I’ve been spend­ing a lot of time hang­ing out at the local ice cream place. I killed a cou­ple of hours there ear­ly Fri­day evening, shoot­ing the shit with the folks that work there and a cou­ple more hours yes­ter­day, where one of the work­ers direct­ed me to the site of her semi-nude pho­tos. [!] I think I know every­one that works there by name now. In between these dairy dis­cus­sions I spent a few hours grilling dogs and burg­ers for my Auburn Block club, where I met Scott Rad­ke and his wife Sara and baby daugh­ter, Bel­la. Scott is the dude respon­si­ble for most of the out­door art that can be found in Tremont. On Sat­ur­day evening, after I warshed off the grill smell I went to anoth­er par­ty which cul­mi­nat­ed in drunk­en truth-or-dare Jen­ga and street-lick­ing. I thought I had a good dare “Pick two more dares”, but anoth­er par­ty­go­er came up with the dare “Knock over the Jen­ga tow­er.” Which, I believe, has now had its jer­sey retired. Knock­ing over the Jen­ga tow­er means you have to do 3 more dares. It seemed like every­one in the neigh­bor­hood was hav­ing a lit­tle get-togeth­er on Sat­ur­day. Even stum­bling home at 2:15am I still ran into peo­ple I knew, stum­bling in the oppo­site direc­tion. That was a pret­ty cool feel­ing. Or maybe I was just drunk.