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05/24/01
dwoo: u wanna eat with me?
Had drinks on Wednesday night with my father, my brother, my sister-in-law, and my long, lost cousin, who, after seeing her for the third time, is no longer long or lost anymore, and is simply a blood relation I'm glad is part of my life. We had drinks again at a hotel bar Drinks consumed Long lost cousin: A wine spritzer. Brother: Some sort of scotch on the rocks. Father: Two martinis with extra olives. Me and Sister-in-law: Two glasses of pinot grigio each. We drank white wine because summer approaches. Red wine could have sufficed because it's still slightly chilly, but I thought white worked better, and she obviously agreed. It's interesting to note my sister-in-law and I almost always mirror each other in beverage preference. Sometimes I choose white wine first, and she'll order the same. Sometimes she moves for a dirty Grey Goose martini, and I'll follow her lead. She's always responsible for the martini/white wine combo maneuver. After I have one martini, I always want another. She's the one who reminds me that one martini is always enough, and that a glass of white wine is a wonderful companion to almost any meal. And sometimes, white wine is also an appropriate accesory to a social occasion. I liked seeing the merger of my family members. I had an attachment to my long, lost cousin on impact. She's smart and emotionally available, and is automatically supportive and appreciative of people different than herself. To see her connect with my father and his brother and his wife, to see her appreciate those people in a totally uncritical, yet inquisitive fashion, made me like her even more. When I arrived at the hotel bar, my brother and his wife were already walking in the door, so they waited for me. We're all on the same team in this battle we call adulthood, so they waited for me to catch up to them. They thought I was making faces as I walked down the street, so they thought I was upset. "It was only because that couple in front of me was walking so painfully slow," I said. It was true. They were one of those couples that wrap their arms around each other and enjoy it so much they don't want it to end. I understand, I swear I do. But don't do it on a Wednesday in midtown at 8PM. Sundays work. Wednesdays are for us commonsinglefolk.com. My sister-in-law and I headed to the bathroom immediately and then chatted as we pissed. "I'm working at home today and tomorrow," I said. "I didn't want to leave, you know?" "Oh I know. I had to leave work early to come here," she said. "I had a lot left to do." She is unapologetic about her commitment to her career. She discovers, nurtures, and promotes books which are ultimately purchased by millions of people. She determines what most people will read, year after year. I wouldn't want to leave early either. During our mutual urination I added, "So how was Israel?" She had received an editorial fellowship which sponsored a recent week-long trip in the terminally troubled country. "Let me wait to tell you. I know your father is going to ask me." She didn't want to repeat herself. I understood. There is often repetition in our family. It's unavoidable when everyone cares. "But," she said. "It was good." We returned to the table, and immediately she bonded with my cousin. The thing about my cousin is that she is only just realizing that she is not the only one in my family who is immediately ready to love and accept blood relations. Everyone at that table was ready to adore her. I had prepared my brother and his wife for the fact that she was bright and unpretentious. My father will open his arms to practically every human being. I think she was slightly surprised, which made her reveal more than she had expected. As for the rest of us, we spilled as usual. My father told a familiar story tonight involving me, with a surprise ending that delighted me. The summer after my junior year of high school my parents took me on a college tour on the east coast. I had just finished a two-month program at Cornell University for high school students, which provided us with the opportunity to take college courses and engage in heavy foreplay (in my case) or premarital sex (in almost everyone else's case) away from parental supervision. As a side note, I was also exposed that summer to David Ogilvy's simple, honest, and utterly evil tome on advertising which confirmed my instinct that advertising was an inappropriate career for me, as well as multiple screenings of a film that instantly became one of my favorites: Blue Angel, a German film featuring Marlene Dietrich in a very punk rock - well before that music, aesthetic, scene, whatever, existed, mind you - role. If you can find a copy of the film, I recommend a screening. It's worth your time. My parents picked me up in August, and I was miserable. I didn't want to leave, and I didn't want to visit colleges. I just wanted to go home. There was a lot hanging over all of us, because my mother's stepmother was dying of cancer. I didn't feel like talking about why I was the perfect candidate for Smith, Amherst, Hampshire, Wellesley, or any other overpriced private Massachusetts college. I just wanted to get home and see my friends. The faster I got home, the faster I got to leave. Our last stop was at the home of my great-grandmother Bessie, a sweet, small woman in her mid-eighties. We had unfortunately eaten a sizeable meal of fried clams on the beach at Revere, a tribute to my father's fondest childhood memories as he lived there as until he was a teenager. We sat on the sea walls, swinging our legs, and filling our mouths with salty, breaded seafood, as we inhaled the salty fresh air. By the time we arrived to her apartment - one of the last stable environments in a burnt-out apartment complex covered with grafitti and littered with trash - we were already full. Like any nicy old Jewish grandma type, she expressed her love through food, and had prepared quite a meal. If you were sitting at her table, you were eating. She did not take "no" for an answer. I finally wandered, stuffed, from the table, and pretended to fall asleep, just so she would stop feeding me. She and my parents continued to eat and talk in the kitchen. As we left, she handed my mother a tin of homemade streudel. We made our way sluggishly to the car. My father started the engine, sorted out the route out of Boston. I lay in the back of the family truckster, silent, sleepy. I patted my stomach. My mother unsealed the tin. The scent of fresh streudel seduced the three of us. And though we were full, we ate even more. I remember this much. I remember the food, and I remember faking sleep, and I remember her handing the tin to my mother. My mom knew I was faking my sleep. When my father told the story tonight, he remembered it as a real sleep. I corrected him. I thought it was the end of the story. I was wrong. As it turned out, that was the last time we all saw her alive. She died within the year. My father finished the story tonight with a new ending, one that he had never revealed to me before. "We finished all but one piece of the streudel before we made it out of Boston. It was great streudel. The last piece I saved and put into the freezer. When she died, I took that piece out, and ate it." We were all moved by the tale tonight, refreshed by my father's unabashed sentimentality and reverence for family, and immediately raised our glasses to the memory of a dead woman who only wanted people to eat. So all of it was good. I don't know. I think we're all good people. Everyone communicates. Everyone wants everyone else to succeed. It's sweet. It makes me happy. I don't see them that often, but I know I'm not alone. And also my dad told me how proud he was of me. That felt pretty good. *** I'm not sure if anyone is aware of this besides me and Swiss Air, but I'm leaving for Prague in 18 days. That's less than three weeks till I assume temporary expat status. I don't want to dwell on it too much because it will make the rest of my life more painful than it already (actually?) is, but I'm all happy and shit when I think about it. The last time I took a vacation this long was when I drove cross country for four months during the summer of 1996. Last summer and fall I was irregularly employed, but sitting in my apartment all day, alternating between writing personal essays for poorly paying websites and watching talks shows dedicated almost entirely to displaying the untempting physical wares of drug-addled, slutty 15-year old white trash girls who aspire to be either strippers, or, apparently a different race than their own, does not count as a vacation. So I'm excited. I'm ready for the break.
*** I don't want to spend too much time on Senator Jeffords' decision to leave the Republican party, because I'm sure there's nothing new I can add to the discussion/coverage. I'd only like to comment that in one fell swoop, Jeffords has simultaneously earned his place in history books, as well as guaranteed that this country will be a more tolerable and interesting place to live for the next three and half years. Cheers, Senator. You're the first politician to make me smile since Clinton won his first presidential election.
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