You can do anything, just don't step on my Brown Suede Boots...
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. Or, as Mr. Burn's Thanksgiving Day parade float entry would say, "Pranksgiving". (I need a prank-monkey, by the way...) Did the deal at my parent's house, although was sidetracked briefly when ye-olde pager went off and I had to duck into work. That was resolved fairly quickly, and I could settle into my uncomfortableness as I do every year.
My sister wasn't here this year, and it was the first Thanksgiving since my grandfather died. My mother was somewhat out of sorts by the last minute addition of some out of town friends, and I'm sure the way I was going to react to all of this wieghed heavy on her mind. She's of the opinion that "more is more" when it comes to having people over. I'd just as soon have it the four of us and my grandmother. Fin.
As usual, I sit at the head of the table. Somehow along the line I've been bestowed this hallowed position. More than likely it was ceded to me to shut me up. Because of the large amount of people there this year, we were split into the dining room and the kitchen. My mom was in the kitchen with her brother and his daughters. I was with my dad, my grandmother, great aunt, and my parent's guests. This was far from ideal. I rarely get to eat with my parents, and it would have been nice to sit with both of them for Thanksgiving. Logistically, I guess it made more sense for her to be out in the kitchen, but I was still rather nonplussed about the whole thing.
My sister had Thanksgiving at her boyfriend's mothers house. It's to my great dismay that she's hooked up with someone who shares the same name as me. Actually, he doesn't. His first name is Scott but he goes by Doug, so somehow I've been relegated to "Douglas" status, a name reserved for when I was in trouble with my parents or used by my mortal enemies. Nonetheless, there it is. "Douglas." She can rest assured that "Ali" is out the door now in favor of the more formal "Alison." It still wasn't the same without her there, strangely. We'd have what you would call a "strained" relationship. I wasn't the nicest person in the world to her growing up. (Although, in fairness, since when are older brothers nice to thier younger sisters?) She has very obvious "men issues". I choose to remedy this by not having much to do with her. I find it's much more pleasant than a constant butting of heads. We're civil to each other, but we don't really run into one another all that often. That's probably for the best. Still, it was nice to see her when she made a cameo appearance after dinner.
My old bedroom was taken by the visitors from out of town, so I had no where to crash really after my triptophine-induced coma was about to take hold. I crashed in my parents bedroom for about an hour, wallowed back downstairs, started up the fireplace, and headed out.
I don't like mixing worlds. I have several groups of friends, and they don't usually mix. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed, I've just always compartmentalized the people in my life. I like being around certain people for different reasons. This extends to dating and family. I am not ashamed of the women I date, nor am I ashamed of my family. I just don't like mixing the two.
---------------------------------------------------------
Everytime I write about music, I'm accused of being an uber-elitist music snob. Now this is true. I eschew what I like to call "2nd or 3rd generation alternative". This includes bands like Creed, Staind, Incubus, and other crap like that. My friend Mike (possibly a bigger elitist music snob than I am) once described the lyrics of Aaron Lewis from Staind as "Bad poetry written in a notebook by some high school wannabe." Sounds about right. Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam wrote a song for Layne Staley of Alice in Chains when he died, it was about these 2nd and 3rd generation alerna-crap bands:
so all you fools
who sing just like him
feel free to do so now
cuz he's dead
using, using, using
the using takes toll
isolation
just so happy to be one
sad to, sad to think
sad to think of him more
lonesome friend, we all knew
always hoped you'd pull through
no blame, no blame
no blame, it could be you
using, you can't grow old using
so sing just like him, fuckers
it won't offend him
just me
because he's dead
I think that speaks to it better than I could.
--------------------------------------------
It's my birthday this weekend. 29 years old. Huzzah.
My sister wasn't here this year, and it was the first Thanksgiving since my grandfather died. My mother was somewhat out of sorts by the last minute addition of some out of town friends, and I'm sure the way I was going to react to all of this wieghed heavy on her mind. She's of the opinion that "more is more" when it comes to having people over. I'd just as soon have it the four of us and my grandmother. Fin.
As usual, I sit at the head of the table. Somehow along the line I've been bestowed this hallowed position. More than likely it was ceded to me to shut me up. Because of the large amount of people there this year, we were split into the dining room and the kitchen. My mom was in the kitchen with her brother and his daughters. I was with my dad, my grandmother, great aunt, and my parent's guests. This was far from ideal. I rarely get to eat with my parents, and it would have been nice to sit with both of them for Thanksgiving. Logistically, I guess it made more sense for her to be out in the kitchen, but I was still rather nonplussed about the whole thing.
My sister had Thanksgiving at her boyfriend's mothers house. It's to my great dismay that she's hooked up with someone who shares the same name as me. Actually, he doesn't. His first name is Scott but he goes by Doug, so somehow I've been relegated to "Douglas" status, a name reserved for when I was in trouble with my parents or used by my mortal enemies. Nonetheless, there it is. "Douglas." She can rest assured that "Ali" is out the door now in favor of the more formal "Alison." It still wasn't the same without her there, strangely. We'd have what you would call a "strained" relationship. I wasn't the nicest person in the world to her growing up. (Although, in fairness, since when are older brothers nice to thier younger sisters?) She has very obvious "men issues". I choose to remedy this by not having much to do with her. I find it's much more pleasant than a constant butting of heads. We're civil to each other, but we don't really run into one another all that often. That's probably for the best. Still, it was nice to see her when she made a cameo appearance after dinner.
My old bedroom was taken by the visitors from out of town, so I had no where to crash really after my triptophine-induced coma was about to take hold. I crashed in my parents bedroom for about an hour, wallowed back downstairs, started up the fireplace, and headed out.
I don't like mixing worlds. I have several groups of friends, and they don't usually mix. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed, I've just always compartmentalized the people in my life. I like being around certain people for different reasons. This extends to dating and family. I am not ashamed of the women I date, nor am I ashamed of my family. I just don't like mixing the two.
---------------------------------------------------------
Everytime I write about music, I'm accused of being an uber-elitist music snob. Now this is true. I eschew what I like to call "2nd or 3rd generation alternative". This includes bands like Creed, Staind, Incubus, and other crap like that. My friend Mike (possibly a bigger elitist music snob than I am) once described the lyrics of Aaron Lewis from Staind as "Bad poetry written in a notebook by some high school wannabe." Sounds about right. Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam wrote a song for Layne Staley of Alice in Chains when he died, it was about these 2nd and 3rd generation alerna-crap bands:
so all you fools
who sing just like him
feel free to do so now
cuz he's dead
using, using, using
the using takes toll
isolation
just so happy to be one
sad to, sad to think
sad to think of him more
lonesome friend, we all knew
always hoped you'd pull through
no blame, no blame
no blame, it could be you
using, you can't grow old using
so sing just like him, fuckers
it won't offend him
just me
because he's dead
I think that speaks to it better than I could.
--------------------------------------------
It's my birthday this weekend. 29 years old. Huzzah.
posted by Doug MacGunnigle at 11/24/2006 05:37:00 PM
2 Comments:
Maybe after some wierd atomic experiment gone wrong, your different worlds will join force and mutate into a mega-super-hybrid group of friends... it could happen. Happy birthday Doug, hope you enjoy the "almost 30" birthday.
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