My parents invited about 100 of their closest friends (and some relatives for good measure) to their house in Carlsbad for morning brunch. I was up first, being stuck perpetually on east coast time, and started emptying the trash cans in the bathroom. It was my concession to helping out but I don't handle food. I can do table cloths though. I packed up my shit and generally made myself useful while avoiding a) onions and tomatoes b) the vat of orange juice that arrived and someone put had put on ice (nothing says refreshing like a plastic bucket full of orange juice and c) the family dog.

This is my family. Behind his wife (stunning in red,) you can sorta see my other sibling. The British one kept that expression on his face the rest of the night. It was his "I'm gonna dance" face, his "I'm gonna get another drink" face and his "I'm gonna help move the centerpieces" face. Although he wasn't much help on the latter task. At the end of the night, we were volunteered to gather all of the centerpieces and take them back to the house. I drove the mini as the sanest and least drunk of my siblings. The valet did most of the work getting the centerpieces into the cars. Kevin seemed to get drunker then even without a glass in his hand.

While I wish this picture had come out better, that was the limitation of the disposable Spiderman camera I used. The photo does not convey the elegance of the initial impression of finding your seat, but rather seems more reminiscient of three-drinks into dinner.

My drink of the evening was a gin and tonic (pictured near the top) which Kevin would bring me a new one about every five minutes. I had quite a collection towards the end of the meal, having touched only sips from each, depending on which was the least watered down at any given time.

At the Four Seasons in Carlsbad, CA, between family photos and the cocktail hour, the sibs and I went to entertain ourselves at the hotel bar. The bartender handed us a platter of nibble-things that were mostly saltly and coarse but we ate like we had been starved. In fact, we had spent about two hours outdoors, mostly in the shade, waiting our turn to take a few professional shots with the bride and groom. My role in this particular plan was limited, but I stood gamely with the rest waiting my cue.

I thought this was a good shot of the tuxedos the groomsmen were wearing. The boys all ended up in tuxedos, even those of us who were otherwise not participating in the wedding ceremony. The bridesmaids' dresses were all black, as were both dresses of the groom's and the bride's mothers. The fathers were all over the map the entire weekend. Hawaiian prints one evening, non matching tuxedos another - they either planned it carefully or simply ignored every instruction given to them. The wedding was black tie optional, but not really optional.

My father invited his three boys (the biological ones, although God knows that we add son-in-laws the way some families add televisions) to go with him to get manicures and, being the attentive children we are, we said yes. On the way, my father asked my nineteen year old brother if he had gotten laid yet and went so far as to imply that he could use it. From the back seat, I asked him, "Why didn't you ever have that talk with me?" (My dad's idea of a sex talk was to pass along a mega-sized box of condoms that I never got around to using before they expired - I didn't know what to do with one, much less two hundred.)

We settled in the parents' house in Carlsbad, CA the night before the wedding rehearsal. This was a marriage between Keri and Rick (soon to be the Greens.) Among the siblings, only I hadn't yet met Rick. But the rest of the siblings spoke raves about him. We killed the morning with a sibling breakfast and some shopping. The p.m. was for the wedding rehearsal and dinner, the latter of which was held at Tuscany, an over-priced, over-kill Italian wannabe restaurant.

I spent part of my week of summer vacation in Portland, OR. When the guy handed my aunt and I two cups of boiling water, we both burst out laughing. He had asked me if Americano was okay, but having never heard of it, I had no idea what I was being served.

I found these two dead baby birds near the front step of the house in West Newton. They probably fell from a nest built on the roof. Now, did this tragedy happen the morning of my visit, or had they been slowly rotting there all week? I had a shitty disposable camera, so this was the best detail I could get.

This photo documents my last trip to the house in West Newton, MA, some 16 days after I moved out. The jar of pickles in the left background, top shelf (behind the yogurt,) probably belonged to me, as did one of the containers of parmesan cheese. The shelf-size twelve pack of coke (bottom) is empty and the soy milk (top right) is long spoiled. The bottle of Sprite is not empty, and also not carbonated. The Tropicana orange juice has separated (can you spot both containers?) The sausages are new though! The jar next to the mayo is what, relish? I love that you can count no less than three plastic grocery bags...