the great leslie

I got up early to swim today (although I never actually made it into the pool because I gave my friend who was meeting me the wrong directions, sending both of us walking in circles). I got on the one train about 6:45 a.m., and was instantly greeted (assaulted?) by the smell of a hundred kinds of perfume. 

It wasn't good. But it was sort of interesting. I tried to smell each one separately, but, of course, I couldn't. I imagine the train in the morning always smells like everyone's perfume all mixed together. It was better than a lot of other subway smells, that's for sure.

I love lawn ornaments, on other people's lawns. And I love when a New York City "lawn" is adorned with ornaments, like this one down the street from my house on 106th Street.

My co-worker just showed me some pictures of some tweens outside the SoHo Apple Store, all of whom were screaming at the arrival of the Jonas Brothers. SCREAMING. 

"It's Beatlemania, baby," said I.

But, I wonder: is it okay to scream for celebrities? And if it's okay at 12, does that mean it's okay at 21 or 31 or 61? Would anyone scream for Barry Manilow at age 61? Probably not at a public place like the Apple Store, but maybe at a concert or something. 

Anyway, I am adding this to my list of socially acceptable places to scream. This does not mean, of course, that a pack of tweens screaming for the Jonas Brothers wouldn't be highly annoying. I'm glad I wasn't near by.

I was in Massachusetts this weekend at my parents' place to visit my grandmother, who is up from Memphis. I was barely in the state 24 hours, but I dined with my dad, took my grandma to the beach, found some $7 jeans, and had a Kettle One and Clamato with a good friend (it's her signature drink). My dad had a tennis tournament this weekend, and he left dressed in his tennis whites, which was highly adorable, and he won! My mother had all these parties for my grandmother, thus scaring the rest of the family away, but we did get in a few good hours and cold beers on Low Street. Seal it up with a drink in Cambridge and a 10:30 p.m. greyhound bus headed south to Manhattan. 

Things move fast in August...you really have to pack in the activities.

Once the triathlon was over, the summer was suddenly half over. And then I went to the "biggest" event of the summer: my cousin's wedding. And so now it's August, and I'm counting my weekends and thinking about how to maximize my summer funtimes. 

I was telling this to my dad on the phone just now, and he said: "My parents used to have a coaster that said: 'Work is the curse of the drinking class.'" 

And, as a newspaper woman and a woman of the drinking class, I love this Oscar Wilde quote (thank you, google) and now plan to embroider it on a pillow or something. After the summer is over, that is, and I can no longer swim or drink outside or do other fun summer stuff.