Friday: Burds Posing in the Seaport Again
The weekend of white pants kicked off in the Seaport with Keane at Harborlights -- an absolutely euphoric show and the first of the outdoor variety this season. Tom Chaplin, usually mellow and reserved on stage, was crazy-energetic, leaping around like his hair was on fire, inspiring sing-a-longs and an abundance of sway-dancing.
Some took it a little too far. A group of baseball-hat wearing dudes a few rows ahead of us were carrying on like they were at a Metallica show. Each song inspired a series of fist-pumps and high fives and hip hop hugs. WTF. This is Keane. At first we thought they were kidding but it soon became apparent they were completely serious. Even during dreamy and melodic tunes like "Nothing in my Way," their hyperbolic antics were an odd sideshow -- not quite as odd (or as funny) as T-Bag’s giant dancing shadow puppet from a few years ago but it was up there.
Saturday: The Silencing of the Ding Dong Cart (nod to the 413-ers)
The Higgins -- of the Norwell Higgins-- joined us for the annual airing out of the cottage and first beach frolick of the season. The day began with the requisite pails and shovels and ended with the kids having a spontaneous nude beach party. Instead of chasing them with towels, we rolled with it. They were wearing sunscreen, after all and being naked in public is only cute for so long. Still, the entire beach gig -- building sandcastles, collecting periwinkles and crabs, the subsequent nudity -- was mere foreplay leading up to the would-be main event: the arrival of the Ice Cream Man. But one of the busybody beach ladies informed us that the town of Scituate recently passed an ordinance prohibiting the Ice Cream Man from playing his Ice Cream Man Music between the hours of 5-7 p.m. Everyone has finally had it with this instigator in the Ding Dong Cart who for years has caused kids to take complete leave of their faculties around dinner time. Sure, it's party pooperish but we applauded the ruling nonetheless. Last summer, the same Ice Cream Man trolled the same street three times in under one hour. Shameless. I looked him on the sex offender registry.
Sunday: Lookout, It's a Cookout
The Dell'Olio's party on Sunday was the horseradish mustard on everyone's hot dog this weekend. A grand time. The cookout was originally billed as an intimate, beach chair circle but it ballooned to 50+ guests (including children) after WMD got drunk at a wedding a few weeks ago and invited half the east coast. It turned out to be a great call.
We worried the day would be hijacked by toddler turmoil. Upon arriving at the party, Paulie was complete garbage having not had a nap. His crabbiness was remedied, however, by a rousing game of "Let’s Take Turns Sitting in a Cooler and Tipping Each Other Over" with some other little boys.
[This was perhaps a G-rated version of JGangi's co-ed Martha's Vineyard game: "Lock the Doors, Turn out the Lights, Whatever Happens Happens."]
The kids, by their sheer numbers, became a self-contained unit (with dads patrolling the borders). They initiated a few rounds of Extreme Duck Duck Goose --- and then some impromptu yoga. All the while, we were able to sit in the ever-widening circle of beach chairs, cackling and catching up. I debuted the first installment of the Accidental Latina Summer 2007 Collection --a yellow tube top that is probably appearing in a Shakira video somewhere as we speak.
Good times, noodle salad.
Enjoy some photos, most of which were snapped by PU freelance photog Caroline: