I fiddled with the title of this post, opting not to go with the cutesy, pretentious “weekend des Walsh.” They ain’t French after all, and they ain’t from the French-speaking part of Boston, which I guess might be Au Bon Pain.

I think we hosted fairly well the Northern Cali transplant show and tell. Golden Gate, China Town, hiking a bit in the nature and M. picking out all the food. I’ll say this about having guy friends and a live-in beau as compared to hanging with the fairer sex, food time is pretty easy. It’s more of a volume proposition, I think.

In a vaguely maternal, no, fuck that, older sister-like, nurturing moment, I did kick in some fresh fruit from the farmers’ market. A fiber and nutrient-rich antidote to a wide variety of cooked flesh.

Best of all, we ended the weekend and their visit in a full-circle gesture. (Yes, tear in one eye while my cheek is dampened with the trail of another, the Brothers head south manana.)

Anyway, not long after meeting M., maybe a month or two, I tried to entice him to join the roving band of zombies who ended up watching a midnight show in Boston. He was skeptical of the cinematic joy that was 28 Days Later. We caught up the next day.

While the Walsh Brothers organized that original zombie field trip, this time around we took them to our neighborhood theater to see 28 Weeks Later.

Yeah. Zombies.

For Dot, here’s my album covers (front and back) for the next boy band:

For bourbon lovers, here’s today’s wild turkey:

For a full glance at the Walsh visit, I, of course, took way to fucking many pictures, which are here, and here.

Please feel free to comment or question any of the photos.