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Posts Tagged ‘Cape Cod’

On hiatus, possibly, from blogging for the week. I can probably do quickie updates, but nothing too involved.

I am in Truro, Cape Cod for the week, no wi-fi at our house rental (WTF?) but a fabulous pool and less than a block from the ocean (bayside).

I have my new point-and-shoot camera with me (you all know the saga of my older point-and-shoot camera with a water-stained lens, right? See any photo I’ve taken and put here on my blog in the last year-and-a-half and you will probably notice); my new commuter bike and paneer; Hubby; daughters; one of their friends; and my mother.

I will be doing a poetry writing workshop with Dorianne Laux each day this week at the Center for the Arts at Castle Hill. I am excited and slightly scared, though these words do not adequately describe the subtleties of my actual emotional state in regards to the upcoming workshop. In any case, wish me well….

Speaking of sex toys, I have forgotten all of mine at home. Fortunately, Provincetown is a den of sin and I think there are at least 3 “sex” shops. The most embarrassing (to me) being Toys of Eros, whose window is smack dab on the main strip (Commercial Street) and generally features its white-torsoed manikins in bondage gear. All these years, I have tried to stay in conversation with the kids face-to-face as we pass. I don’t know what my worry or discomfort is; they’ve been coming up here for 12 years, same as me, and they’ve seen more drag queens and leather boys than I ever did until I was in my 40s.

In the absence of having uploaded any current photos, I give you some from April 2011. Or you can visit a couple of old posts about Cape Cod, here, here, and here.

sculpture in front of PAAM, Provincetown’s excellent art museum

just a little house/building, not too interesting, but I liked it enough to take this photo

That’s all folks, I’m outta gas and outta a desire to sit in this internet cafe/coffee shop (The Wired Puppy)

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Returned from Cape Cod last night with 4 teenage girls and my 77-year old mother in the aged mini-van. You can imagine that hi-jinks, hoots, and hollers were all part of the trip. That’s what I would imagine, if it hadn’t been me behind the wheel, encased in reality.

Couldn’t get my ass too far beyond inertia until quite late in the day today. I didn’t cook; only cleaned up cat poo, went grocery shopping, managed 2 different group email lists in order to convey mass information, downed a pint of Starbucks. I finally managed to start a batch of granola at about 10 this evening and to brew a pot of coffee to be consumed tomorrow.

Sad news today about one of my daughter’s former teachers, too.

Damn.

I walked around by myself in Provincetown for a while on Wednesday. It’s something I do very little of–I’m usually with kids or Hubby, even Mom. It was so lovely to stroll around and snap photos. No matter what’s going on inside of me, Ptown has a stability. It’s reliable and predictable. There will always be skilled locals riding their simple bikes (not fancy, 21-gear racing bullshit–these people are practical and really going where they need to get) against traffic, darting between pedestrians; always beautiful gardens and houses painted charmingly; always some big honking gas-guzzler of a fancy black SUV plowing its way along Commercial Street; always a fat touristy family in Cape Cod sweatshirts eating loads of ice cream, looking sort of out-of-place, but not really out-of-place because they belong as much as anyone. There is always commerce and productivity–people working on their houses, deconstructing, reconstructing, sanding, blasting, painting. Always some drunks, always some smokers. Lots of tattoos and the most fantastic short haircuts to be found anywhere in the world. The proprietors will always be gay and hip and will always treat me differently and even sometimes less well than they treat the locals, as well it should be. The beautiful galleries and paintings and art everywhere. The feeling that this is not reality, but then remembering the working class roots of the area, the hardscrabble life of sailors and seafarers which beats its true bloody heart into Ptown as much as the art, performance, and flamboyance. This is a place of survivors and brave souls. There are no wussies here, except the visitors, like me. I am in love with it all.

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As you may know from Music Monday this week, we are spending a few days on the cold and windy Cape of Cod. Here is my yelp.com review of our favorite restaurant in Provincetown, MA:

Heaven, I’m in Heaven. What? I’m not in Heaven, I’m in Chach? As has been abundantly stated, the most amazing, HEAVENLY, vanilla-infused French toast ever made. I can’t finish it, can’t eat the middle because it gets too soggy and gloopy. But the crusty edges, thick all the way up and down: give me more, ’til I burst!

I love the waitstaff. I think some are leftover from the last restaurant here whose name escapes me.  I love the woman with the fish tattoos. Is she a Pisces? I don’t know, ask her. She also has a great haircut and a sort of typical “does she like me or hate me?” Provincetown vibe. The older gentlemen waiters who are generous with the “sweeties” and “honeys” are an easier read: obviously they love me.

My kids love it, my hubby loves it, my mother (yes, my unpleaseable mother) loves it, our friends love it, our kids’ friends love it. Closed on Wednesdays, so don’t take a 3-hour walk down the beach from your condo and expect a big hunking breakfast on a Wednesday.

If you’ve never vacationed in Ptown yet, you may be surprised at the prices, which are on the high side, esp. considering that this is mostly breakfast. The music can be unpredictably loud or simply too Ptown for me.

Lots of locals, always a good sign. Chach gets thumbs up with a twist (highest rating).

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This week we find ourselves on Cape Cod. Each time we head to the Cape, we are treated to a rotating group of approximately 11 songs sung by a rotating group of approximately 7 girls: When I Was a Wee Wee Tot; I Bought a Goat; Cape Cod Girls; Two Little Buggies; Green and Yeller are amongst the titles.

Trying to find good examples on youtube of any of the above songs, which are generally learned at summer camp or passed down from parent to child or from friend to friend, is a difficult task. Sometimes the lyrics can be found, but usually many variations exist with no definitive version.

I wanted to post Cape Cod Girls for obvious reasons. But I wasn’t happy with what I found on youtube. Too sloppy, too sincere, too goofy, too slow, too long, too plodding, too poorly recorded, too few verses.

Here is one of my favorite renditions of Look at the Coffin, a song we learned several years ago from one of the [now] teenage-girls. There seem to be two basic modes for this song–slow and sincere or fast and ironic. Can you tell where this guy’s sentiments lie?

I know it’s a bit strange. Close your eyes and picture yourself in a gold mini-van, circa 2000, with 150K miles, 5 teenage girls in the back, 2 adults in the front, all singing the same song at the top of our lungs. It’s a hoot. Learn it and pass it on.

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