And so we close, and open, another week. Without much change, without much excitement. We’ve been here before, and we’ll likely be here again. Is there the beauty of reassurance in that, and is there beauty in such reassurance? I do not know. I only know what I do, and lately it is the same. The routine. There is something deadening about that. Here is a prayer that we will survive together. Onto the past…
It was a week that saw the silliness and assault of April Fool’s Day, where Ben Cohen’s full-frontal naked shot was just as likely as mine.
Our virgin trip to Boston Chops more than met our expectations, actually surpassing them, and for those who don’t eat meat… you’re missing out.
Aside from a flurry of FaceBook photos from the way-back-when, I also waxed nostalgic for my very first date with a guy. And I was only 14 years old.
A few years later, but more than a few from today, another happy memory was born.
Most of the Hunks of the Day flew under the radar, but are worth a second look, like James Ellington, Matt Targett, and Chris Davis, but the bulge of Jon Hamm was quite noticeable.
And Bon Jovi continued to supply a jumping off point for more memories of my youth.
