Tomorrow, we journey to the sea…

From left to right is my cousin Martina, my brother Paul, my cousin Andrew, and me. (I forget the name of the small stuffed beaver I’m so happily holding and trying to protect from the prying hands of Andrew, but I know the big chicken behind it was christened ‘The Laying Hen’ – no lie). I figured this was a good photo to put up for my birthday (racier fare to come later, as we can’t remain children forever, but for now, this will do) – to remind everyone I wasn’t always a grown-ass man.

[Clink]

Andy doesn’t usually make mistakes in the kitchen. True, there was that one cilantro-instead-of-parsley incident that ruined a pan of stuffing (served without taste-test at a huge holiday dinner at my parents’ home no less), but for the most part the kitchen is where he works magic. Every once in a while, though, things fall apart. Like this cake.

My heart went out to the guy, and I tried to be supportive, suggesting there might be way to salvage it – either remove a top layer, or just hide everything with two pounds of frosting. He was not having it, refusing to send in something that was falling apart like it was. “Let’s just buy a cake,” I ventured at 9:30 PM. “Where can you get a cake at this time?” was his dejected reply. Umm, how on earth would I know? See, this is why I don’t like to get involved – there are always more questions. I made one final suggestion that he do a simple, quick pan cake and call it a night, then left before there was more swearing.

Tomorrow Andy and I head out on my birthday weekend vacation – a brief trip to Boston and Provincetown for an extra-long weekend. As such I will be gleefully limited in my computer and internet access. (Half the time I forget to bring the iPhone along to update anyone of any status shift.) I’ve programmed a steady series of posts to see us through next week – provided nothing else goes down on this fledgling template. It’s still a work-in-progress, and will be for some time, as figuring things out is taking me longer than expected. That’s to be forgotten in the next few days. It’s been less than an easy summer, and I intend to relax and try for one last weekend of glory before I call it a season.

I blame Kristi Gustafson Barlette for our annual trip to Red Robin. She got me hooked on their free birthday burger deal, so whenever that e-mail rolls around every August, we make a trip there to cash it in. Say what I may about chain restaurants like this (and I usually don’t say much, I simply don’t often go), free is free, and my funds are in no position to act haughty right now. The last time we were here the place was dead, but it was after a play on a rainy night at about 11:30, so I am surprised by how many people are actually here.

I expect the kids and families, but not the adults, and certainly not all the grown men eating together, many in pairs (and not, if my gaydar is correct, in any way playing for my team).

I start off with the Sweet and skinny spiked tea, consisting of Firefly skinny tea vodka and lemonade. At 68 calories it’s designed to be healthy – minus the sugar and liquor. It’s not something I would normally order, but when in Rome… Exploring the sticky menus (apologies to the iPhone I’m typing this on) I choose the Bacon Cheeseburger Gourmet Burger (is the second burger redundant, or is it me?) As memory serves, there’s nothing much gourmet about it – one can get the same thing at Five Guys, and with a lot more fries, but that’s not the point. What is the point? I ask myself as the server explains the bartender is backed up and my drink will be out in a moment. With the squeals of children it isn’t any wonder why there is a back-up at the bar.

A gentleman stands up from his booth, turns around, picks his wedgie, then sits back down. Well happy birthday burger to me!