Don't tell me what the poets are doing, especially now that the Tragically Hip have played their final show.
Don't go anywhere near campus unless you're prepared to experience the larva stage of the class of 2020 working their way out of the cocoon. These fresh recruits - un-tattooed, unable to navigate street crossings alone, un-pierced, unaware of how boldly they stand out - will burn your corneas.
Between Broad and Grove on Harrison this evening, I passed a woman in hip-hugger bell bottoms complete with studded leather belt, cropped jean jacket and cropped white shirt, a vast expanse of midriff reminiscent of the Britney Spears era glaring white in the late day sun.
Then there was the blond California girl type in cut-offs so short you could see the half moon crescents of her bottom airing out with each long-legged stride.
Mark my words: by the winter holidays, both of these girls will have moved beyond these ensembles to something more befitting Richmond's arty college city aesthetic. They will eventually look back in amazement at how they dressed early on.
Don't expect me to agree enthusiastically about how wonderful this weather is just because the humidity is way down and the high temperature was barely mid-80s. To people like me, this weather feels like Fall and I am not the slightest bit ready for Fall.
Not even a little.
Don't be surprised when you hear from your oldest and best friend after years of radio silence and you find that she's still the same yin to your yang she was when you first met in college. Just to be sure, I check her vitals.
And, yes, I still get wet when a souped-up Stingray or Mustang goes by. Love you.
That's my girl.
Don't take me to My Noodle & Bar and complain they we ordered too much food (no one ever says that about the wine, do they?). Two appetizers - pork dumplings and tempura shrimp and vegetables - and four entrees should be doable for four people.
And while I managed to lick the plate of my broccoli and chicken in brown sauce, not another entree was polished off, leaving me to accept who the hearty eater in this group is.
For that matter, don't tell someone who doesn't like staying on the oceanfront that he's invited to your oceanfront cottage next August, because he'll refuse you (I saw it happen). But ask me, an oceanfront devotee, and I'll give you my RSVP immediately.
Outdoor shower, enormous L-shaped deck facing the ocean? Oh, yes, I'll be there, for as long as you"ll have me.
Hilariously and unexpectedly, my acceptance changes everything. Even someone who prefers to reside a bit further back can't stand the thought that I might get yet another shot at beach time, causing him to decide he will come after all. Should be a great rotating party with guests coming and going all week.
Wow, by then I'll be agog again witnessing the incoming class of 2021. Tragic, perhaps. Hip? Unlikely.
Here's to a whole lot of poetry and ocean time before then.