Dude, I was so torn like five minutes ago:
A really big part of me wants to go hiking tomorrow and climb Lone and Rocky Mountains, and thereby complete the required peaks for the Catskill 3500 Club.
And another part of me – namely my feet – don’t want to have anything to do with me for the next several to many hours.
I spent my Independence Day celebrating the birth of our country the best way I could: I worked. I’m a capitalist, and I can’t think of a more fitting way for me to spend The Fourth of July.
Catering used to be a lot of fun. But nine hours on my feet watching ugly people get drunk and ask why there’s no salt every five minutes can put a damper on any party vibe. As much as I like being from Jersey and don’t particularly like living here, I’m starting to appreciate our collective idiosyncracies. Granted, I have no desire to get any crappy tattoos and spend the summer down the shore, alternately burning my feet on the hot sand and skin in the hot sun and freezing said feet and skin in the Atlantic, but there are some things about New Jersey that one really can’t find in other states.
As little of a child of the eighties as I am, I still love hearing Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen. Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin are perennial favorites in our state of Sopranos-wannabes, and I dig them too. The young men at the bbq wore crappy bling made out of god-knows-what, and the old men wore crappy bling made out of precious metals. Everybody has some kind of accent or other – whether it be Jersey-hood or Old World something-or-other. Generally those are in the same young-/old- order.
I really don’t want to sound judgmental by using the adjective “ugly” above, but damn: out of 80 people, I found maybe three women attractive (one of whom was my co-worker) and none of the men. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t generally go around checking out the dudes at a party, but I can tell when a guy is relatively good-looking. People-watching can be sort of fun, but not when the resultant emotion is almost unilaterally disgust.
Whatever. The fireworks display was pretty cool. Semi-professional, I’d say. Which is surprising, because I’m pretty sure that fireworks are illegal in NJ without some kind of permit or other. And given the closeness of the houses in the neighborhood in which this party took place, I’m pretty surprised the cops didn’t show up. The music was loud and nobody bothered to take the microphone away from the drunk idiot who was toting it around all night. One would think someone would at least have explained the concept of feedback to said cretin at some point during those 9 hours.
So yeah, it’s now 1:30AM and I’m still winding down. I’d like to read a bit before I go to bed, and I’m sure Clyde is going to want to go out one more time before then as well. Oh, did I mention I’m dog-sitting for my brother this weekend? Clyde’s a pleasure. His all-white monster pit bull ass probably weighs as much as I do – no joke. I think I have maybe 10 pounds on him. He stinks, he whines a lot, and he’s all elbows and toenails, but he’s such a happy guy. I love the shit out of him. He’s a pleasure to hang out with. He’s always smiling and looking at me like I’m the shiznit. Which I am. It’s so cool to see such intelligence in another mammal.
Anyway, I’d really like to say that I plan to hike Lone and Rocky tomorrow, but I just don’t know. I have a 4PM appointment with a buddy, which means that I have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn if I want to complete the 7-10 mile bushwack and be back in time. It’s going to be a tough hike, too. Lots of close-knit balsam and spruce at the tops of both mountains, which will make for even slower going than usual. I’m going to set my alarm for 5:30 and see what happens in the morning – which probably means that I’ll sleep through the first half hour and hit the snooze bar a bunch of times before I give up and just turn the effin thing off.
We’ll see. Check back tomorrow to find out what happened.