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[Mar. 19th, 2009|01:41 am] |
Lemme give you a quick rundown of the past couple of days.
My uncle Joe passed away Sunday before last, so I flew up to Arkansas last Thursday for the funeral. Getting up there wasn't too bad, even though it was in a real roundabout way; Daytona Beach to Atlanta, Atlanta to Indianapolis, Indianapolis to Cincinnati, Cincinnati to Fayetteville. Same way back in reverse.
The fuck, Delta?
Honestly, the whole thing was what you'd expect from a bunch of Irish-Scottish-Welsh people: Stories, booze, and a poorly concealed private mourning. Everyone kept it together pretty well, even though it was very obviously tough on aunt Gretta and cousins Amy and Ali, and my old man, especially. Met many of their old friends (likable Zonians. Who knew?) and heard many stories that made me wish I had know Joe better. It was odd standing in his workshop, like you'd expect him to pop in at any minute with the offer of a cold beer while he sneaked a quick smoke.
Now, getting to it:
I met my little cousin Liam, who is Ali's son. He's about one year old, and, well, a baby, I guess. Everyone was oohing and awing over him, but I don't know anything about babies. He looked at me, and I said "Hi." I figured that was good enough. I suppose he didn't have much to say, himself.
I finally met my cousin Jimmy, or as he might be better known, "Sharpie, the biker Poet." His poetry, while not bad, is, uh... Well, it's not bad. Maybe it was the brain injury he endured several years prior? Anyway, I learned quickly that his vocabulary is dominated by words like "I" and "me." But he's still a nice guy. And he fell out of his chair at the bar. I don't know what caused that (too much drink?), but that's one for the family reunions. As is the giant goddamn fireball that everyone missed, apparently.
See, everyone pitched in on Sunday to clean up the property, and there was a large pile of wood to be burned. So Amy and I set about dousing it in gasoline while everyone went inside for a break. We didn't use enough, or spent to much time trying to light it and the gas evaporated, so Amy grabbed the gas can and started throwing more on the pile, thinking the fire we tried had gone out. Well, it hadn't.
Imagine a huge mushroom cloud of flame suddenly rising out of fucking nowhere.
Granted, we were tired and a bit out of it from earlier in the day, but goddamn, that was a stupid thing for us to do. And nobody else saw it! How the hell do you miss something like that? Another one for the reunion.
Moving on to Sunday night, there was a dinner at my aunt Cathy's house (Jimmy is her son, by the way). More booze and stories. And, eh, poetry. And of course Pumpkin, Cathy's dog. Pumpkin is a sweetie, but he's really just a tube of dog. I guess it's all the people food she feeds it. And I still have his hair on my clothes. That's like the mud on my shoes. Just when I think I got all of it, there's still even fucking more.
And now back to the airports. I was stuck in Cincinnati for damn near five hours. I also was stuck in Atlanta for 3 1/2, but I didn't see anybody famous there. I swear on a stack of Green Lantern back issues, I saw Dustin Diamond in the Cincinnati airport. Fuckin' Screech. I didn't say anything to him, just passed him. I was walking by, and he was standing on the moving walkway. We locked eyes for a good five seconds. Weirdest thing, really. I mean, Screech? That's who I get to brag about seeing once? Fuckin' Cincinnati.
That's it. Well, the flight back to Daytona was terrible. I was surrounded by about 21 years of retard, all decked out in fraternity and sorority t shirts. Why do people still come here for spring break? Just let me live my life in this piss stain of a town in peace.
Now that's it.
MP3: The One Up Downstairs - Rememories
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