An Odd Connecticut Adventure

I went to visit Phoebe a few days ago. For quite some time, we've discussed the necessity of us joining forces in our home state and having an odd Connecticut adventure. Before I arrived at Phoebe's coastal town, ey called to tell me it was the perfect time to come since eir family had been discussing the functions of a semicolon and wanted my expertise on the matter. Fortunately, I'm a big enough dork to be excited by such things. Phoebe's town is cute -- quaint with a touch of wealth, just as you'd picture the shore communities of Connecticut. The family greeted me warmly and Phoebe's dad was immediately a ham, introducing me to eir new Women in Waders calendar.


If this calendar were hanging in my house, it would be January all year round. The head wrap that fisherbabe is sporting is intriguing. Is she supposed to appear Muslim? I kind of doubt it, considering if the designer gave a hoot about diversity, ey would feature at least one non-Caucasian model. Regardless, it's hilarious.

Though my parents kindly served me a 4 o'clock steak dinner before sending me off on the train, Phoebe's family did not eat until after 9 o'clock the menu featured pasta and ham, a meal right up my alley. Only once we sat down did I notice the small dish of ham placed next to me. Apparently, no one else was having ham, just me. That was a definite attempt to pander to my penchant for ham, and though appreciated, was also a wee bit awkward. "We're serving ham; by the way it's only for you!"

After dinner, Phoebe brought up the intended plans for the night: a trip to the Eel Pot Tavern, a bar frequented exclusively by local crusty fisherpeople. I agreed that that would be the perfect odd Connecticut adventure and looked forward to reveling in what would amount to us being in a fish-out-of-water situation. (Of course the pun was intended there.) I hoped to make conversation with some frosty bearded fellow about my favorite Woman in Waders. Alas, Phoebe's sibling, Robin, had conflicting plans. Robin wanted nothing more than to watch Housesitter, starring Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn. At first I thought I knew the film, only to discover I was thinking of a different film featuring the pair -- a dynamite duo, those two. The more Robin described it, the worse it sounded, but eir sheer determination finally won me over. I'm not sure I've ever encountered anyone wanting to see a specific movie so desperately, particularly one with only a 44% approval at Rotten Tomatoes. Nevertheless, the resolve won me over -- I wanted to see Housesitter! Robin called the video store, but they did not have the title in stock. For shame! Dejected we took a trip to the docks and poked around for dead bodies. The docks had frozen over, so we skated up and down them on our sneakers. I'm not sure whether that sounds fun or not, but it was, and pretty much exemplifies diversion in Connecticut.

It turned out the roads were too icy to make it to the Eel Pot (boo! but we will make it there one day, I am as determined as Robin is to see Housesitter!) and on our drive back from the docks, we stopped to look at a sports field, a valiant attempt to at least show me some local hot spot. Just as we were about to get out of the car, both Robin and Phoebe suddenly freaked out about who might be lurking in the darkness, so Robin flashed the headlights and sped off with our car. We may not have "got shocked" (our term for getting drunk at the Eel Pot), but we were a bit slap happy, so I found it particularly amusing to watch two locals try to show off their town and grow inexplicably terrified in the process.

Once home, we gathered around the television to watch Father of the Bride because Robin was still fixing for some Steve Martin. I would probably demonstrate some intellectual snobbery toward this affinity, had I not previously had a semicolon discussion with Robin earlier and deemed her remarkably smart. Though Robin had seen F.O.T.B at least fifteen times previously, she still wanted to enjoy the film in silence, a request with which I did not oblige. Sorry, but I can't do it. I also became a bit too disinterested/tired to finish F.O.T.B., though I'm sure Housesitter is much better.

Oddly enough, this description is as accurate of a portrayal of life in Connecticut as I could ever provide, particularly in response to the oft-asked "What do you do for fun in Connecticut?" Ironic pornographic images, ham, impromptu ice skating, plans diverted by snow, and more Steve Martin than you can shake a fishing rod at.