Scorecard from the Puff ‘n Putt, Montauk, NY. [Large version.]

It’s my wife’s favorite place in the world. And I love it more every time I go. I love that her folks get out there before we do and set up cheezy 4th of July decorations. I love taking the Cross Sound Ferry between Connecticut and the North Fork…

…and then driving onto two little barges to get the South Fork. I love getting there and immediately grilling something. I love the beach (though not so much the cold water)…

…And I love waking up and having no clue what I’ll do that day, and then doing something and having a great time.

Oh, AND I LOVE TO EAT. On the 4th of July, my mother-in-law, father-in-law, my wife’s cousin and his girlfriend and his mom and dad, they all came over and BBQ’d. And I ate the following:

• 3 ribs
• 1 cheeseburger
• 1 hot dog
• 3 ears, corn on the cob
• 1 tomato, sliced
• Bread, various
• 1 slice, blueberry pie with ice cream

It was gooood.

We also had the pleasure, towards the end of the week, of having our friends Katie and Joe join us, along with their six-month-old son Nico.

I took lots of pictures and videos, and now I can say that the “sounds of vacation” officially include—all in 8 seconds—the voice of my father-in-law, Gatsby shaking her collar, my wife’s laughter, and the distinct sound of my wife grunting as Gatsby jumps into her:

I also captured what I call “vacation par excellence”: Gatsby passed out in the sun and my father-in-law passed out in a hammock:

And lastly, there’s my pup’s pawprints from her first ever trip to the beach. It’s worth clicking on it and viewing the large size—the beach is there. Here’s to summer vacationers everywhere. See you out East next year.

With Lindsay and me trying to save for a house, vacations for the foreseeable future will always be to Easthampton, NY, where her family has a lovingly unpretentious second home. We’ve been looking forward to it for months. We’ll take Gatsby, we’ll see Lindsay’s parents, and we’ll even get to see a couple of friends on the last weekend there (starting their own well-deserved vacation as we end ours). We’ll sleep a lot. We’ll walk Gatsby a lot. We’ll barbecue. It’ll be great.

Meanwhile, mostly Gatsby-centric, the latest photos to share…

Gatsby’s was in her shedding season a couple weeks ago. This was the result, after having swept the week before:

Around the same time, my mom was in town, meeting Gatsby for the first time:

Lindsay’s friend/coworker Courtney just got a Boston Terrier/Pug mix named Cagney, who visited us today and was tough keep still:

Not that Gatsby is any better:

And mysteriously, despite loving to chase squirrels, we bought Gats a stuffed squirrel at Petsmart this afternoon, and this is how we found them soon after:

Lastly, completely unrelated but just because I’m proud of it, a Photoshop/Illustrator job I did showing MIT’s most famous building partially underwater:

Yesterday, following Simon’s, I headed downtown for lunch with my friend/fmr Houghton Mifflin coworker Walter at an old favorite haunt, Flash’s. After getting all the necessary dirt on my old industry, I then went to catch up with friends at Emerson College. All-in-all, a great time—except for when my old writing center boss at Emerson, who happens to be my Orthodox godfather, asked in front of strangers “How ya feeling? In remission?” First, he and others need to understand that with Hodgkin’s, you actually get to use the word “cured,” which I am. Second, why ask that in front of the Emerson undergrad you’re in the middle of counseling? Meh, anyway…

Today I followed up reading at Simon’s by taking Gatsby to Fresh Pond. Lately she had been a little aggressive with other dogs, and we’re not sure why. I think it has to do with the confines of sidewalks, because at obedience class and in houses/apartments, she’s fine. And Fresh Pond today was no different. She sniffed butts or ignored dogs altogether—not an ounce of aggression or nerves to be found. She also walked 99% with a loose leash, while in our neighborhood—especially on Mass. Ave.—it’s 50/50 that she’ll start pulling ahead, particularly when other dogs are approaching.

Happy to say that the walk around Fresh Pond left her exhausted, which is good prep for obedience class tonight: she’ll be focused on treats and not excited enough to care about the other dogs.

And lord, has there ever been a dog with whom it’s so easy to illustrate exhaustion?

Tomorrow, day three of days off, Lindsay is taking a well-deserved day off too. We’re planning on lunch at a small, amazing Polish restaurant in South Boston—I took Lindsay there years ago after her GRE and we never forgot how great it was. And after that we’ll head over to check out the Boston Art Deco Show at the Cyclorama.

Friday night we took in a Cape League game, where you bring your own chairs (and dogs) and cheer on college players trying to make a name for themselves…

And a shout-out to Tom, at right, for buying the raffle ticket that won the nine of us the preposterous prize of a sack of clams. A twenty-pound sack of clams…

We also went kayaking, swimming, sunburning, drinking—at one point, all four at once.

Lastly, it’s worth showing some of the decor of the place we rented…

…some sort of endurance challenge between people named Jon.

I call it the Jonathon.

And while you’re at it, get yourself a rub-on tattoo.

As I sat in the taxi that took me from the airport to my friend’s apartment near Piazza Puccini, it hit me that I forgot my journal. So while I may not be able to blog much while I’m here, I certainly want to get down somewhere my notes from today. And that somewhere is obviously here.

Boston to Milan: never heard anyone speaking Italian but the flight attendants and pilot. Counted half a dozen Sox caps. Had a nice conversation with the lady next to me. She has two adult sons—one is published in the Best American Sports Writing (of 2003, she thought), and the other who is a department head at Georgetown. She herself is an artist and instructor, and she was to lead a small group through an art tour of Tuscany.

In the Milanese airport, I discovered for myself what everyone says about Italians anyway—they really like to people-watch. There were a couple of moments when I thought I was being given the stink-eye for being anti-social, that is, for reading a magazine instead of looking around.

The Florentine airport has just reopened. It felt about the size of the airport at White Plains, New York, and one could understand why most visitors to Florence actually fly in to nearby Pisa. But the renovations—if that’s why it was closed until last two weeks ago—look excellent. Lots of stainless steel facade-ing, presumably to cover up walls they didn’t feel like touching up, and some pleasant but rather corporatey wall art. The ceilings were low and the layout straightforward, as if it were from the classic era of airports, when they were still known as airfields.

My friend, I still haven’t seen her. She’s at work for a few more hours. But her roommate was incredibly dear. He doesn’t speak excellent English, but he was excellent company. He cooked pasta with pancetta for me, and we shared some wine. He pointed out essentials on the map my friend has left me. And we managed to like each other enough that neither of us is worried that I will be here eight nights.

Now it’s time to shower and head out to get my friend some sort of house-gift. I’ve already started a photoset on the Fungible Convictions Flickr account, so check it for updates throughout the weekend and week.

This vacation has been evolving for over a year. First it was to be the Croatian coast (too many moving parts), then Istanbul for Pascha (no more decent churches), then Belgrade (host’s plans fell through). One day I’ll get to all those places, but the next ten days are all about Italy.

So I’ll assume I won’t have the ability to post until I’m back in Boston on May 7. But if I am, expect links to new photographs and perhaps some more grainy videos. The friend with whom I’m staying knows some pretty interesting folks, so my hope is that one or more of them have some idea of what young Italians write about nowadays.

And once again, if you are in New England this weekend, DO NOT FORGET to visit the Newburyport Literary Festival! It’s on the commuter rail for heaven’s sake!