Who sucks at blogging? ME. I know, I know. To be honest, I haven't even looked at my blog in so long that it wasn't even in my web history anymore. Hence why I didn't see any of the comments on my last entry until right now. Is it weird that I feel proud for getting my first anonymous, semi-rude comment? I have arrived!
Anyway, my only excuses are the following:
1. I have been in Mexico for the last week (legit)
2. I'm producing a feature documentary that's currently in development and it's kind of taking over my life. (legit)
3. I'm completely and totally back to work. (semi-legit)
4. I am too lazy to come up with complete posts and instead have become completely addicted to Tumblr. (lame)
Tomorrow, it's off to Westchester for Easter weekend. I'm going to the same house I spend Christmas Eve at, so it's sure to be a good time.
Happy spring!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, March 21, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
This Makes Me Sad
Re-posted, from my Tumblr:
My uncle who lives out in Los Angeles sent me this email at 1:45am. I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. He’s been running around doing different jobs for most of his adult life and has pretty much been a drifter ever since he came back from Vietnam. He and my dad used to be so similar—he was so smart, went to Brown, on the right path, then he got drafted and when he came back, was never the same. Moved out to California and never quite found his way back. For a while, he was dating this woman named Joyce who was really wealthy and so he was pretty much living off her for a while, but he broke up with her in the fall. They bought a house in Palm Beach together and I guess they’re fighting over it now. Everyone in my family is kind of glad they broke up, because she was…pretty high maintenence. She was originally from New York, and twice a year would take trips back here. But not just a trip. She would bring an entourage of twenty friends, every night would be a huge black tie affair. One time she reserved the crystal room at Tavern On The Green…yeah. A little too nouveau-riche for my family. But she LOVED me for some reason. Maybe because I was the first one of the family she met, maybe just because I live in New York. Who knows? But I couldn’t not like her when she was always so excited to see me.
I love, love, love my uncle to death. He was always my favorite uncle as a kid because he was so funny and told great stories. I thought he was so cool because he lived in California and at one point was working in television (short lived, as they all were). But now, knowing that times are tough for him, I worry. I know my dad does too, but what can he do? He would never accept money. He’s always managed to land on his feet before, but for some reason I’m more anxious this time. Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older. I think part of the reason I feel the need to move to LA is because I could be close to him and keep an eye on him. Help him, if I have to.
I know it’s not my responsibility. But last year my mom told me that she sees so much of Charles in my brother, and as soon as she said it, I couldn’t believe I never noticed it before. They’re so alike. The broseph is already such a drifter. He’s older than me and I’ve been cleaning up his messes since I was fourteen. I fear, but I know, I may still be doing that when we’re older. I’ll be like my dad, he’ll be like Charles, if we even still manage to speak to each other when we’re older. I think maybe I feel the need to take care of my uncle because its the same way I’ve had to “take care” of my older brother.
Anyway, Broseph’s story is one for another time. Come to think of it, so is my uncle’s, because it’s long and complicated. But the email wouldn’t make any sense without some info. We’ve always been so close, and had such a bond, even though I only see him a few times a year. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not be aware of all the hope and expectations everyone in my family has on me, especially since the Broseph has…had some trouble finding his way, to put it lightly. There’s a lot of pressure to succeed, in addition to all the pressure I put on myself. But Charles has never had any expectations, because he always knew I would do well. I never felt any pressure from him, I just always knew he believed in me. I think he wants me to have the success he never had. And he, more than anyone else, is the one I could never let down.
I forgot he spoke French, he used to speak it to me when I was little. I should send an email back in French, he’d be thrilled.
Casey,
Voulez vous Be mon Valentine?
Qui est vous ankle…?
C’est manifique to think pour vous; quel your frustration level? As a doer & a goer, these weeks of rehab must be grande frrustro to the max, no pun intended. I have ‘slipped on ice’ many times in my career; I know the cost of foolishness. Welcome to the club; however, as you must have deduced by now, these times also allow you to step outside your calculated footprints, and engage a different lens-craft in your rueness. These new revelations may or may not have lasting power, but you can never argue with thyself they didn’t exist.
I’m sure you’re anxious to return to the tomorrow of your life & it will return as full as you imagined. Remember this parathenicies as a gift – in our self induced helter-skelter we don’t get many. I have total faith in your decisions & in your ability to see; be bold and boundless in your curiosity.
Me, I’m in a decent spot; life is a gift, $$ are becoming sparse – but attitude is forward & positive. Still vying with the Dutchess over the house – remain thinking 90-10 against any recovery, hoping guilt still has a chance. Just rec’d a V-day card quoting “Do you think we can make a fresh start… (con’t) I want us to hold on to our memories… She remains in total denial & has long become accustomed to disbelieve reality. To accord age with wisdom is a dangerous leap; people who don’t get real life early, never get it. To see is the power, not to have or hold; your vision is your greatest strength, it will always be your strongest ally - your feel is right, let it flow & grow.
Bon soir, mon amie.
Love you,
Ses Charles
Wow. The more I read it, the more I see the double meanings and second-level dialogue in so many things he says. This breaks my heart.
