I slept till noon for the first time since, well the weekend before I guess. But I slept till noon without a hangover for the first time in, well, a long time. From there I went out to lunch, skipping breakfast as I so often do, at Simon Pearce, a swanky restaurant/glass blowing facility. These two things seem as good a pairing as Band-Aids and body hair, but somehow they manage to pull it off. While you wait 40 minutes to eat, you can watch master glassblowers do their stuff, and snicker like a school girl as they blow through a massive rod.
We opted not to wait, and went to another restaurant in Hanover: Molly’s Balloon. It was here that I was hassled for the first time about my ID since I actually had a valid one.
“We don’t take learner’s permits here,” said the waitress.
I tried to imagine an outcome other than me overturning a table, as my grandfather said he could vouch for me. Since he’s a respected member of the community, and the wench wanted a tip, she let is “slide.”
Afterwards, we took a trip to buy some grade “A” Garfield’s New Hampshire smoked cheese. Garfield’s is an understated little place, a shack really on top of a hill overlooking the Green Mountains, and it’s home to one of the greatest smells in the world, smoked stuff. My grandparents treated me to the biggest block of cheese you’ve ever seen. Let’s put it this way, if it were heroin I could go to jail for the rest of my life.
Upon returning from that little excursion I became incredibly sleepy and took a two hour nap. Being up for 5 hours really takes a lot out of a guy. I woke up just in time to avoid watching the first presidential debate. I had better things to do than get aggravated watching a man who stammers like a dolt try to justify what he’s doing as “leader of the free world.” For some reason I had trouble sleeping that night. Maybe it was the ludicrous amount of sleep I’d gotten, but at least I managed to put a decent dent in the second installment of the Jason Bourne trilogy.
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