the ocean

Last night we had dinner with some friends, who ended up unexpectedly hosting an afterparty for their children's homecoming dance. So we accidentally became the world's most halfhearted chaperones for this event, which was weirdly entertaining.

First of all, let me be an old man yelling at a cloud for a minute and say that all of the girls' dresses were too short. Like, not because I'm a prude but because I just don't think it's a good look. In the same boat I will put the sneakers with suits look so popular these days. I guess it's supposed to come across as rebellious or quirky, but to me it reads more orthopedic, like a corrective for scoliosis or sciatica or something. Rant concluded.

Second, the youths were not to be drinking, yet of course they attempted to do so and hide it from us poorly. On one of our many sweeps of the premises, we found a box of truly shitty hard seltzers that obviously had not been brought by any adults. So we stole and drank them, which I guarantee was harder on us than on them. Also, at one point we heard chants of "chug chug chug" coming from the basement, at which point I got to hear my friends most piously cracking down on drinking (while themselves somewhat intoxicated).

Also, we had to work very hard to prevent sexy shenanigans. The kids kept sneaking into various parts of the house (and yard!) in an attempt to make out and worse. We caught two of them in the primary bed (fully clothed, thank god) and they were not at all phased by it. We even found youths hiding out in the Lego room (I'm told it no longer functions as such now that the children are older, but that is how I will always remember it). Is nothing sacred?

Anyway, it was a fascinating affair, and I believe we prevented any teen pregnancies. I don't want to call myself a hero, but since you're not doing it, I guess I will have to.

Ian has been out of town this weekend, which is always kind of strange. Unlike when I travel without him, which is completely normal and fine. There are definitely things I enjoy about being on my own, such as the ability to do whatever I want without thinking about someone else's needs. (It is well know that normally I am painfully selfless.) Now I'm a colossal nerd, so the things I want to do are less "opening a home brothel a la Risky Business" or even "comically fighting off burglars a la Home Alone" and more reading quietly on the couch while YouTubing Bartok. Which obviously Ian is in no way preventing me from doing when he's in town. But if I want to order Arby's without judgment, a weekend alone is definitely my chance. (Chicken Cordon Bleu sandwich for life.) 

Anyway, he's only been gone for two days and I'm already talking to the dogs. Which is not super rewarding conversationally, but on the other hand I feel like I'm saying some pretty witty things. I wish I didn't also have to take the dogs out approximately sixteen thousand times a day or give them an array of pills that rivals Anna Nicole Smith in her heyday, but unfortunately they need these things to stay alive, which I support. 

Fortunately, I haven't been on my own all weekend, as I had a pre-planned dinner engagement with some friends last night, which gave me a full four hours away from my canine supervisors. We had a nice time, within the range of acceptable middle-aged revelry. I had cava sangria.

And I managed to get in some solid hammock time before the season is over for the year. Tragically, cooler weather is moving in and Ian's new Halloween Home Depot selections are already waiting in the garage. I have drawn a red line that we are not to be the first on our block to put them out, however. That's a slippery slope to giant inflatables.

I have long had a list in my phone of classic movies I have not seen and feel like I should. The type of things that routinely make critics' lists of all-time greats, but that somehow lose out to a sixth viewing of Catwoman in my household. (I stand behind that for the scene where Halle Berry googles "cats. women" alone.) And when we can't think of anything to watch, as so often happens, I pull out the list. What I've found is that we often don't really feel like watching any of these movies, no matter how classic they may be. Perhaps I should be a person who can focus on Lawrence of Arabia for 3 hours and 42 minutes, but so far I am not. Maybe if I end up bedridden in some sort of Misery scenario, who knows?

But the past two weeks Ian and I have actually knocked out a few features from that list, with predictable results. First we watched All That Jazz, which was fine. I really enjoyed the first part with all the behind-the-scenes showbiz stuff, and less so the second part with the Bob Fosse stand-in having elaborate fantasy sequences in a hospital. I tried to put myself back in 1979 shoes (platforms, natch) because I think a lot of what was innovative about the way it was put together at the time is now much more commonplace. Also, being a womanizing addict is thankfully viewed as somewhat less cute now, if still far too socially acceptable for my tastes. I don't particularly believe that you have to be a dickwad to be a creative genius, and the evidence from Dolly Parton to Tom Hanks seems to back me up.

We also watched Midnight Cowboy. I found it to be kind of a slog, although I understand that might have been part of the point. I think they were going for gritty realism, despite whatever that was that was going on with Dustin Hoffman's accent. But I feel like I get more realism than I really even need these days, frankly. Also, why did people think it was a scandalously dirty movie back in the day? I get that seeing Jon Voight's nude torso is upsetting, but in a world where Demi Moore is getting all kinds of naked and still not winning an Oscar, it doesn't seem like that big of a deal. 

Anyway, we're doing the work, and are therefore worthy of praise, at least temporarily.