O LITTLE BROTHER, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Oh, there you are, still sitting at the table. Because I'm the eldest , all my 3 brothers are "little". Like the ex's I feel it's good to pick one to represent for the others. The big fella across the way has been selected precisely because of our tumultuous early years and my part in his torment. "What's with you two?" my sister asked, passing around a steaming plate of scallops wrapped in bacon. "He started goading me, like always." bro said grabbing two toothpicks, stripping both in one bite. Sis rolled her eyes and moved on with the finger food. More on her later.
I tried not to look him in the eye. I had once thrown a 45 rpm record, Odd Job style, at him catching him square in the head. The tiny crease was still there. It wrinkled up and blinked when he smiled at me. I cracked another Corona, as did he. One of the nieces came over and sat in my lap and told me I stank. I told her that's what happens to old people and that I specifically did not take a shower just for her. She turned her nose up and ran off to torment someone else. The dog begged for anything edible and the holidays ground on.
This investigation into what was presently transpiring between little bro and I was being hampered by all the booze and rich food. Turn the page. The next day was Christmas. Our exceedingly large family was all that was right and wrong with conspicuous consumptionism in 21st Century America. I sat quietly twiddling my thumbs as gifts were lavished upon the kids. An older niece gave me a little box- "For negative, sarcastic, crappy thoughts". It was in reference to my sister's sacarine habit of making "Happy Thoughts" boxes for my parents. I had told her how it always bummed me out. I grabbed pen and paper- "Watching the rich people open gifts." I wrote on a tiny slip, folded it an put it in the box.
Late in the day I pulled out the guitar and started to play a new song. We had gone through all our drag names earlier in the day. I was Sporty Jennings. My sister in law was Itchy Magraff. Itchy and little bro-Shorty Jennings sat on the couch yammering about something as i tried to hit a clean G cord. Look, I'm not one to announce a song with a lot of "Quiet Please!" I just launch into it, hoping the crowd will get the point. Forget that. Shorty and Itchy got louder and LOUDER. They happened to be sitting on the couch three feet away. They LAUGHED! They GUFFAWED! They paid no attention to my strumming and vocal styling. Now it was my turn to get pissed. Where's a 45 rpm record when you need one....or two?
I tried not to look him in the eye. I had once thrown a 45 rpm record, Odd Job style, at him catching him square in the head. The tiny crease was still there. It wrinkled up and blinked when he smiled at me. I cracked another Corona, as did he. One of the nieces came over and sat in my lap and told me I stank. I told her that's what happens to old people and that I specifically did not take a shower just for her. She turned her nose up and ran off to torment someone else. The dog begged for anything edible and the holidays ground on.
This investigation into what was presently transpiring between little bro and I was being hampered by all the booze and rich food. Turn the page. The next day was Christmas. Our exceedingly large family was all that was right and wrong with conspicuous consumptionism in 21st Century America. I sat quietly twiddling my thumbs as gifts were lavished upon the kids. An older niece gave me a little box- "For negative, sarcastic, crappy thoughts". It was in reference to my sister's sacarine habit of making "Happy Thoughts" boxes for my parents. I had told her how it always bummed me out. I grabbed pen and paper- "Watching the rich people open gifts." I wrote on a tiny slip, folded it an put it in the box.
Late in the day I pulled out the guitar and started to play a new song. We had gone through all our drag names earlier in the day. I was Sporty Jennings. My sister in law was Itchy Magraff. Itchy and little bro-Shorty Jennings sat on the couch yammering about something as i tried to hit a clean G cord. Look, I'm not one to announce a song with a lot of "Quiet Please!" I just launch into it, hoping the crowd will get the point. Forget that. Shorty and Itchy got louder and LOUDER. They happened to be sitting on the couch three feet away. They LAUGHED! They GUFFAWED! They paid no attention to my strumming and vocal styling. Now it was my turn to get pissed. Where's a 45 rpm record when you need one....or two?
posted by mike osterhout at 10:33 AM
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