(Generic Title Alert) How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Well, here we are, patient readers of Forever Got Shorter; it's the beginning of the end of a hot and humid New England summer, and a perfect time for reflection.

This summer I worked two jobs, went to the beach a total of zero times, and lost two pairs of sunglasses. I went on one (minor) road trip, saw The Flaming Lips twice, and lost my cell phone in a Porta Potty. I sunk almost 1,000 dollars into my 1997 Subaru, bought a new sundress, and have likely ingested an overall total of three bottles of gin. Maybe more.

So, to summerize (ha) in terms of Have's and Have Not's, you could say I'm up by one sundress but down by two pairs of sunglasses, at least one thousand dollars and a cell phone. That doesn't sound so hot. However, on the up side of things, the memories of the in-between parts are sweet like a Hendrick's and tonic with a slice of cucumber floating in it, and that's just delicious.

I worked hard and played harder this summer. I made new friends and went to new places and only got one sunburn. (Hear that, Dr. Dermatologist? Eh? Aren't you proud of my and my pale self?) I wore a flower in my hair every day and settled on a new tattoo design. (Okay, Dr. Dermatologist, I know you're not a fan of my tattoos, and I did promise I wasn't going to get anymore... why don't you go read the part about only one sunburn again. Get happy. Baby steps.)

This moment of reflection is all based upon the fact that it's nearly August. August. Where does the time go? I'm nearly positive that it was just yesterday that I was miserably sweating to death while waitressing during Summerfest New Bedford 2010 which, once again, was ruining my Fourth of July.

Now, no offense intended to the actual Summerfest event, but you must understand that if every year for six years you were asked to work twelve hours a day for three consecutive days, spending the entire time on your feet and serving non-stop the masses of sock-and-sandal-wearing, fannie-pack-toting, tie-dye-covered folk music freaks - er, fans - that flood the streets of Downtown New Bedford every year during the Fourth of July weekend, you'd be a bit bitter, too. Here's a test: Raise your hand if you like fireworks. Raise your hand if you like to go see them on the Fourth of July. Raise your hand if you haven't seen Fourth of July fireworks in six years. Oh, gee, and I'm the only one raising my hand. Hm. Okay. I'm going to the bad place. Deep breaths... Get your zen on, Katie... Okay. Better.

Commence rant.

So, yes, here we are... August. In one month, Reality will shake me awake from this deep, humid slumber and say "Finish your thesis, graduate from school, and get acclimated to the Real World, you silly, silly girl. Oh yeah, and take that flower out of your hair. Nobody will hire you or take you seriously with that thing in there."

The goal is to enjoy August with the intensity of a Death Row Prisoner eating a last meal. Savor some bites and shove others in with a quickness. Memorize the motion of enjoyment. Mix it up, get messy, and don't forget to take some intermittent slow, deep breaths so I don't choke.

It's all going to be gone quickly... the summer, the notion that I'm still young and can enjoy the summer with the voracity with which I intend to... it's all going to fade away and give way to bright autumnal colors, a thesis, a website, and an academic agenda.

Here we go, kids. Buckle up.

The Stoops in Philadelphia

This happened. We thought it was funny.

No drugs for you, it's all locked up.

Speaking of Family Vacations...

So tonight while I sat on the couch skimming The New Yorker...

Aw crap. Let's be honest, by "skimming The New Yorker" I mean it sat next to me on the couch while I chatted on facebook.

God, I'm even a bad liar in the blogosphere. Lame.

Anyway. While facebooking and cuddling with The New Yorker, perhaps hoping to retain some of it's genuis by means of osmosis, I overhead a familiar tune that caught my ear, which then peaked my interest enough so that I managed to tear myself away from the world of social networking and glance at the television for the length of a thirty second commercial spot.

The commercial was for an Atlantis family vacation.

The jingle was The Moldy Peaches.

You may be more familiar with this song because of Juno. It's the song that Juno & Bleaker (Bleeker?) sing to one another in the closing scene.

So, really, I like the song, but my issue is this: In the original song, Kimya Dawson sings the lyric "Squinched up your face and did a dance, shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants" and in the Atlantis commercial, it's something like "We swim with dolphins and maybe go golfin'."

Ahem. Pathetique.

After viewing I was inspired and I decided to transcribe some correspondence.

Dear Atlantis Family Vacations,

Make up your own theme songs. Don't you pay people for that shit? If you're having difficulty filling writing positions, I know a few.

Love,
Katie

And, because they were not operating alone:

Dear Moldy Peaches,

Fucking sellouts.

Love,
Katie

Family Vacations are All the Rage

Not really.

I mean, the house is big enough, I'm managing to steal WIFI from some nearby provider, the kids have gone back to their actual home with their parents, which means the incessant cartoons, Oreo-eating, and dog-(mis)handling has drawn to a to a close... but now it's raining.

Rain. On my mini-vacation to the beach.

The beach. A magical, risky place where those who are pale-skinned, freckled, wide-hipped and sunburn-prone, such as myself, only spend one or two days every year.

Today was going to be my day.

I came prepared.

Board shorts. Tank tops. Sundress. Sunblock. A beach towel. Books. Magazines. A bathing suit, for Christ's sake.

And now this.

The plan has turned on me. Turned. In a big way.

We are T minus one hour away from our tour of the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory.

I will revel in the golden chip's production, not the golden rays of sunshine; the cool metal of the factory lines, not the cool waves of ocean water.

Rainy family vacation.

Oh, joy of joys.