To Play Us Out

First off, I apologize on behalf of all four of us for not posting with any regularity. I must add, though, that I’ve got some legitimate excuses for my lack of writing. I’m up in Michigan where one set of grandparents is sans Internet access, and the other set has dial-up. Any time I plan to get online I turn it on, then take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, do my Christmas shopping, and write a novel — at this point I might be able to access the Internet. And trust me, you’re not getting on to any of the sites that Mr. 3/5’s spoke of with dial-up Internet. So that’s been yet another barrier which I’ve had to overcome.

For me to write this very post, I am having to first write it on my laptop and then use a flash drive to transfer it. Any links you see on here probably took me literally twenty minutes to add. I’m putting in more work on this post than I did on my school work all last quarter.

My trip did not start off auspiciously, which I guess was an omen of things to come. I had to ride in a car with my uncle for a total of two and half hours. Let’s just say he doesn’t have the most dynamic personality on the face of the planet. I originally intended to sleep for the duration of the ride, or simply turn on my iPod and not interact with him at all. But then I realized I live in the real world and not some asshole’s paradise.

The first forty five minutes passed rather slowly as my uncle, with all the excitement of an algebra textbook, schooled me on the finer points of fly fishing. (The key is wrist flexibility, for all those interested). The next twenty minutes or so were awkward as I tried to sift through the pile of bullshit I had just been served.

My uncle then decided, as he has on many occasions, to offer me what he considers to be his most pivotal piece of advice. The best investment one can make in life, he claims, is to buy a house on a lake. He said he has bestowed this nugget of wisdom on his children, as well. Naturally, I asked if his children had indeed followed his advice. No, he replied. I followed by asking if he knew anyone that actually did own a house on a lake. Again, I was met with a negative response.

I then realized that the only person I know who does own a house on a lake is in fact said uncle. Putting the pieces together like the cop at the end of The Usual Suspects, I recognized that my uncle’s master plan must be to pawn his house off on me. It all made sense. The housing market is terrible. I will inevitable be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams someday. The sly bastard was buttering me up for a purchase. And, like a fool, I almost fell for it.

The highlight of my stay so far occurred when my grandpa (unintentionally, I’m quite sure) made up a new word: “blagrant,” which I think is some misguided combination of “belligerent” and “flagrant.” I think the quote came while we were watching Casino; he said Sharon Stone’s character was “the most blagrant bitch [he had] ever seen.” Needless to say, this word is now one of my favorite utterances, and will unavoidably enter my lexicon.

I went over to my aunt’s house the other day, and three of my cousins noticed that my hair is longer than it normally is. And of course, each had something snarky to say. The first, a seven year old boy, told me I looked like a hobo. Next, my nine year old male cousin told me “to take the ugly mask off.” Finally, my thirteen year old female cousin told me she knew I was in college now and that I’m searching for my “look” (at this point she actually did air quotes), but that the longer hair isn’t working for me. My life is to the point now where I’m taking shit from people who are over a decade younger than me. It’s pathetic, really. In other, completely unrelated news, I think I might get a haircut soon.

I discussed the above situation with Mr. P90ForLife, and he told me the correct course of action would have been to make fun of my cousins after they verbally raped me. That’s a no-win situation, I told him. There is no scenario where an eighteen year old can make fun of a seven year old and not come out looking like an asshole. That’s a fact of life.

Today, I sat down, alone, and watched Little Nemo. I think I’ve made it clear how bored I am, so the fact that I’m viewing movies intended for six year olds shouldn’t surprise you. Anyway, that film scared the shit out of me when I was little. As I started watching it today, I realized I was still scared, especially when Nemo is attempting to use the Royal Scepter to save King Morpheus from the Nightmare King.  (If that’s too much detail for you, I apologize; it’s not my fault you had a bad childhood and never saw this movie).  It wasn’t like I was hiding under the covers or anything, but there was still a little pit of fear in my stomach. I don’t know what this means. Either that movie is far too mature for children or I’m a pussy. Probably the latter.

Finally, I once said that hell would freeze over before the Bengals had a two game win streak this season. Well, apparently, there’s an actual town called Hell, Michigan. Temperature there today: twelve degrees.