monthlong spectacle -- as a chance for everyone to showcase their favorite T-shirts.

Day 2: July 2. Front...

(Sharing some T-shirt love with Rich ...)

... and back

We had a chance to sit down with Mistah the other day to hear his thoughts about I-TAM, T-shirts, and life in general.

Day 3: July 3

“Everybody throughout the world is encouraged to wear their favorite T-shirt every day through the month. And to show them off to friends, loved ones and other T-shirt enthusiasts.

“It's not an elitist holiday; you don't have to have 31 T-shirts. You can wear one T-shirt all month, the whole month, as long as it's a good one.”

I-TAM started with a bang -- it was a hugely successfully kick-off weekend thanks mostly to the We Rock Festival in New London, and the T-shirt wearing music lovers who attended. Like Tommy here . . .

. . . and Nicole . . .

. . . and another Tommy.

Bobby . . .

. . . and Marco
(this T-shirts wins the Ellie Appreciation Prize; I love Mr. T.)

Hump . . .

. . . and the back of somebody.

Paul . . .

. . . the back of Bruce . . .

. . . and the world-famous World Cup Blogger himself, Stephen.

But the fun didn't stop there. Because the next day was the Fourth of July and you know what that means. That's right: Day 4. Ronnie was apparently the Grand Poombah or the Grand Marshall or the Grand Something at the Groton Independence Day Parade, and we would not let him trade in his fancy sash for a T-shirt, as awesome as it might have been. He's got a sash!

Day 4: July 4

Mistah pulled out the ol' Marfa (Texas) Short Horns T-shirt (not to be confused with the Long Horns) to celebrate Day 4, the Fourth of July, and a fabulous and festive start to the phenomenon sweeping the nation. Nay, the globe.

July has always been the best month -- right up there with August. But now? Now that we have International T-Shirt Appreciation Month to look forward to every day? Every day? Well, July just got even better.

Now get out there and sport those T-shirts.

Weekend 3-Way: The Fourth of July. Natch.

Happy Independence Day!

We've written about the Fourth of July before -- of course we have -- but it would be just plain silly, not to mention awkward, inappropriate, and downright unseemly, not to approach this subject again, this being America's fabulous holiday weekend.

So, whaddya got, my lovely co-bloggers? Cookouts, Boom Booms, Beach? World Cup, Baseball, Badminton? Beers, Margies, Lemonatas?

Tell us what you're up to this weekend. Or tell us what you wish you were up to this weekend. Or tell us about your favorite Fourth of July ever. Or your worst one. Just tell us.

Ellie:
Music. We're going to see lots of music. At New London's We Rock Festival. Because we do. Rock.

My Dad thinks it's odd when I say we're going to see music because music is, traditionally, about listening to, but what does he know? (Kidding, Dad.)

I may even be in my favorite place at the We Rock fest -- behind the bar, serving all the good peeps of New London beer and wine. Because they rock, too.

The rest of the weekend? Oh I imagine a bike ride or two, a cookout or two, definitely a beach outing or two. And music. Lots more music. Because we rock.

Beth:
You do rock, Ellie.

Music will not be the focus of the weekend around these parts. Although I'm sure they'll be some. Of course there will be. But will we be able to hear it over the screams of the neighborhood youth? That is the question.

The focus of our 4th will be the street; yes, we'll be en la calle this 4th. Our street has a long tradition of getting a permit to shut it off from through traffic. With blockades at both ends, the street opens up for party time. And this year, we plan to have the badminton you suggest set up in the street between our house and the Winchester's.

Actually, my fourth will entail 5 of your 8 suggestions: Cookouts, Boom Booms, Beach, World Cup, Baseball, Badminton and Beers, Margies, Lemonatas? And the World Cup and mixed drinks are a definite maybe. Shit, maybe I'll even turn on the Padres game, just so I can cross all your suggestions off my list. Plus I'll add kayaking to it.

July 4th 2008; T pulling out Jacquie's and my kids

Jacquie:

You BOTH rock. You do.

We'll be crashing joining some friends who are spending the weekend at one of the big, beautiful hotels that line our lovely Mission Bay. There will be many of my favorite peeps in attendance, especially now that Beth has mentioned crashing stopping by! There will be 80 billion kids, and when you throw a couple of pools and a bay and a boat or two into the mix, it's impossible to imagine that it won't be a rollicking good time. The fun part now is to decide what I'm going to bring. I'm thinking of our Jane's famous marinaded flank steak for the grill, and some class of asian noodle salad with the usual accouterments of veggies and hummus and lots and lots of potato chips.

