Worcester Nights

I've been having a great week.

Worcester held its Fourth of July festivities on the 3rd, so Dan, Bridget, and I took a cab down to the park on Shrewsbury Street to catch the half an hour long show. I have to say, I was really impressed with the fireworks. Back home, the fireworks are the biggest event of the year-- we get all 50,000 people down on 8 miles of beach for a fireworks spectacular. While Worcester certainly didn't capture the same feelings as the West Haven fireworks, which are such an integral part of my childhood and adolescence, the show was monumentally better. The Boston Symphony played us through the show like champs, and the children behind us in the crowd were an absolute riot. Each time a firework went off, they would scream "ooh yea! WOOH!"

After the show, and the obligatory acknowledgment that fireworks were invented in China (God bless China, land where my shit comes from), we headed out for a mini pub crawl. The night started at Mezcal with a pitcher of margaritas. The drinks were a little weak, but the company was stellar. The people watching was also incredible--playing the "those pants are so ugly" game is never so rewarding as when the contestants are in ear shot.

Post Mezcal, we wandered up to Funky Murphys, which is much like a smaller version of Nikita in New Haven. Same kind of "My New Haircut" crowd. After forcing our way through a crowd of dudes asking "Where are the hot chicks going", we found a place by the wall where we talked about Broadway and Jagerbombs.

We then took a turn down to Algos, which was a much quieter scene (thank god). For most people, the night was winding down. We, however, were not. It was also not a quieter scene once we got there. My apologies to the patrons. I considered serenading the table of girls behind us, but we all figured it was a terrible idea, despite the fact that we might have known them. Hmm.

At this point in the night, its either go home or do something ridiculous. And we've had a few drinks in our collective systems. So we decide to walk the three blocks to Water Street, through a former industrial area and past the train station. When we get there, I accidentally forced us to go to Blu. Thank god we went there.

There was a foam party
and we had no idea when we walked up there
!!!!!

The foam party was, in fact, a shit show. But incredible. We danced with people who were either vastly older or younger than they appeared at first. This was my first real experience with the phenomenon of someone looking MUCH cuter when you drink. The guys dancing next to us were in their 30s, for sure, but I definitely thought they were my age for a while.

The shot boy that night was also hilarious--he was clearly doped up on something, and tried to chat us up. However, I have a strict "you must be wearing pants to hit on me " policy. Tighty whiteys do not cut it. He also had a handshake like a wet fish, and god knows what a turn off THAT is.

Last night was similar, but certainly less storied. I feel like, maybe, I've done the 4th of July correctly this year. Or at least, age appropriately.