Vito the Pug turns 6

("That's 42 for the dogs.")

Today, six candles will glow atop a birthday turkey or a cake made of meat.

James at 40

Our meandering weekend-long celebration of James' 40th involved much fanfare and an abundance of meat products. It began with what could become a mid-week tradition -- the Spontaneous Afterwork Sausage Invasion. Two simultaneous (and serendipitous) trips to the Smoke House in Norwell ended in a consolidation of cured meats, and the grilling of peppers and onions in my partially-destroyed cookware. Friends in the kitchen, sausages for the soul.

We headed to dinner at Abe & Louie’s with P and Maria the following night. When we lived in the city, we always avoided going into town on Patriot’s Day weekend because of the madness of crowds, the lines, the Marathon in town, etc. This year was even crazier with both the Sox and the Bruins playing, but for some reason, we couldn't wait to get in there. We decrepit suburbanites craved that collective mid-April energy shared by all who are excited just to be outside without mittens.

Shuffling down Boylston Street, we were stopped by a twentysomething man in a backwards baseball hat who asked us if we wanted to go see Lynard Skynard with him, then go streaking on the Common. Before we could respond, he started skipping down the street, yelling over his shoulder: “No sa! No sa! Welcome to Boston!” Ok. Then came the food. James had this Flintstonian Bone-in Prime Rib that caused rubbernecking from neighboring diners. We dug into our Abe & Louie’s salads, filet mignon and then a six layer piece of chocolate birthday cake that rivaled the PR in size. Wow. All told, I think we met WMD's goal of eating one's body weight in red meat.

We filed out with the entire place erupting all around us because the Bruins had just won and walked back down Boylston for a night cap at Excelsior. We had some really kind vodka that I’d never heard of over which the four of us planned a long weekend in Vegas, which will hopefully come to fruition, kind vodka notwithstanding. The next day, we received P and Maria's entire Vegas itinerary via email and tossed all the leftover meat into a steak and eggs scramble, wishing BG had been there to fix Bloody Marys. Then, the meat-eating tipping point -- some Lebanese lahm mishwe on the grill that afternoon. Jimmy and Kathy shall have to fast. And if you’re wondering what happened to the bone in the bone-in prime rib, look no further than right here.

Happy 40th, James!

Five!?

Happy Birthday to Sweet C. whom when you ask to get dressed for school, usually shows up in this get up. I can't believe she's five. It seems like only yesterday, she was this person. Happy birthday, sweetie!

Traveling Aquarian Birthday Tour, Day 3

(All photos have been pre-screened by Nic for "big face")

On Saturday, we ventured up Route 3 with newly-minted South Shore residents, the Flaleys, to sign on to Code Red's Traveling Aquarian burthday tour. The meandering celebration had entered its third straight day and ended with bags of frozen peas and ibuprofen and the ponderance of hip replacement surgery. We tore into a late lunch at Firefly and then ran down the street and around the corner through squalling snow with no boots on to the Oak Room to meet up with Nic, Paul, Sinead and Fergus for some civilized cocktails. Here we toasted EPB's 40th, discussed names for the Flaley fetus (it's a boy!) -- LaDainian for now -- and took turns touching Paul's velvet blazer, which did not turn out to be velvet at all. Happy Birthday, Annie!

Some shots:

("Nice winter coat, T-Bag"

-- BG on T's skyward fro)






Sinead & Nic: 1 Big Face: 0





Make us some crepes!






Resplendent in velvet.

"40"

(Buon Compleanno!)

I started calling Ernie Bean "Ernesto Beanini" after Roberto Beanini's character in the movie "Life is Beautiful." He wasn't as much of a spaz as Roberto's character but his love of life and fervent belief in the beauty of it was just as palpable.

Many years have passed since the days we'd go to the movies at Kendall in groups of 10 and then shoot pool at Flat Top Johnny's. But things are even better now than then: Ernie turns 40 this Saturday. Right now, he's living in Australia (alas, no dancing at Paradise Cafe this year), but the key word is living, living, living. And living well and healthy. Sometimes we forget just how significant this is. I can’t tell his story as well as he can. That said, raise a toast to Ernesto Beanini this week, but most important, visit Bean Down Under, read his story, and blow up his comment box with birthday wishes.

Too Much Joy

This past weekend, the kids attended a birthday party for one of their pals at the Paragon Carousel at Nantasket Beach. Thumbs up to Gwennie: This was an all-around great idea for a children’s b-day party – even from an adult perspective. Being outdoors, by the ocean, instead of holed up in some crappy Chuck E. Cheese incarnation was reason enough to celebrate.

