2003-03-21 - 2:37 p.m.
As The World Turns....
[Sandy] I'm listening to Norah Jones at my desk and testing out some new software, and all I can think is how I wish I was listening to Norah Jones sitting on a closed-in porch of some out of the way beach house early in the morning, drinking a cup of coffee, and reading a fashion magazine. The only thing competing with Norah is the ocean waves creeping up the beach and begging me to come play. And I smile and think, 'in just a minute.' I need to finish the magazine because, after all there's nothing more significant to read about in the papers, or watch on the news. In fact, there is no news, and the only thing anyone says in the beach house is, "please pass the sugar."
[Scott] ...I thumb past another page with an outfit that only looks good on the impossibly thin women, who aren't really women at all, but rather clothes hangers with painted eyes. I can't help but think, "How can they justify these price tags? Are there more than five people out there that would rationalize this dollar per fashion trade-off? Or can they get away with these one-off eccentric fashion plates because the rest of their line gets eaten by the 'acceptance driven by label' piranhas?"
But as my mind is about to shift into the merits of open-toed shoes, a dune-buggy darts across the sand and crushes my fragile eggshell beach-front placidity; the engine shouting warnings to make way as the sand follows suit and clears to the left and the right.
Just then the bane of my peaceful repose turns and heads straight for my porch. My back tenses and my posture improves as I prepare my senses to act in haste if need be. The vehicle pulls an abrupt stop fifteen feet in front of my stare, and returns it with a low, growling menace. I almost shout out the those inside, but then stop short as the driver stands-up and becomes visible from behind the dash.
My fear melts more quickly than it surfaced as I recognize the unshaven yet handsome figure behind the wheel: my good friend Scott has appeared! "Nice of you to decide to join us," I say casually as he approaches the porch, trying to act like I barely noticed the whole scene...
[Jamie] "Come on in," I say to Scott. "You're just in time for breakfast." I put down the magazine and we go into the house that smells faintly of French toast and coffee.
Jamie is sitting on a stool gazing out the window, looking impossibly cute in a ladybug patterned apron, and seemingly lost in happy thoughts. A single beam of sunlight falls through the paned window and brightens a square on the floor.
"Is it ready?" I ask. "Momma's hungry."
"Hey kids!" She turns around with a smile. "Where's Ryan?" "I think he's bringing the 'copter in later this morning," answers Scott. "I sent him out for a beer run this morning."
Jamie serves us breakfast over minimal conversation and we retire to the porch with our coffee, where Jamie kicks Scott's ass in Scrabble while I finish my Vogue.
[Scott] "How come you always let me win?" Jamie asks in a drawn-out feigned whine.
"What?" Scott reacts sheepishly, "Was it that obvious?" "Well... you remember what happened last time," he finally admits.
"We ALL remember what happened last time!" I interject, slightly lowering my magazine so I can gaze off just above it; as if I were waiting for that memory to reply itself out on the beach.
"I know guys, but I'm not always over-competitive. In fact, it's been a long time. The days of Hostile Hawkins are over," she pleads.
Scott and I turn to each other to share a brief look of disbelief as I then return to the fashion world and he back inside the house.
[Jamie]..."It's not my fault he's a pansy," Jamie grumbled. "C'mon, Jamie," I said. "You know guys have a hard time living up to the fact that they got beat up by a girl. I mean, you gave him a black eye and got beach sand stuck in his earhole. Cut the guy some slack." Jamie rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't have attacked him like that, Jamie. He's a really nice guy, and just because he's the only person in America that can beat you at Scrabble... well, I think you should let it go."
Jamie sighed. "You're right. He is a nice guy. And I'm not a bad person. OK. I like Scott. I'm going to go apologize."
Jamie walks into the house to find Scott. She found him curled up in the window seat on the landing, with tears in his eyes. "Scott?" wavers Jamie. "Leave me alone." he says. "OK. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about the black eye. I shouldn't have done it, and I definitely shouldn't have done it in front of those big manly football players and bikini clad cheerleaders."