But let's get serious for a minute here, Independence Day is America's birthday, it's not about the food or the friends or the sunshine or even the venue; it's about the drinks! What should we drink?! I saw a photo on the food network's webpage about a firecracker cocktail that is red in color and the glass is rimmed with blue pop rocks, there is no recipe or additional details, but I'm a smart girl, I'm sure I can come up with something red. Or I could go the more traditional route, opting for a cooler of love or the classic drinkie-poo. I don't know, though... there's something about those blue pop rocks that just screams U-S-A!!!!

more conversations with crazy

“Hey guys, one day when no one is car sick or farting,”

I bellowed over the roar of four wide open windows on the freeway,

“we’ll put the windows up and I can answer all of your questions about Nazis.”

Oh yes, it’s time for more conversations with crazy, aka disturbing dialogue that I have with my children in the car.

My boy is reading The Diary of Anne Frank (he keeps calling her Annie). He started it earlier this year, but didn’t get too far before picking up something else from his Real! Life! Boy! Survival! Drama! Peril! genre.

On this particular morning, the drive to school was dominated by questions about that asshole Hitler and his minions. After determining that no one was going to throw up or pass more toxic gas, we rolled up the windows and my boy and I gave the cliff notes to our girl: “Anne Frank was a Jewish girl living in Amsterdam in a time when some powerful people convinced most everyone in her country that Jews were bad. She hid out in an attic for two years, but was eventually found and she died in a concentration camp. “

Girl: How’d they find her? Me: Someone told on them.

Boy: What’s a concentration camp? Me: Um, it’s like a place.. an area... a camp...where they forced the Jewish people to go. Kind of like a campground but more like a jail, not a fun place for camping.

How old was she? She was a teenager.

How did she die? She got sick at the concentration camp, and did not get help or medicine to get better.

How did she live for two years without food? Oh, she had food – she was with her family and some other people and there were people helping who brought them food and stuff.

I’d totally help people if I lived then. Me too. But it was dangerous to help, if you got caught helping, you might get killed.

Man, Hitler was a jerk! True, dat.

That’s like if I punched my friend just because I didn’t like what he said. Or if you didn’t like how he looked, or didn’t like his religion.

How did the people Hitler liked look? Um... white. Blue eyes. Light hair.

LIKE US? Yeah.

Aw, geez. I know.

I’m never going to kill anyone. Good

Except Hitler. I’d totally kill Hitler. Well, I think if you make the decision to be a person who doesn’t kill, you can’t really make exceptions.

What if someone was hurting you? Oh. .....Yeah, well there’s this thing called self defense…

What if someone was hurting Moki? Um, no… it doesn’t count for dogs, I think, just humans. I think.

So what would happen if I killed someone who was going to kill Moki? You’d probably go to jail

I’d rather go to jail than let Moki die. I love her! She’s sooooo cute! She’s only 2, why should she have to die? I would totally kill the guy.

..................period of stunned silence.......................

How would you even kill someone?

Oh, um. I could use my pocket knife?

Dude! We have butcher knives!

................realizing that there is no safe or sane way out of this conversation, I resort to the sage parenting advice I've come to rely on..........................

................crickets.......................

Mr. Frostie

My neighborhood is not steeped in history. Well, I guess it is, but only steeped in a very short modern history. It's no Rome, or Athens, or even a Williamsburg.

The homes in my neighborhood were, for the most part, built in the '40s -- postwar bungalows built for returning GIs. Over the decades Pacific Beach has grown up, kind-of, but it's still the kind of town that turns over quickly. I can't keep up with the storefronts on PB's main drag; it seems that only the thrift stores, Filippi's Pizza, and a few select others have remained the same for more than a decade. One of those 'select others' is none other than Mr. Frostie.

1949! That's old around these parts!

It'a a local landmark for anyone who grew up here. I did not, but my kids are, and it is a true family favorite. You know, the kind of favorite that works well for kiddy bribes?

But what's not to love?? It's got delicious soft serve ice cream that they dunk in those crazy flavored dips that immediately harden, then crack when bit into. Umm, butterscotch dip on vanilla. And honestly, cherry dip over chocolate ain't too shabby either.

But butterscotch remains the family favorite

So much so that we thought it was only right that it be baby girl's first encounter with ice cream
Judge not lest ye be judged...
Umm, umm, good.

Apart from the soft serve dip top, Mr. Frostie also boasts good ol' fashion wood signs,

and cool paraphernalia that folks like to wear in far-away lands so they can get their photos displayed on the Mr. Frostie side window.

We decided we're going to get ourselves some of those famous T-shirts and get our photos taken in some intriguing distant place.

Maybe we'll just ride our bikes there...