Head of the Charles
October 22nd, 2005Patrick Lenehan, T. Sean McKean, and others from Pfoho came back for Cambridge’s most time-honored and celebrated event, Head of the Charles. Just its mention sends me tripping down Memory Lane. Oh, those time we looked at the boats. And those other times we didn’t. I remember those other times mostly. Whatever their reasons, my almost blocking group is here this weekend. Diana Rosenthal, who was never almost in my blocking group, however, is here, staying with me. At least her suitcase is here. She seldom is. Yesterday she napped in my bed while I read math a few hours. In my mind that counts as quality bonding time. Read that as an indication of what you like.
The point is this. Patrick tricked me into meeting them at Shay’s last night. Worse still, they left after two beers and a shot of drambuie. In another effort to drown mi hispanicidad with Scottish liquors, I’ve taken to whiskey derivatives. At this time, they all left to go home, or did they? Felipe’s as you well know is open so long as there are hungry, drunk Harvard students milling about the streets. And so there we were, along with Barusch. She left, and was replaced with name-brand tie designer Baruch. We introduced ourselves to one another. Then I saw Natalie, to whom I apologized for my public display of social ineptitude last Sunday. She forgave me, and explained that I had really done nothing wrong, as it was unlikely that I knew she and Mark had broken up. Then, there’s always a then at Felipe’s, Summer and Janie showed up. They invited me to sit down with them, but I was on my way home. But, and there’s always a but after each then at Felipe’s, Diana Rosenthal, the very same who naps in my bed and says I looks like Abe Lincoln, appears. Before we can say three words, Ian and Berch attack us in what looked like some sort of sexual assault. The cops took care of them, asking if they were sure they had not jumped on some cars earlier that night. I told the cops that the boys were here and so it was impossible. I was waved away. By this time Summer and Janie had snuck out and ran when I crossed the street, only to stop in front of the Signet, where, as luck should have it, JC and Clint were, smoking a cigarette. They invited me inside for a cast party. There upon they called tie designer Baruch. Come four o’clock I was home. Being almost the start of a new day, I decided to groom. There’s a small nick on my upper lip. Let this be a lesson: no matter what, don’t shave while drunk.
