Anyhow...

This Friday was a holiday, so I decided to hang out with some co-workers down in Rhode Island, so I drove to Westwood, Mass, then got there met up with a co-worker, drove to Pawtucket RI, to meet my co-worker Dan, then went to another co-worker's house in North Smithfield RI, hung out by his pool, bbq'd, drank beer, etc... We drive to Newport RI. Wow, it was crowded downtown. We keep driving and find a place sat on the lawn at the park to watch the fireworks. The lawn wasn't anywhere near as crowded as I would have thought. We guess that everyones is on the other side of the harbor, downtown celebrating. Usually watching the fireworks in Boston can get really claustrophobic. Traffic leaving Newport was horrible, there were crowds of people out celebrating, but my buddy wouldn't let me stick my head out the sunroof and join in the festivities.

So we got back to my buddies house in RI, then went out to breakfast at 1AM, at a place called the "Coffee and Cream" which is owned by a wife who got half the restauraunt during their divorce. This strangely there are two restauraunts there now, and the husband owns the restaurant next door, called the Beef Barn. I guess because they didn't want to see each other, so as a condition of the divorce they agreed that their restaurants wouldn't be open at the same time. Thus the Beef Barn is open in the afternoons and the evenings, and the Coffee and Cream is open late in the night, and in the mornings. It was kind of strange, bizzare, small town, New England stuff of lore.

So we finished breakfast, about 2:30. We drove back to Westwood to get my car. I got my car about 3:15, then went to the gas station to get gas, realized I'd left my wallet in the back of my buddy's car, then drove back to his house, woke him up, got my wallet, went back to the gas station, put gas in my car and went home.

I got home at about 4:15. Realizing that I had a wedding to be at in Syracuse that started at 11am, and that the minister had called me at 9PM (right before the fireworks had started) the previous night to say he forgot his robe. I got home, grabbed the robe, started throwing my suit together for the trip, took a shower and could see the sun starting to rise. At 5AM I started calling friends who I was going to ride with. At 5:30 I left the house, picked up Steve and Jan, and we were on the road.

I let Steve drive, since Jan couldn't drive a manual transmission, and went into one of those strange surreal half sleep states. I think I woke up hearing Jan and Steve in a fervent discussion about The Fountainhead only to compare it to the current leadership situation at my church. "There's a struggle betwen of individual dreams and talents, against the pressures of the community. Can community ultimatley be stifling to genius?" I doze off.

So in any case Mike calls halfway through the trip, I guess he's kind of lost trying to find the church. Steve reassures him, and besides, they won't start without us, "We've got the minister's robe."

So the wedding starts at 11AM. We pull into the church parking lot at 11:10... The bridesmaids are already walking down the aisle, and I can see the bride standing in the vestibule. Oh shoot! I park the car, grab the robe, and run to the church. Only to see the minister already standing beside the altar. Plus there's another minister in full ecumenical haberdashery standing in front of him. He gives me a "Oh well, you tried, it's too late now" look and I hand the robe to Jan, and go back to the car to get my suit on. I realize the shirt I've brought may have fit me two years ago, now cuts off the ciruculation to my brain. Darn.

The wedding goes fine, we go out to the reception. The gastroenterologist is prowling the h'orderves hunting for the bacon wrapped scallops. We sit down to eat, the happy couple looks dreamy. There's a lot of the bride's relatives standing around. Wait is that Nutmeg dancing with someone's great aunt? Nutmeg could be "Mr. Party" I'll bet he could get a bunch of stiff-awkward random 13 year olds, with no rhythm, to dance at a bar-mitzvah. And have fun at it too. Anyhow, I dance with two of my friends that afternoon. The second is clearly better than the first. They were both beginners, and claimed to not really have danced before, but it just seemed like one of them could follow me even though I seemed to be missing beats after each transition, step, step, spin, slide, dip... I commented on it afterwards on the ride to Ithaca, my friend said "duh, of course, all black women are born to know how to dance." I didn't know whether to slap her, or just laugh at the absurdity of that statement.

So we drove to Ithaca NY, which is really in the middle of nowhere, for goodness sake at least Syracuse is along a major highway. We arrive and drive around look at the waterfall over the old gun factory, where there's people swimming even though it's clearly posted that there's lead shot, and lead dust in the water. Ithaca indeed is a beautiful place. Although I'd hesitate to think I can live there. We eat dinner, it's very greasy, even before before you dipping your potatoes or onion rings in ranch dressing and melted butter. We go back to his house, We sit in front of the tv. He offers me a beer. I fall asleep before I can even open the can. I can faintly hear the sound of friends watching The Godfather. "You have dishonored the family...."

I sleep like a log, we wake up in the morning and start to drive home. We run into the minister, his wife, and their brood at one of the rest stops. I apologize about the robe. He shrugs it off, we laugh. I get a strawberry shortcake ice cream bar. We see the traffic on the turnpike back up. Everyone is going home after the long weekend.

I arrive home, it's hot in Boston. I'm about to fall asleep again.

Road tripping is fun, as long as you've got car-mates that you can stand. Besides my weekend was a bit too much driving. Finally, I'm getting a bit too old to be watching the sun rise after staying up all night.