Not to mention, faced with the prospect of unlimited rides on the carousel, all of the kids were practically convulsing with glee, running in circles, rejoicing, jumping up and down, becoming unglued with excitement -- and this was way before the birthday cake and subsequent frosting conniption.

(Unbridled enthusiasm: You can power a city with this.)

The kids lined up and parents snapped pictures of their respective offspring on the flying horses, offering up the mandatory geeky commentary: "Woo hoo, hold on, here we go!" But by the fourth go-round, it was anything but merry. Parents, increasingly squeamish, looked at their kids in horror as they jumped back in line for a fifth go-round. “Oh my freakin’ God…Again? Seriously?” We had to flip the“suck it up” switch that most parents of young children have --- the same switch that allows you play Candyland for the 20th time or watch Heat Miser every night straight into June without becoming suicidal.

Faces draining of color, we got back in line for the carousel because we knew it brought the kids joy. It’s joy by proxy. (euphemism for "what a bunch of f-ing sucka-chumps").

The whole sentiment reminded me of something I read in the reviews for the movie “Knocked Up” last week. Apparently, there is a scene where Paul Rudd’s character – the father of two rambunctious little girls – speaks wistfully about how juiced his kids get over little things like bubbles. However, their joy brings forth a covert melancholy in him that is exclusive to grown-ups: "Their smiling faces just point out your inability to enjoy anything," he says.

(I’d attach an addendum: “an inability to enjoy anything that doesn’t include wine and snacks” but that's irrelevant here.)

There is something slightly depressing, I guess, about how mesmerized Caroline and Paulie are by the fish tank at the pediatricians office -- or by an ant -- because I know I will never feel that kind of wonder about such things again. But you get over it pretty quickly, say, when one of them tries to lick the fishtank or eat said ant.

And it's not that you're incapable of experiencing joy after a certain age, it's just not as pure as it is for a young child. It's basically the same reason we don't eat Fun Dip anymore. But while fewer things inspire a physical manifestation of joy these days, they still exist: I assume winning the lottery would be one such occasion.

My recent "literally jumping for joy" memories: U2 unexpectedly returning to the stage to play a stripped down version of Original of the Species at the Garden 2005 * the Red Sox beating the Yankees in 2004 (this not only brought joy but also the adrenaline to pick up Vito and march in a victory circle) * Learning of new additions -- human or canine * We practically have a parade every time Paulie uses the toilet so I guess we're doing ok on the joy front.

So, this past Saturday, we and other ministering mommas and poppas tried to harness some of the joyful feelings of yore and get back into the game. We mounted these so-called flying horses of the storied Paragon Park and rode side saddle with the kids.

The result: A bunch of green-faced adults dry-heaving on the Nantasket boardwalk. Perhaps there IS such a thing as too much joy.

The Best Birthday Present You Can Give James Today

Ok, Let's recap.

On April 19th...

1775: A shot is fired and the American Revolution begins at the Lexington Common. It was the "shot heard round the world."
[It's sad that I did not know that. Someone had to remind me that this is why we have Patriot’s Day. I always thought Patriot's Day was just another convenient Massachusetts holiday like “Evacuation Day” which "just happens" to fall on March 17th/St. Patrick’s Day. I assumed someone made up Patriot's Day so people could run or attend the Boston Marathon. ]

1861: The first blood of the American Civil War is shed. Four soldiers and 12 rioters were killed.

1989: A giant asteroid passes within 500,000 miles of Earth.

1993: Waco. Branch Davidian compound implodes after 51-day seige. 86 dead.

1995: The Oklahoma City Bombing, 168 dead

1999: Columbine, 13 dead. (April 20)

I've known him for 10 years but it is still staggering to me that James, a good soul, a healing man in every way, shares his birthday with all this negative energy. But he turns 39 today and the best birthday present you can give him is a piece of your own crappy history. Go to This Day in History and let him know of any shitstorms that were swirling about the day you were born.

My birthday Nov 29: George Harrison dies, 2001.

Princess Party

We came from near and far -- from the South Shore and South Boston -- to gather on the outskirts of the South End. Joe, all furtive, planned surprise cocktails for his bride at Flash's, inviting all to rally around Jess as she turned 20-15 over the weekend. James and I hailed a magic carpet from the Park Plaza and made it there in time to celebrate with our pal, known and loved by all as "Princessica."


