Sunday J and I gathered with the family at the bay house to pick up the dogs and have lunch before we hit the road home. I asked my brother, Vinnie, what he'd done the night before, to which he responded, "I went out." Of course. "Partied." Why not. "In the Presidential suite at the Ritz." What? WHAT? Vinnie explained that his friends, J.D. and Brendan, the elite founding members of Top Notch event planning in D.C., had gotten the soiree together. He'd been an innocent guest who'd just happened to join in the festivities and was not, he assured me, part of the Top Notch crew. The thing is, about these guys, Vin explained when I told him it sounded like they were actually pretty savvy, is that they're not really, um, established yet. Like they've thrown about two parties where they get a little classy, throw on some slacks, and give the ladies subtle hugs and a peck on the cheek at the door before delivering the goods: some Hypnotic and Hennessey. "Like they're mobsters?" I asked. "No," my brother explained. "Like they're rappers." There are differences. My dad asked if maybe they were drug dealers, in between bites of our brunch Sunday at Pirate's Cove in Galesville, where I forced my sibling to share his adventure with the entire table, Grandmom included, and Vinnie said, no, but they wouldn't mind doing that if, you know, it wasn't for the drugs. They just want to be cool guys. "Classic Fellas," said my dad and we all laughed, not because of his quick wit in naming them something as cute as "Classic Fellas" but because this is what Vinnie and his friends called themselves in high school. I'm not going to try and tell the story about the time the Fellas "fun punked" one of their buddies on a cross country trip this fateful summer several years ago - so much so that he ran away in the slums of New Orleans and caught a plane home without his belongings, including money and ID, because that story really requires a first-person telling. Especially the part where they captured the little sneak during his FIRST escape attempt in Las Vegas and stuffed him into the car while they played old Red Hot Chili Peppers as loudly as the stereo could go and told the guy, "Don't EVER, EVER try that again!!!" Oh those Classic Fellas! The thing is - it's that story, and others, like the time they acquired (stole) some lawn ornaments from around the D.C. area and "redecorated" their high school that make me think that if anyone is going to try and do something as insane as adopt the lifestyle of wealthy rappers when you're really just in your early twenties and actually pretty wholesome, good kids, and start a company called "Top Notch Productions" complete with business cards and establish yourselves by throwing parties in the Ritz, well, there really isn't anyone better for the job.

The other day I was chatting with my dad on my cell phone when I went though an area notorious for fuzzy reception and the call was dropped. When I got him back on the line I said something like, "I don't know what just happened there. My phone died for a while," instead of saying "Hey dad I'm driving and going through some rural parts so don't be surprised if the line goes dead again." The reason I didn't say the latter is because one time a few years ago my father dragged me to the Radio Shack to get me one of those hands-free headsets you can use to talk on the cell while driving, and what followed, every time we talked, was this conversation:me: Hi dad! him: Hi honey. You in the car? me: Nope. him: Are you in the car? me: Ok. I am. him: Using your headset? me: Yup! him: No you're not. me: I AM! him: Are you? me: Ok. I'm not.

I'm not even going to go into my reasons for thinking those hands-free headsets aren't really that much safer than talking on the cell phone using your goddamn hands in the interest of the length of this post, but the point is when I talk to my father on the cellular, I like for him to think I'm not driving or think that if I am I'm using the headset, which I assure you, I'm not. You'd think I'd use it. After all, I am in the car constantly and love to talk on the phone, but there are so many wires and it still scares me when I see people using those things and, for a second, think they're nuts and having a little conversation with themselves before I see the equipment and realizing they're actually talking to another person.

I'm not going to try and defend my actions because talking on the phone in the car? How am I going to sit here and say that's a really good idea? However, I would like to talk about the hypocrisy of my father's constant nagging regarding my in-car practices because 1) Have you seen him drive? and 2) This morning I called my dad from the car using my cell phone without the headset to get some information I needed. He was in his car, too, on the way into the city. I asked my question and he told me to hold on and then recited some specifics to me from an email he had stored in his Blackberry. Then he said, "You should get a Blackberry." And I didn't say anything like "WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD - DID YOU JUST CHECK YOUR EMAIL WHILE DRIVING???" because I trust his judgment, but if you live up in the D.C. area maybe it would be a good idea to just watch out on your ride home tonight.