My Beach Holiday

So the Cape was brilliant, and exactly what I needed. The sun, the sand, the salt water... all of these things work wonders on me, they always have. And it was reassuring to learn that I could love Atlantic Ocean beaches too, and that the sun here is strong enough to tan me.

But it was more than that. One finds guidance in the oddest places, and this weekend I found mine on the $1 shelf of a used bookshop, in the form of a book of poems by one of the greatest dramatic talents of our generation, Ally Sheedy. Yes, that Ally Sheedy. Bet you didn't know she was a poet. And that's because she bloody well isn't. This book contains some of the worst attempts at writing that I have ever seen, and I include my own high school journals in that statement.

It has long been observed that nothing bonds people like adversity, and it was in that spirit that six of us came together in the wee hours of Saturday morning, fueled by the finest Ireland has to offer (Barry's tea and Bushmill's whiskey), to share Ms Sheedy's efforts in the only way that could possibly do them justice. You are all in my heart and my nightmares forever, and if you bastards weren't all leaving the country so soon I'd say we should make a habit of it. As it is, we must console ourselves with becoming Internet Phenomena.

XOXO

P.S. Thanks, Oscar! I'll pick you out a really good rock.

Thanks, Internet!

With respect to Mary from Junee (R.I.P.), it's been a bit of a sea hunt of a week. I have a couple of things I'm keen to write about but I haven't had the energy and tomorrow I'm off to Provincetown, gay capital of the Atlantic coast, for what is unlikely to be an at-all-wild weekend. But I wanted to leave you with something I've been promising you for a while, so....

Go here. And no one gets to make fun of my getting the giggles.

XOXO