Holy crap. So much going on. A lot of it taking place on the work front, but things are too unsettled to discuss yet. Exciting stuff to be covered in future posts, for sure.
Anyway, this is a little late, but I can’t go one post further without telling you about our first ever lobster boil on the fourth of July.
Let me begin by saying that this was a serious ordeal; caterers, air castle, cotton candy machine, snow cone maker, and a buffet the length of a football field. The party was being held at Kurt’s brother Eric’s place up in Milton, NY, and he was not, shall we say, making love around.
The next thing I should mention is that there were a lot of kids there. I mean, a lot of kids. Which meant there was…
You guessed it.
A clown.
The weird thing about clowns is that they’re actually people, as it turns out. They wake up in their underpants, surrounded by empty bourbon bottles, wipe the cigarette ashes out of their hair, and apply clown makeup in the jagged wedge of mirror resting on a gas station toilet. Then they clear their throats and practice saying “hi kids” in a falsetto voice, before heading off to entertain children.
I’d include one of the pictures I took of the clown in this post, but I fear he’ll google himself, see it, hunt me down, chop me up, and bury me under the floorboards. So you’ll just have to trust me that he was equal parts entertaining and terrifying.
The next thing of note is the way the lobsters were prepared by the caterers. Let me add, by the way, that I’m using the term “caterer” a little loosely. If you’re picturing a mustachioed Frenchman in a tall chef hat, you’re close. Replace the Frenchman with an ex-roadie for the Marshall Tucker Band on probation for a jet ski DUI, and you’re getting closer.
The lobster preparations began with a solemn ceremony, during which the caterers stacked the lobsters in comical positions and supplied funny voices on their behalf.
“Eat me, eat me!”
“I love to gang bang!”
“I’m a stupid lobster. Mah mah mah.”
When the preparations ended, the caterers began the process of ripping the live lobsters in half, one by one, which, in the words of one of the caterers, “is how you do it. I saw it on TV.”
Basically, they throw all the lobsters into a big pot, boil them until their shell has gone from dark brown to bright red, and ring the dinner bell. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was gonna be able to consume these creatures after just having watched their violent dismemberment. Luckily, that’s why they make beer. I had two lobsters and a large pile of macaroni and cheese.
Then came the cookies. Then the brownies. Then cotton candy. Then a snow cone. Then more beer.
Then I looked around at all the families surrounding me, and had a sudden revelation about parenthood.
Nobody’s even trying to suck in their guts.
Sign me up.
