Thursday, November 08, 2007


Sunday could not have been more different than Saturday. The day was clear and chilly and the sky was as blue as blue could be.

Tate had risen early and called me up to let me know he was ready to stretch his legs so we met up fairly early and decided to take a walk around Beacon Hill.

Making pigs of ourselves on BBQ the night before seemed to have recharged our batteries. And so I once again drove the hapless Tate through the streets, bloviating at him. I was able to point out such historic sights as a townhouse on Mt. Vernon Street where I had once had some of the most boring sex of my life. The only reason I remembered was because the place had been so beautifully decorated. Tater wisely guessed that I was screaming such endearments as "Where did you get that carpet?" during the throws of passion.

The disappointments of the day were that both Gavin and RG were unable to join us. I feel particularly bad about Gavin's weekend long indisposition. Really, he was the impetus for this gathering when he announced he wanted to come to Boston for the weekend to go to a Celts game and things snowballed from there. I really didn't get to spend as much time with Gavin as I would have liked and will have to live with communicating via email for a while until the next time the bloggers gather.

As Tate was being mercilessly pontificated at about the Hill and it's significance in Boston history and more importantly the tawdry history of my now defunct sex life, the phone rang and it was the Farmboyz. The were over at the Public Gardens and ready to meet us for brunch. Tate foolishly thought that respite was at hand but after meeting the boyz at the ass end of George Washington's horse, encouraged by the prospect of fresh victims, I began a forced march up Charles Street, running my yack at a mile a minute until my hapless companions were ready to drop from hunger.

I am not a completely merciless Ganome. I had actually hoped to go to a landmark greasy spoon called The Paramount, however there was a long line of yuppies waiting in line to be ironic about their eggs and hash browns.

I was beginning to understand how the Holy Family must have felt in their search for an inn. I of course in my starring role as the jackass.

So the forced march continued. After a couple more instances of hopes that food and rest were dashed we finally chose a place on the one saving grace that it presented. There were empty tables.

Since having to wait over long for food was a major theme of the weekend, the staff at this little eatery seemed to have got the memo and ignored us. I was starting to think that this place somehow existed soley to lure in expectant and hopeful diners only to torment them with the prospect of food and have them ultimately leave in disgust.

As chance would have it my bb sized bladder was calling for attention and I went in search of the rest room that they claimed to have, which a sign proclaimed was only for the use of patrons. I went up to the counter to determine the location of this exclusive convenience and also informed our hosts that we would like to order.

They seemed perfectly able to direct me to the bathroom, but seemed a bit confused by the concept of paying clients. None the less we did eventually manage to get a waitress and ordered what turned out to be an adequate if lack luster meal. The dessert case however looked very tempting, and having blown my diet out my ass by this time, I ordered the chocolate cake that appeared to feature cake, mousse and ganache. This was my downfall.

Having rendered myself into the condition of a python that has just swallowed a whole pig, the Farmboyz seized my lethargy and fled to Newbury Street to do some shopping and Tater had to get back to his hotel in order to check out and get off to the airport.

We said our goodbyes to the Farmboyz and I walked Tate back to his hotel and we said our goodbyes in the lobby and parted with a big hug.

The weekend was exhausting and I haven't had such a good time in ages. Handsome is as handsome does and all of the guests were easy on the eyes and easy on the soul.

Really, it was a peculiar situation. Meeting people you essentially have only a long distance contact with and then when you meet in the flesh, there is an ease and genuine connection.

Father T has a theory that what attracts us and allows for this ease of movement between the virtual and the real is that we are all curious people. We are interested in other people and their ideas and what makes them tick. I think there is something to this idea and I am looking forward to meeting up with these characters again and hopefully with some additions. Lynette consider yourself put on notice! No more excuses.