A 4x4?

Today my cousins and I took our motorboat out to one of the smaller islands to visit a friend from boarding school. It was absurdly foggy at one point, but we persevered and arrived safely on the other side of the fog bank to our friend, dozens of sheep, and a 4x4. Now, considering how our friend is your typical preppy girl (blonde, thin, and always fantastically coordinated without trying), this struck us as odd. However, she explained that she and her brother, while cruising around Maine, stopped at their island to help her uncle design his new house out there, and the 4x4s were the best way to get around the island which obviously doesn't have any cars on it. We all piled into the cart behind the 4x4 and ended up having a great time cruising around the island. Unfortunately, we had to leave relatively quickly because the tide was changing and the fog was getting thicker. It was ridiculously choppy on our way back to our island, which just made the trip more exciting. My dad went out on our daysailer and was flying around the bay, leaving me quite jealous. Oh well. I still have almost two months left in Maine before returning to my little enclave of higher education for my sophomore year. 

Here's to many more breezy days. 

The Aftermath

I trust that everybody had an exciting and sufficiently enjoyable Fourth of July. Mine was without a doubt one of the best of my life. My family is currently at our summer house in Maine where, of course, mother's family has been staying since 1885. After the parade, we had the usual lobster bake, and, after one too many drinks, went swimming off of the pier with my cousins. The water was 54 degrees, but honestly, what is a Fourth without some sort of daring activity? And what better way to honor our forefathers than drinking too much and then seriously risking loosing all feeling in your toes? I clearly can't think of one. We went for a ride on our motorboat, and out on our island, we found an eagle's nest. Ah, patriotism. Anyway, after returning home, cold, happy, and salty, we cleaned up and dressed for dinner and the fireworks. This year was exceedingly cool because we took the whaler down to the fireworks and watched them fall right over us. Porpoises jumped around our boat, eider ducks clustered around us, and fireworks over the Camden Hills were seen on the boat ride back to our cove. Those are the moments where I take a deep breath in, and ask myself, topsiders and all, if I could maybe be a little bit more WASPy. The answer is no. 

We are off to visit one of mother's friends from Andover today in Vinelhaven. Our lab is going for her first boat ride, and we are all anxious to see how it goes.

Happy day after the Fourth.

Fourth of July

Ah, the Fourth of July. Perhaps one of the most beloved holidays among the WASP community. It is an excuse for us to wear our totally unabashadly preppy clothes, start drinking in the middle of the day (often right before going sailing), eat lobster, and, most importantly, revel in our extreme luck of being born into such a fantastic lifestyle. Go to uour summer house on the coast of Maine where the rest of your extended family goes. First, the hungover, tired, and absurdly over-privileged teenagers and college students drag their asses out of bed, mostly to appease their parents, and go watch the parade. It's also sort of fun to laugh a little at the townies with their tattoos. (And it's ok, because they are laughing at you and your lobster-embroidered pants.) Then we go over to the cove where we have a lobster bake. After multiple drinks on a fairly empty stomach, we go sailing. It's often hard to decide between the Bridge's Point and the Sabre, but pick whichever is easier to rig and derig after a few drinks. When you get back and catch your mooring, head down to the pier for fireworks. Bring a cardigan, and probably a woolen blanket, because it can get really cold down by the water. Head home, make a bonfire on your cousin's beach, put on your daddy's college sweatshirt, and knock a few back. Fall asleep, and then wait the 364 days until next year's day of good ole' American WASPy celebration. 

"Preppies no longer exist."

-Tipsy In Madras

Matt "Johnnie" Walker & Marissa "Mitzy" Walsh

Sadly, in many ways, this statement could not be more true. The traditional, old idea of "prep," which has for decades gone hand-in-hand with the "WASP" culture, has deteriorated from the classic, conservative style to which it was so attached into some trendy, tight-fitting, Abercrombie-wearing style. It is common, it is distasteful, and it is not, by any means, the way that the preppy lifestyle has been for decades. Being preppy is not about wearing a tiny polo shirt cut down so far you can see one's undergarments, it is a lifestyle. And, fortunately, there are cases in which Walker and Walsh could not be more wrong. Look closely enough, and one will discover that among the guido-esque people masquerading as true preppies in their Abercrombie, American Eagle, and Hollister, there still remain the true preps, the real WASPs. We inhabit the immaculate grounds of New England prep schools, and then small, liberal arts colleges, or the Ivy League. We live in Connecticut and summer on the Maine shore or on the Vineyard. You can find us drunk off of one too many g&t's one night and then at an interview for a six figure a year job with one of Daddy's fraternity brothers for a job in his financial firm the next day, slyly masking the hangover with a cheery smile and talk of the extensive service work that you did on that trip to a third-world country during high school. (Of course, don't mention that everyone on that trip was exactly like you, and three were from your rival prep school!) We sail, we invest, we judge, we drink. We are the last remaining enclave of true preps. If you are ever lucky enough to find us, you will absolutely know, and I intend for this to be a playful reminder that we still exist.