identity

three-year old birthday parties sure do contain a lot of three-year olds. and cake. we happily attended the party of my adorable nephew and after 3 hours, with bubbles floating in the air around our heads and the sounds of children screaming in our ears, we happily departed.

we made our way toward nyc. to that mix of streets and burbs and suburbs all connected by a private sense of ownership by its citizens. these city-dwellers who come from all areas of the world and land in pieces of this city and lay some roots, carve out a small piece of america for themselves. and we travel there, to nyc, only we specifically go to brooklyn, to a place where puerto rican kids play baseball with hasidic jews and a swiss-irish kid can be mistaken for a pole. where a park bursting with people lounging and playing is cousin to a vacant lot, heavy with trash and weeds and a lone, rusted bull-dozer. where those looking to flee the 'city' can plop down a pool in their postage-stamp lot and call it a backyard, find a sense of fellowship in the laundry threaded over their heads.

and we true suburbanites in this mosh of urban conviviality? we meandered around this humble part of ny, drinking beer in different establishments, reminiscing about idyllic youths spent worrying about who had the higher team rank on the tennis team. and discussing movies: their significance, their beauty, their ineffectiveness, their ability to bring people together. we ranked our favorites and argued for that one, unwatched, but brilliant, gem of a film that 'had to be seen'. and when we could talk movies no longer, we ate candy bars. then we ranked those. ah, the typical night in brooklyn and the perfect assembly of cookie, caramel, and chocolate crunch.

we ended the weekend in fenway park, watching 'our' team and remembering those who gave their lives in pursuit of the freedom that enables us to celebrate the trivial.