When I graduated college, I was terrified that the few people who had made it a not-so-horrible experience would have nothing in common with me once they moved on to new cities, new jobs, and new experiences. A series of visits has worked hard to refute this possibility of awkward silence, culminating in what the only other college friend I have left in Boston called, the 'BEST DAY EVER!'
The day began on the beach, knocking back too-warm champagne from a Nalgene bottle, discussing America's food crisis--hoping in some narrow way to solve the problem with our discussion and the adoption of an expensive farm membership. After our Socratic session ended in a sea of complacent middle-classiness, we accepted our losses and looked forward to the Sangria we'd share hours later. Now, with skin crisped to perfection and egos properly alcoholically lubricated, we moved on to Harvard Square, where a number of local bands were to be performing outdoors to celebrate the Solstice (in lieu of virgin sacrifices, I suppose). We met up with one of my more recent friends and my boyfriend for a store opening and a dinner, even though my beach-going college friend and I agreed that world's colliding always seemed apocalyptic to us; two people who know me in two different ways in one room would certainly cause destruction.
Everyone had a delightful time, though, relating plenty of stories intended for common enjoyment. We were met by two more of my college friends, just in town from Chicago, to enjoy more drinks at my apartment and, obviously, watch Muriel's Wedding (we had been obsessing over Abba's 'Take a Chance on Me' during any time spent in a car). Maybe it was the Swedish disco and maybe it was the obscene amount of alcohol, but it seemed like college all over again (with better clothes and more money)--like nothing ever changed between my friends and me. It was reassuring and festive--the perfect way to begin the Summer without slaughtering a goat.
The day began on the beach, knocking back too-warm champagne from a Nalgene bottle, discussing America's food crisis--hoping in some narrow way to solve the problem with our discussion and the adoption of an expensive farm membership. After our Socratic session ended in a sea of complacent middle-classiness, we accepted our losses and looked forward to the Sangria we'd share hours later. Now, with skin crisped to perfection and egos properly alcoholically lubricated, we moved on to Harvard Square, where a number of local bands were to be performing outdoors to celebrate the Solstice (in lieu of virgin sacrifices, I suppose). We met up with one of my more recent friends and my boyfriend for a store opening and a dinner, even though my beach-going college friend and I agreed that world's colliding always seemed apocalyptic to us; two people who know me in two different ways in one room would certainly cause destruction.
Everyone had a delightful time, though, relating plenty of stories intended for common enjoyment. We were met by two more of my college friends, just in town from Chicago, to enjoy more drinks at my apartment and, obviously, watch Muriel's Wedding (we had been obsessing over Abba's 'Take a Chance on Me' during any time spent in a car). Maybe it was the Swedish disco and maybe it was the obscene amount of alcohol, but it seemed like college all over again (with better clothes and more money)--like nothing ever changed between my friends and me. It was reassuring and festive--the perfect way to begin the Summer without slaughtering a goat.
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