‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Friday, July 4, 2008


Today I went to a party, where I was the guest of my macrobiotic cooking friend. I made a Mediterranean barley salad from that book, Hip Chick's Guide to Macrobiotics, because I know how to kiss up to people who invite me places.

I think it's the third year I've gone to this party. It's pretty much the same people every year, but because I can't remember very much it's always new to me. There's a guy who works for a record label who goes, and also some sort of filmmaker dude. I always think it would be fun to chat with them, although I have no vested interest in either field. Nevertheless, if someone is of vital interest to someone else you know, you have a responsibility to schmooze them, right? Problem is, I am not sure who these people are and end up schmoozing everyone else.

My mom once sold lift tickets at a fancy pantsy ski resort. One day she sold a ticket to Sigourney Weaver. She had no idea who she was, and only knew she had done this thing because of the gaping and gasping of her coworkers. And then she sold a lift ticket to Lord something or other, who had something to do with Mountbatten and Churchill and whatever else and she went on and on about it to her fellow ticket sellers who were all, "who cares? Where's Sigourney Weaver?"

I have no idea how that relates to my record label/filmmaker story, except maybe I did meet them but just at that moment the blueberry cobbler came out and I excused myself just as they were offering me a record/soundtrack deal for the first three bands that popped into my head. Sorry, music friends. The cobbler was delicious.

We've been busily patriotic around Trout Towers today. We crossed town lines and marched in a parade in Barnstable with a few friends from up that way. I felt a little like I was cheating on my town, but really, it meant nothing.

I didn't go to our own parade because our conveniently located friend, who lives on the parade route, was not going to be home. She said we could use her driveway and park our chairs on her lawn, but it just wasn't the same without her bringing us those little pecan rolls whenever we looked peckish.

She wasn't home because she's dog sitting at a house on the bay with views of the water from the swimming pool. Now that's decadent. We are hoping she gets lonely there and summons us. This makes me realize that I don't so much need a pool as I need friends with pools and other cool stuff I don't want to take care of myself. Boats and vacation houses, for instance.

I don't regret not having a pool, but I do kind of wish I had entered the pie-eating contest. Congratulations, btw, to our friend who WON and is still picking blueberries out of his nose hairs.

Happy fourth.


Rock and Roll Mama said...

Let me begin by saying "peckish" is the best word ever, and I will make an effort to use it in convo three times today.

Secondly, Susan, WTF? Where is my record deal? You and your blueberry cobbler. It's just as well, as I absolutely cannot sing or play any instruments. But I'm soooooo avant-garde. Snort.

Susan said...

Chris says I can have one night out a week if I join a band. Maybe you and I can team up? I don't play any instruments either but am considering the zither.