I just got home from my cousin Caleigh's birthday party. She's seven and my sister and I got her an enormous dry erase board with all the accoutrements (16 markers and an eraser -- fancy, indeed). It was either that or books, but she reads at a fourth grade level and is probably picky enough that we'd risk offending her sensibilities with the usual Judy Blume/John Bellairs fare. Everybody else gave her the expected clothes and toys, but she played with the dry erase board more than anything else while we were there, and that made me think of how my parents used to half-jokingly tell our relatives that my sister and I would like a cardboard box for Christmas. Nobody ever did it of course -- that's tacky -- but most kids get more mileage out of a good refridgerator carton than the newest Guys With Guns™ action figure. 'specially after it breaks.
Anyway, parties at that house are always a combination of both sides of the family, which is a little weird for my sister and I. My aunt Bobbi's family is very upper-middle class, and though Bobbi is very down-to-earth and socially progressive, her family fits very squarely into traditional "gee whiz, pop!" stereotypes. At its very worst, it's like having dinner with the Cleaver family -- little league games and church picnics and "our pastor recommended So-And-So's Lawn and Garden for our crabgrass problem..." We got cornered and interrogated by a couple of these people and a neighbor who probably greets her husband at the door every night with a string of pearls and a martini, so you can imagine the reaction (or complete failure to summon one) when my sister casually announced that she was going into welding.
For what it's worth we survived, and my uncle Casey is a better cook than just about anybody in the history of history itself, so we ate well.
This post is in danger of becoming really long, so I'll be more brisk in describing the rest of the weekend:
I took half a day off on Friday and used my free time to take a nap, close an old savings account, and move the money to my current bank. Then I went to Monica's house where we were supposed to have a My So-Called Life marathon.
On Saturday evil_jim and I got together, had lunch at Ella's Deli, got into a fight with my flash drive, and got talked into purchasing a thrice-discounted VHS copy of Leonard Part 6 at Half-Price Books (that only happened to me, it didn't happen to Jim). Between this and recent conversations with angelic667, r3507, fuzzyinthehead, and agaysexicon, I get the feeling that my artistic judgement may be in question.
On Saturday night, Ellen and I got together, and I watched The Fugitive for the first time which apparently makes me some kind of freak. I went to Rocky Horror later where I bumped into Craig, Alice and Michael (and other people whose names I don't recall). We were loud and raucous and shouted a lot of obscenities, and about halfway through the show I noticed a girl I work with sitting a few rows ahead of me. I don't know if she noticed me or recognized my voice, but Monday may be interesting, since she knows me as the quiet, ineffectual United Way guy -- until last night, at least. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that I haven't become the ineffectual United Way guy who makes Andrew Dice Clay look like Oscar Wilde. Wait, make that Oscar F'n Wilde -- we are talking about The Dice Man, after all.
Post-Rocky it was pancakes at Country Kitchen, in bed at 5:00, and up at 8:30 watching episodes of Bo-Bobo, hence the title of this post. I think I need to go to bed. Pickle can't watch.