Scott wheels around. "No, you shouldn't have!!" he yells angrily. "What were you thinking?"
"I know, Scott! I came IN here to tell you that I'm sorry! What else can I do?" wails Jamie.
"Make me some guacamole." states Scott. "Done!" Jamie replies. They give each other a big hug ("you need to shave," Jamie whispers to Scott) and walk into the kitchen together, where Scott starts mixing up a batch of margaritas and Jamie starts peeling avocados.
[Sandy] I'm just getting caught up with the Spring hemlines when I realize Ryan is still nowhere to be seen. As I walk into the kitchen, I see the early stages of Margaritas and Guac.
"OHMIGOSH, I LOVE you guys," I gush. "And dude! Where IS your friend, Narcissus?! He was supposed to be here AGES ago. Does he HATE us?!?!"
"Come on, Sandy," Scott says as he generously measures tequila. "You know Ryan. He probably ran into some hot, volleyball-playing, bikini-clad, no-brains-in-their-heads women on the beach and got sidetracked. I mean, you can't really blame him, can you?"
"Whatever." I return to my fashion magazine and now, cold cup of coffee. I try to return to my peaceful reverie of the morning, when all of the sudden I hear the Flaming Lips blaring inside the house, and see Scott jumping around like a crazy person.
[Scott] I'm just about to yell about getting some 'R-E-S-P-E-C-T', when I hear a door bust open a male voice bellow, "Zaaaaaaaah!"
"Ryan!" voiced Jaime, as her and Scott froze in mid-chore, "what are you doing coming in through the front door?"
"And why didn't we hear the chopper?" added Scott.
"Yeah, I bet you guys didn't expect THAT, did you?" Ryan responded with a playful grin, "oh, and about the chopper..."
"About the chopper what?" Scott interrupted, the disbelief in his probe somewhat sneaking through.
"Yeah, well, I didn't like it anyway, ok" he answered back quickly.
"The hell?" Jamie snapped back, "are you kidding me?" She and Scott shared a glance of frustration, both with their eyebrows pinched-in accusingly as Ryan stood there unaffected.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha" Ryan belted out after the short pause, with each 'h' strongly exaggerated and the last 'ha' cut emphatically short. "Come guys, I'm just messin' with ya. I left it in-town for some minor servicing, that's all. Nick dropped me off..."
I was just strolling inside as this last piece of information was being unraveled. No sooner had the name of the benevolent chauffeur been uttered, when Jamie and I turned sharply to each other; our eyes widening as if to say 'whaaa?'...
[Sandy] "Nick, huh?" I say innocently while smoothing my hair. "Well, maybe we should invite him inside for a Margarita since he was so nice to bring Ryan back. . ."
"Give it up, Sandy," Scott interjects, "He's gay." Jamie giggles, and reaches for yet another Margarita.
"Dude. He is SO not gay. You think I can't tell when men are GAY?!"
"NO!" Jamie and Scott bellow in unison as Ryan wails with laughter. . .
[Jamie]..."Well, I think we should invite him in anyway, but only if he has his bongos in the car."
"How do you know he plays the BONGOS?" Scott asks suspiciously. "Oh, we have our ways." Jamie answers. "And, we have 3 guitars and an EGG here, so I think Sandy's right, even if he DOES wear nicer shoes than any of us!"
I chase Nick down to the car and ask him if he brought his bongos. "Never travel without them," he says with a wink and a smile. "What's on the agenda?"
We all went back out to the porch, where Jamie and Scott and Ryan tuned their guitars. Nick and I worked out a funky beat with our percussive instruments, and soon we were playing and singing an eclectic mix of music -- everything from U2 to Van Morrison to Sean Colvin to Dave Matthews to the Indigo Girls.
A couple of hours later, Jamie says "dude, what's in the bushes?" I look around to see some rustling going on outside the screen door. I sent Scott and Ryan to check it out, and they come back with a little man in tow. "The hell?" Jamie asks. "Who are you?"
