It was my parents’ 17th anniversary, a night for outward ‘I-love-you’s and inward ‘what-was-I-thinking’s. These anniversary dinners out as a family were standard: eat something expensive, maybe have dessert, then my parents might dance to prerecorded entertainment or a sullen piano player.
Little could any of us have known that, that night we would all be dancing…
Dancing, that is, with a partner named Death!
When he’s not terrorizing my family, Death enjoys choreographing routines for the local cheerleading squad. This might be the year they go to the tri-state finals!
Without my grandmother, I never would have learned common Italian phrases such as:
I love you, Grandma!!! *
* exclamation marks inserted for both excitement and so that she can hear it.
Here she is mocking the youth of Mickey Mouse.
Generally, maturation is defined by a person’s reaching a physical and emotional “growing up”–the result of experiencing and benefitting from life’s innumerable lessons and, ultimately leading to each of us becoming the best us we can be.
As kids, we sponge-up as much information about life as we can because it is, from a basic primal instinct, required for all of us to survive. Such things as language, memory, why that thing is okay to touch, why that thing hurts, what that other thing even is exactly and why does eating it cause dizziness and an ability to hear colors. Without this necessary evolution of our individual selves, humans as a species would have long ago gone the way of the DoDo (not the bird, but the 1931 off-Broadway show about talking hair do’s that subsequently closed after only two weeks due to the smash success of the neighboring, less insistent musical, TryTry).
Doris Jenkins in her final performance as Hattie the Hairpin, one day before her suicide
Growing up, I learned at a normal, healthy, socially acceptable Continue reading
As with last year, I have decided that the best way to celebrate the holidays is by putting together a sort of thank you to all my new readers, including the following folks who are, like, completely not spambots and are instead, like, super legit readers:
elitesecuritycameras (a really big supporter of mine for years)
freepsychologyreading (get a few drinks in this guy and you will hear some amazing stories!)
bookcheaphotelsonline (Kind, soft-spoken and knows all there is to know about cheap hotels, so hit him up)
ใส้หมูสับนี่อยู่ข้างในนั้นเป็นการ (what can I say? I love you, squiggly! I don’t care who knows it)
So, for new readers and old ones alike, please feel free to download these images that I “borrowed” and share them in celebration of the true meaning of Christmas: Maxing Out Your Credit Cards! Continue reading
For your viewing pleasure is a Christmas video by my nephew, Aidan. It celebrates our recent discovery of an amazing/ridiculous Christmas song from 1960 titled “Dominick the Donkey”
Show some love to both my nephew and the donkey, but, please, if you have any sort of criminal record, don’t come within 10 feet of either of them.
If Oregon code 131.125 is taken into account, the statute of limitations on this particular crime has long since passed. This allows me to speak openly and in detail–without concern of incriminating myself or my accomplice–in a way that would stir up the Oregon DA to open its drawer of unsolved crimes, give the media reason to drag my name through the ringer and cause shame-by-association to my wife or friends.
My Future Friends. From L to R: Zip Gun Joe, Me, Coked Up Gabe and Racist Alan
The truth is that, at one point, I was a burglar. Not the cool, acceptable kind of burglar with a black hat, black mask and striped prison garb whose only joy stems from stealing Quarter Pounders, Big Macs and other food stamp-priced burgers devoid of nutrients. No, I was just a no-good, soulless, morally bankrupt house burglar whose life had been on its way to one of ruin and prison brawls—the kind of fate that would be a lot to handle for anyone.
But, it was even harder for me. I was only 4!