Meatloaf Rocks

Today was a lovely day. Woke up and caffeinated myself with a huge bowl of coffee, ran some errands. Went to my dad's for his birthday celebration. He'll be 59 on Tuesday.

I always have this problem remembering birthday. I can never remember if it's the 30th or the 31st. One year in college I actually did forget and called him on the 31st, a day late. He forgave me. I got him a gift certificate to Lowe's, which is exactly like Home Depot, except blue instead of orange. He already knows what he's going to use it toward.

My brother bought him the first season of Miami Vice on DVD. He luuuuurvs Miami Vice. When the show was originally on, he would tape it while he was at Bowling on Friday nights and Saturday morning we would eat breakfast and watch it. He has the soundtrack on tape and CD AND he has the record. He loves the sound of Crockett's gun. In his opinion, there has been no gun since that could match it. He has mixed feelings about the upcoming Jamie Foxx/Colin Farrell remake.

We just lounged on the deck and shot the shit in the floral utopia he has created of his back yard. On the way over, my brother sort of complained, since this is what we usually do when we go over in nice weather. We get glasses of iced tea and sit on the deck in the sun and listen to my dad's favorite smooth jazz station. "It's so predictable." Yes, it is, but to me, it's such a nice break.

Whenever I am able to get away from the city for more than 48 hours at a time, my body is able to relax and my mind slows down a bit. I don't have to be thinking strategically all the time (best errand route according to subway accessibility, best time to do whatever according to my work schedule, how much living can I squeeze into one New York weekend, etc...).

I'm reminded how living in New York is akin to an incessant pounding in my head, in my heart, against my body, against the pavement, against all my senses...it's just constant bombardment. So it's nice to be able to sit and relax on my dad's deck and eat some melon and listen to terrible smooth Jazz versions of John Mayer songs, even if it's predictable. There's comfort in predictability.

And the meatloaf was THE BOMB.

(Oh, and I didn't have any cake...brought my own surprisingly good no sugar-added ice cream, made by WaWa. I LOVE WAWA! I seriously considered the cake. I really did. It was apparently a new recipe, specifically requested by my father and labored over by my step-mom, but knowing how I would feel about myself if I ate it just wasn't enough to make it worth it to me.)