"Sorry - I didn't want to disturb you guys," he stammers. "I'm CJ. I work at this club in town, and I was walking on the beach and heard you guys playing. I just stepped up here to get a better listen. Turns out my band tonight called in with food poisoning."
"Well, in that case, have a margarita!" Scott offers. "And tell us about this club."
"Sure," CJ says. "Excellent drink! It's just a dive that serves shellfish and beer, live music every night. Small sandy dance floor that overlooks the ocean. You guys interested in filling in for my band this evening?"
"Zaaaaaaaaaaah!" shouts Ryan.
[Scott] We decide to investigate, and all follow CJ back along the beach westward, towards the direction of civilization. The sun was lazily lingering in the afternoon sky; it was a good deal past full height, but not yet so low it was shining at our faces. It was at this point that we all decided to talk in alliteration for the remainder of the evening-- a silly amusement we sometimes indulged ourselves in.
"This shellfish shack isn't shady at all," I mentioned as we arrived to the authentically old, but well maintained property.
"How were you lucky enough to land this lush locale?" quizzed Scott. The spot was indeed amazing, with a view of the town and the small mountains behind it, and a porch where several people had already gathered in anticipation of the brilliant sunset that could be admired from this vantage.
"Let's just say it's been in the family," CJ retorted, not interested in our grammatical game.
"Can't this fool follow the frickin' format?" Jamie whispered under her breath to Ryan and me, as we struggled to hold in our chuckling.
We took a place on the porch and CJ stepped over to the outside bar to grab us a few drinks.
"Something strange in these scenic surroundings tells me this night will not be normal," Ryan mused, "not NEARLY normal."
[Sandy] CJ brought back a round of beers for everyone, and we all mused over the possibility of a beach front gig. "Personally," I began, "I prefer to play my percussion pre-sunset."
"Nope," said Scott, "we need night's noir to sufficiently surrender the spectators to the swaaaaay," as he dramatically interpreted the "sway."
A giggling Jamie said, "But Zandy, zinging is zo much zexier when the zun zets."
"I think we should play late. It'll be great. You could even bring a date," offered Nick.
We all stared at Nick blankly until Scott said, "No, dude. . .ALLITERATION."
And like so many times before, someone forgot to warn me before I took a drink, and I spat beer all over CJ and Ryan.
"YO, Dawg," exclaimed Ryan as he jumped out of his chair. "That is so NOT ZAH!" But everyone else had dissolved into gales of laughter and couldn't take his indignation seriously. . .
[Jamie] ....At that point, a man across the bar caught my eye. "Lands, Look at the lovely lad!" I gasped to Jamie, digging my elbow into her ribs. "uh, OUCH." she exclaimed. "The hell? oh. Too pretty," she grumbled. Suddenly she sat up straight and grabbed my arm. I searched her face as to get a clue what brought on her non-alliterative state. "Notice NICK," she hissed. I turned around to see Nick also gazing lovingly at my across-the-bar-hottie!!! "Gay or straight -- GAY OR STRAIGHT????" I questioned Jamie.
"Uh, GAY!" shouted Jamie, Scott, and Ryan simultaneously. "Pppppppbbbbtttt." I retorted, and left my bar stool to make my way across the crowded bar. "Let's learn...."
Ryan turned to Jamie and Scott, saying "If that guy's not gay, then I'll grab my gut and giggle with glee!" Jamie and Scott nodded in agreement. "For HER sake, I hope that hoodlum isn't harboring homosexuality." Scott says. They all stared wide-eyed as I approached him. And because I couldn't think of one alliteration that fit, I resorted to an old tried-and-true standby: "This seat taken?"
But as soon as I sat down, I noticed that NICK WAS ALREADY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF HIM!!!!! I turned to look at Jamie, Scott, and Ryan, who all pretended to be deep in conversation.
What was I to do? How was I to proceed? I grabbed my beer and drained it.....
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