While the party did not feature sparkly tulle and fairy dust like the princess party pictured here, it was equally full of wonder. Before he left, Paul "Drop and Roll" McCuen upped the creative ante. Should he ever see his name in print, he wants any attribution to be prefaced by the adjective "aging _____." We were charged with coming up with a noun but came up empty in the haze of pinot grigio and indian techno ringing in the ears. Sunday brought clarity, however, and it became glaringly obvious: "Aging F.O.P'" -- Father of Princessica.

Happy Birthday, Jess! And thank you, Joe, for a fantastic celebration....and for picking up the tab!

BOULOS TURNS 2! Tell Your "Driends"

June 8, 2004 at 9:33 a.m. Paulie's arrival in this world brought much joy as well as a plethora of nicknames: Paulie Walnuts. Boulos. Crap Master P. Brit Pop. Bunkledunk. Paulie Bear Banana. The Milkman. The Napper. The list goes on and on as he is loved by all who observe him.


Birthday Fun Facts: Paulie often smells like maple syrup because he loves to eat pancakes with his hands. His favorite song is "Bad Day" by Daniel Powter which he forced us to download and play ad infinitum. Whenever he wakes up from his nap, Caroline, the non-napper, launches into Eminem: "Guess who's back. Back again. Paulie's back. Tell your driends."

Happy Birthday, Boulos!

FYI: Boulos is Arabic for Paul

APRIL 19th, 1968

("Happy Buuurrthdaay..." Caroline sings)







(...to yooou." Paulie wields crooked finger inherited from Mama)




April 19th is a date on the calendar that has yielded many landmark events: The Waco fiasco ('93), the Oklahoma City bombing ('95) and the Columbine school shooting ('99). It seems incongruous that it also the date of James' birthday ('68) -- but this is an event that may help combat all the negative energy floating around out there today. Some JimmyFacts: A healing man and an Aries with Libra rising * Has infinite patience but when pushed has been known to cross golf courses to confront loud mouth jackasses * Unbearable winner who is still gloating over taking first place in a Master's tournament pool last week * Bats right, throws left * Scary lucky * Lawn tractors seemingly fall from the sky when his conks out * Sometimes blares Grateful Dead songs on the laptop when I'm trying to watch The Abrams Report * 38 years old today * Grateful TomKitten was born yesterday and did not add one more freakish event to the date of April 19th.

La Pinata Vacia

At Caroline's birthday party last weekend, there was mucho controversia surrounding the Dora Pinata. While decorating for the party, I hung the pinata from the chandelier so it would hover over the table; I thought it was a festive touch in a room filled with yellow streamers, a Dora cake and "fiesta bowls" filled with Starburst jelly beans. However, James immediately pointed out that it looked like Dora had committed suicide in the dining room. In his defense, it did. But I was confident the three-foot toddlers would appreciate it from a much less morbid angle. They did, and by all accounts, couldn't wait to bust that pint-size seniorita open.

Toward the end of the party, the kids gathered out on the driveway. James held Dora way up high and each child -- already hopped up on chocolate after a mind-blowing Easter egg hunt -- enthusiastically grabbed a string. Caroline shouted "pull! pull! pull! and just like that, they tore the pinata open. Nothing. James began shaking it. Nada. It became abundantly clear that the pinata was empty. Vacia. The kids, while confused, remained huddled in position, waiting for candy and toys to shoot out of Dora's bottom.

"But..but the people at the party store told me it had candy in it," I said to the outer circle of adults, moms and dads who were entertained yet astonished by my cluelessness.

"Hellooo? why do you think they sell the $9.99 filler bags?" said one mama. Filler bags? I don't remember seeing filler bags in the vicinty but then again, I'd been distracted at the store by a lifesize cardboard cut-out of David Ortiz which was, quite frankly, a little unsettling. Also, the clerk at ITZAPARTY made my question seem like some kind of party foul. "Of course it has candy in it. It's a pinata." She told me it had party favors in it too. Clearly, she could have told me it was full of unicorns and fairies and I'd have probably believed her.

Luckily, I'd over-purchased Easter candy. I ran upstairs, grabbed a Ziploc full of individually-wrapped mini Reeses, M&M eggs and Hershey's kisses, ran back outside and without hesitation, flung fistfuls of candy into the air like confetti. Crisis overted.





Here are a few pre-pinata shots of 14 kids -- all under age 5 -- running amok in the backyard. Together, they all created a game that involved dragons, princesses and a pygmy marmoset. Oh and Vito as "Baby Jaguar." I have to tell you, these kids know how to party.