Just a sec of your time? Okay. Years ago tonight, I lost a family member to a drunk driver. Please be not only safe tonight, but also aware as you are out and about. I know those are always words to live by, but especially on drinking holidays, be mindful of what you’re doing and of the cars around you.
That’s it.
Thanks.
We must catch up.
My grandfather is back in the hospital, or he has been in the hospital for a few days and when we know the exact cause of his symptoms, we can decide how to proceed with his healing. Until then, we wait. When he was admitted to the hospital a few weeks ago, my mind turned to a conversation I had with him a year ago. As we sat at the lunch table on the enclosed back sunroom of my grandparents’ house, and he told stories of all the things he’s seen and experienced in his lifetime thus far, he remarked that in recent years, more and more people encourage him to write his life stories. He is not sure if he has the patience to sit and write.
Sometimes, silver threads unfurl right in front of our eyes and we are idiots not to take hold of them.
The Greatest Generation, you see, lived a whole lot more than most of us do, and have a level of mental toughness to which you and I can only aspire. Couple just a generation characteristic with his personal inclination to understand the world around him and so intentionally stop to consider moments and actions and there is quite a life story waiting to be shared.
And, about a year ago, as he told me about this, I suggested to him that audio recording equipment to record conversations just like these becomes transcribed by literary granddaughters and he thought that was a fine idea. That way, he could just sit and talk without typos or rereading and thus censoring himself. So, we decided to take a little time and get some equipment together.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when he was first hospitalized, I worried I would fail his stories, or worse, I’d fail him. He wasn’t strong enough, nor probably in any mood post-surgery for me to show up and shove podcasting equipment in his face and lob questions at him about the 1930s and 40s, so I stuffed my own fear away and waited for a thumbs up.
I don’t yet have that thumbs up, so I decided this weekend, as I walked through the Detroit airport to my connecting flight, that getting his stories was a very big priority. No, correction. I didn’t decide it was a priority, I realized how big a priority it has always been.
So, soon, I’ll head Louisiana way with some audio equipment and my grandfather and I will talk for several days and I’ll hopefully ask all the right questions and a recording of his voice telling his life story as he remembers it will exist and I’ll have, with any luck, not only not failed him but will have honored him in the process.
I’m telling you, this is the year of milestones. Yesterday was not only a milestone anniversary for my parents, and a milestone birthday for my uncle, but today is a very important milestone birthday for my brother, the very talented photographer, returning full-time student, geological enthusiast and politically and environmentally savvy fellow. He’s the kind of guy I’m be glad to be friends with, relative or not.
So, the story of my brother’s birthday goes like this: I was in grade school and my Dad woke me up early flew me into some sweet green elastic waistband pants and flowery awesome-collar shirt and a red sweater and hurriedly got me to school. “Daddy, what’s going on?” I asked. “You’re mom’s ready to have this thing.” This thing. Thing? So, I was dropped off at school just before sunrise, my folks took off in the sweet wood-paneled station wagon, and I was only aware that there was a thing on the way. I’m foggy on the details here, but I believe that my Dad got my mom to the hospital and then returned, realizing he’d left a young child out front of an unopened grade school in a large city. Or, my brain might have made that up to keep me out of therapy. Whatever. Later that afternoon, my Dad came to school, and pulled me out in the hall and told me I had a little brother. I looked at him, blinked, scoffed, I think, and said, “Oh, well, I wanted a sister.”
Then, I ran away from home, getting an entire ten feet from the house. Impressive. Anyway, after years of beating the crap out of each other, we eventually became friends. And, that about brings us up to today. Anyway, my brother thinks this story is retarded, so I, of course, tell it every year on his birthday. Happy Birthday, you. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you.
Kids, we have a few things to catch up on.
I went to the supermarket and saw a guy in tight grey sweatpants jerking off. Also Happy Birthday to my Dad.
Let’s talk about the wanking first.
Initially, I thought he was just stratching himself (the wanker, not my Dad), but no, really he was wanking off through the fabric. Right there in the salad dressing and condiment aisle. Wanking. Staring at a shopper and then doing all of the above plus breathing heavy like a donkey.
And, you know, if there is one thing worse than a public jerker, it’s a noisy public jerker.
Long story short, two stock boys, an embarrassed store manager and the public jerker answering the store manager in a breathy mid-jerk voice, well, it made for some delightful entertainment is what. I must have pretended to read the back of six balsamic vinegar bottles. It was delightful.
This is now the second public masturbation I have seen this month. So, there’s that. You’d think subzero temps would freeze the randy-handy right out even the most public of jerkers, but no. No, they’re alive and well and happily jerking here in Chicago.
Bleh. But, anyway, yes, hi, today is my father’s birthday. The boy born in a blizzard, is I think how the story goes. Happy Birthday, Dad! Sorry about the wank story.
I have a vaguely holiday-themed piece up on Monkeybicycle.
My BFF just sent me a really awesome present!
Then the buzzer buzzed again and my Mom and Dad sent me another really awesome present!
Hey! Forch!
Man, I was pissed off last night.
It really got under my skin that… well, no wait, let me back up. My family, extended and immediate, has been in some communication time-warp lately, it feels like. Everyone is talking or typing at once, so signals are getting crossed, people are getting their feelings hurt by feeling unheard and undermined and blah blah blah. Anyway, that’s not the rub. I say that only because I realized how much it’s been bothering me last night when everything came to a head.
