I wish I had something refreshing or exciting to say, but I don't. In fact either I've achieved nirvana and am in a constant state of serene bliss or, more likely, I've finally reached the age of being a boring-assed old fart.
And to be honest, I'll take either.
I often think that I've already had 2 or 3 lifetimes worth of excitement, glamour and sophistication.
I also often think that I've already had all the hurt and drama I can (or want to) handle.
These days I'm happy to get together with old friends to share a week at the beach, lots of yuks and belly laughs, cutthroat games of Scrabble or Hearts, good homecooked meals, days on the beach acting like 12 year olds or nights on the boardwalk doing exactly the same thing.
So I should be delirious the week after next, when a bunch of us head down to the south Jersey Shore, to the beach town of Wildwood aka the "Irish Riviera", which I haven't been to since I was 14 years old. I can't wait to go back. I've changed a lot over the years. So has Wildwood.
In honor of the occasion I've broken down and bought a new digital camera (a Nikon S550) with which I hope to take tons of photos to post, since I can't possibly send all of you boxes of Salt Water Taffy from the New Jersey Shore!
The emails are flying back and forth between the housemates regarding who's bringing what, especially the really import stuff, like this:
Because this is what the beach looks like on a hot, July afternoon.
or else this:
I can't wait until next weekend.