And Again with the Vineyard, 2018: Day 10

Yet more overcast.  I’m working on a newsletter for the Cambridge Youth Hockey Association and Bill thinks it would benefit from a light touch – you know, joke of the month, pump-up song list, that sort of thing.  In the process of googling hockey jokes, a new family joketime is born, reminiscent of past ones with Funcle Andy.  This is the joke that started it.

Q:  How did the cowboy get to the hockey game?

A:  He rode his Zam-pony.

And we’re off.

How did the con man get to the hockey game?  His Flim-flam-boni.  (Alt:  his Scam-boni.)

How did Clark Gable get to the hockey game?  His I-don’t-give-a-damn-boni.

How did George Michael get to the hockey game?  His WHAM-boni.

How did the college student get to the hockey game?  A Cram-boni.

How do the Larsens get to hockey games?  Their Clam-boni.

How did the sweet potato get to the hockey game?  A Yam-boni.

How did the Scotsman get to the hockey game?  His Wee-dram-boni.

How did Mary get to the hockey game?  Her Little-lamb-oni.

How did the fugitive get to the hockey game?  On-the-lam-boni.

How did the Flintstones get to the hockey game?  The Bam-bam-boni.

How did Michael Jordan get to the hockey game?  The Space-Jam-boni.

How did the refined southern gentleman get to the hockey game?  The thank-you-ma’am-boni.

How did David Bowie get to the hockey game?  On his Glam-boni.  (Alt:  his Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am-boni, he has two of course.)

How did Gomer Pyle get to the hockey game?  On his Sha-ZAM-boni.

How did Lydia Gilman Dearborn Cate get to the hockey game?  On the family Effingham-boni.

How did Ilsa Lund Laszlo get to the hockey game?  The Play-it, Sam-boni.

How did Lin-Manuel Miranda get to the hockey game?  He rode the A.Ham-boni.

And all of this fun was even before we played mini-golf with various Petersens and Almarios and Tokeshis and had cod and clams and corn for dinner.[1] 

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[1] Yeah, I’m on a serious clam kick this trip.  Bring on the bivalves!

And Again with the Vineyard, 2018: Day 11

Nothing quite like a rainy early morning on the Vineyard, when it is just me up.  I could sit here all day. 

But fortunately the sun came out, because as I overheard a mom on the beach saying “if I have to deal with another rainy day . . . ”   This, however, was a windy day on the beach, which means strong gusts frost your towels and your book and you and pretty much everything with a layer of sand.  We’re kind of stuck there because Bill has taken the car to Vineyard Haven to get the glass fixed and it takes far longer than expected.  We imagine him wandering around VH with just his beach chair and a box of Wheat Thins but of course he is more resourceful than that.  He makes his way to the Bunch of Grapes bookstore, where he runs into the unstoppable Phoebe Lewis, who is relaxing on the Island between trips up Russian rivers and African safaris or somesuch. 

Maya, who is kind enough to give us a ride back to the house, says she likes a sandy day like this.  That’s Martha’s Vineyard for me, she says, being all sandy.  I get it.  You tolerate and even expect that sticky salty crackly sandy feeling because it is the beach and the summer and it is best on this magical island.

The only reason we’re anxious about getting off the beach in time today is that we’ve got a 6 pm reservation at the Red Cat, our preferred pre-Sing-A-Long dinner spot.  The Cat doesn’t disappoint, although I’ll note that it is getting more and more expensive and now all the menus are laminated and they match so you don’t get one for today and one dated two weeks ago and others in different fonts.  That’s what happens when the Obamas eat at your place regularly, things get spiffed up. 

Nor does the Sing-A-Long disappoint, although it feels like Master of Ceremonies Bob Cleasby has a slightly harder time getting the audience going.  It’s a small group tonight, and those age 40+ well outnumber the 40-.  Also, they’re getting fancy with slides and lyrics which is nice except when someone has a hair-trigger on the clicker.  An attempt to sing Memory (yes, that one, from Cats) goes hilariously awry when the slides start jumping all over the place while the pianist plays on, blissfully unaware.  Nothing that a rousing rendition of the Swiss Navy can’t fix, however!  While some may sing their way right home to West Tisbury, we make a beeline for the Back Door, for apple fritter session no. 2 of this trip.  There may be more.

Bill feels that Bob Cleasby is perfectly named for his role.  And with his red pants, you feel like you are in a modern-day version of the Music Man.

We have started to notice that there is a burgeoning grammar crisis on Martha’s Vineyard.  Peter and Izzy are seriously irritated by the Cardboard Box’s[1] slogan of FOOD DRINK REVEL.  They believe that it should be FOOD DRINK REVELRY or EAT DRINK REVEL.  They’re not wrong.

Peter is also practically undone by the new drawbridge, which is named the Korean and Vietnam Veterans Bridge.  Is it for all Korean veterans, he asks, if so, should it not be Korean and Vietnamese Veterans?  Alternatively, Korea and Vietnam?  Or Korean and Vietnamese Wars?  Or Korean War and Vietnam War? [2]  

You’d think that on an island with a particularly high concentration of writers, they’d do a little better with the verbiage. 

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[1] The Cardboard Box is a restaurant across the street from the Red Cat, owned by the same people.  It is now famous as the The-Place-The-Obamas-Went-This-Year.

[2] Yes, we do actually know what they are getting at.  But now that you’ve thought about it, don’t you agree?