So, there’s that ahhj, coupled with a few encounters I’ve had lately that have left me more aware than ever that it doesn’t matter how kind I am to people; when given the opportunity to help (a) just themselves or (b) themselves plus another person, most people will pick (a) and I think that’s shitty, especially when there’s usually no or minimal effort involved in stepping up to option (b). I’m always emailing people- friends and acquaintances alike– and pointing them to opportunities that seem like a good fit for them and such. I don’t do that because I want to job-dig any of them, but because I think it’s the right thing to do. I don’t think there is any cap on success, I really don’t. But, most people do, and I know that.
Mind you, I have a great group I run with. My BFFs are fabulous, kind, thoughtful people who would never throw anyone under the bus and who support me like crazy. No lie. My bullshit threshold is lower than ever and so I’m not talking about that. I just mean people. People I know, people I don’t, people I barely know, people I overhear saying things without thinking and without noticing faces dropping around them. I saw mega-selfishness in such a high dose and all relatively at once and it got to me because I don’t care about how much money anyone makes or doesn’t make, I don’t care if your house is fancy or shitty, I don’t care if your car is great or a piece of shit, I don’t care if you’re single or partnered, kids no kids, in shape or out of shape or somewhere in between, well-traveled or well-read or not, religious or not… the only thing I care about, and you’re all just going to have to believe me, the only thing I care about anymore if whether or not someone is a good person, a kind person, a positive person. That’s it.
The world being like it is, I happened upon something yesterday that was timed perfectly:
“I know I probably should have outgrown this by now, but somehow I’m always surprised when someone– or something– lets me down. If you are constitutionally optimistic, as I apparently am, you expect a certain something (call it quality functionality) from the things and the people that surround you, which in itself is not such a bad trait. But, what accompanies sunny optimism all too often is the surprising disappointment that comes when something– or someone– fails you.”
And, I think fails is a strong word choice there. Especially when something isn’t ours to fail us. But, the gist is right. I hear something so short-sighted and mean thoughtlessly coming from people sometimes and I just want to scream. How hard is it to be nice? Are we all so afraid of someone dominating us that we’re all getting so aggressive and bitchy and can’t just be nice to each other anymore? Is that it? And why, will someone please tell me, why horrible people who don’t have a single kind word seem to get everywhere in life? And, sometimes, maybe it doesn’t come from a mean place, per se, maybe just a self-involved place, but it’s shitty in any case and it hurts people.
I’m old school about few things in life, but I’m sticking to my guns on this one. It doesn’t cost anything to be kind. It’s just as easy, if not easier, than being a self-serving insufferable asswipe. A lot of people have gotten along really far in their lives by not thinking twice walking all over people around them, but you’re not going to get that from me. I’m far from perfect, I’m not Sunshine Pollyanna Dipshit. But I believe that being good and just and kind is about the best thing going. I don’t know if I always believed that, but the older I get, the more that’s all that matters to me about the people I run into. I just feel like you have a choice every time you interact with someone: harshly or compassionately. And, I wish more people opted for the second choice.
There, I needed to get that off my chest. Jesus. It’s really been bothering me. Again. And, yesterday, it all sort of piled on and I was so pissed off.
In other news. I love the colored labels in gmail.
Guys, remember when I was talking about Sixwire? They’re on the Next American Band and the lead singer, Andy Childs, is a long-time family friend. They did a really pretty cover tonight on the show, and they’re super-hard-working and super-humble, super-nice guys who never take themselves too seriously and really work so very hard to make it work so I urge you to consider voting for them after the show tonight. And by “urge” I mean, of course, “demand”. C’mon, most of you know how upstream it can be to do a creative thing for a living. I sure know, and I know a lot of you know, too. So, let’s show some good people the good support they deserve.
Mmmmkay? Thanks.
Need the number? 1-866-U-LOVE-05 or 1-866-856-8305. You have only two hours to vote from riiiiight NOW.
Uh, that is a toll-free number, so it’s not going to kill you or your phone bill. Ahem. Aaaad, VOTE!
What do I call my cousin’s daughter? My second-cousin, right? I think that’s right. Anyway, welcome to the world Abbie. You are 7 lbs. and 6 oz. of awesome. Obvs, I’m off to buy another awesome “onesie” this weekend. Babies have to look fashionable, too.
And suddenly, my sweet grandparents are great-grandparents and that is unbelievable to me. I made them grandparents, Abbie has made them great-grandparents.
This is a good morning, I could just tell when I woke up. Strong, good coffee and sourdough toast with good butter might be my favorite way to start a weekday. I have a busy day today, my chickadees. But, you know, let’s start the week off with a little good-doing, yes?
Click here, and sponsors will donate free mammography to women who can’t otherwise afford it. Just click. It only takes a second, it costs you nothing, you’ll start your week out on a positive note and it’ll mean the world to the woman someplace you’ll be helping. Blammo! So easy.
In other news, my folks are on a little trip and I am 99.9% sure they drunk dialed me last night. I also had a dream that to “better represent its political stance” the Canadian flag was blue and white instead of red and white. I dream about flags a lot. Wonder what that means?
I still cannot find my ID.
What’s new with all of youse?
(hover for the scoop)
Amy Guth 
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