[Ding, ding, ding...the "this blog is getting too serious" alarm is going off...insert joke here.]
My uncle who lives out in Los Angeles sent me this email at 1:45am. I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. He’s been running around doing different jobs for most of his adult life and has pretty much been a drifter ever since he came back from Vietnam. He and my dad used to be so similar—he was so smart, went to Brown, on the right path, then he got drafted and when he came back, was never the same. Moved out to California and never quite found his way back. For a while, he was dating this woman named Joyce who was really wealthy and so he was pretty much living off her for a while, but he broke up with her in the fall. They bought a house in Palm Beach together and I guess they’re fighting over it now. Everyone in my family is kind of glad they broke up, because she was…pretty high maintenence. She was originally from New York, and twice a year would take trips back here. But not just a trip. She would bring an entourage of twenty friends, every night would be a huge black tie affair. One time she reserved the crystal room at Tavern On The Green…yeah. A little too nouveau-riche for my family. But she LOVED me for some reason. Maybe because I was the first one of the family she met, maybe just because I live in New York. Who knows? But I couldn’t not like her when she was always so excited to see me.
I love, love, love my uncle to death. He was always my favorite uncle as a kid because he was so funny and told great stories. I thought he was so cool because he lived in California and at one point was working in television (short lived, as they all were). But now, knowing that times are tough for him, I worry. I know my dad does too, but what can he do? He would never accept money. He’s always managed to land on his feet before, but for some reason I’m more anxious this time. Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older. I think part of the reason I feel the need to move to LA is because I could be close to him and keep an eye on him. Help him, if I have to.
I know it’s not my responsibility. But last year my mom told me that she sees so much of Charles in my brother, and as soon as she said it, I couldn’t believe I never noticed it before. They’re so alike. The broseph is already such a drifter. He’s older than me and I’ve been cleaning up his messes since I was fourteen. I fear, but I know, I may still be doing that when we’re older. I’ll be like my dad, he’ll be like Charles, if we even still manage to speak to each other when we’re older. I think maybe I feel the need to take care of my uncle because its the same way I’ve had to “take care” of my older brother.
Anyway, Broseph’s story is one for another time. Come to think of it, so is my uncle’s, because it’s long and complicated. But the email wouldn’t make any sense without some info. We’ve always been so close, and had such a bond, even though I only see him a few times a year. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not be aware of all the hope and expectations everyone in my family has on me, especially since the Broseph has…had some trouble finding his way, to put it lightly. There’s a lot of pressure to succeed, in addition to all the pressure I put on myself. But Charles has never had any expectations, because he always knew I would do well. I never felt any pressure from him, I just always knew he believed in me. I think he wants me to have the success he never had. And he, more than anyone else, is the one I could never let down.
I forgot he spoke French, he used to speak it to me when I was little. I should send an email back in French, he’d be thrilled.
Casey,
Voulez vous Be mon Valentine?
Qui est vous ankle…?
C’est manifique to think pour vous; quel your frustration level? As a doer & a goer, these weeks of rehab must be grande frrustro to the max, no pun intended. I have ‘slipped on ice’ many times in my career; I know the cost of foolishness. Welcome to the club; however, as you must have deduced by now, these times also allow you to step outside your calculated footprints, and engage a different lens-craft in your rueness. These new revelations may or may not have lasting power, but you can never argue with thyself they didn’t exist.
I’m sure you’re anxious to return to the tomorrow of your life & it will return as full as you imagined. Remember this parathenicies as a gift – in our self induced helter-skelter we don’t get many. I have total faith in your decisions & in your ability to see; be bold and boundless in your curiosity.
Me, I’m in a decent spot; life is a gift, $$ are becoming sparse – but attitude is forward & positive. Still vying with the Dutchess over the house – remain thinking 90-10 against any recovery, hoping guilt still has a chance. Just rec’d a V-day card quoting “Do you think we can make a fresh start… (con’t) I want us to hold on to our memories… She remains in total denial & has long become accustomed to disbelieve reality. To accord age with wisdom is a dangerous leap; people who don’t get real life early, never get it. To see is the power, not to have or hold; your vision is your greatest strength, it will always be your strongest ally - your feel is right, let it flow & grow.
Bon soir, mon amie.
Love you,
Ses Charles
Wow. The more I read it, the more I see the double meanings and second-level dialogue in so many things he says. This breaks my heart.
[Ding, ding, ding...the "this blog is getting too serious" alarm is going off...insert joke here.]
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Christmas In Review
With the holidays and all, I know many of you in the blogosphere are taking some time off, not updating as often, etc. Never fear! Such is not the case here. I am already significantly bored at home. And after New Year's I'm having oral surgery and will be completely beached on the couch, not to mention on all sorts of drugs, which should make the posting a little more interesting.
Now that you all know what I was doing on my holidays, I can give a little review. For the record: it all went pretty much according to plan, more or less. The curling was especially entertaining, and was actually kind of fun for a little while. It actually wasn't too hard once I got the hang of it. But I see why it's referred to as a "gentleman's game"--there is little to no aerobic activity involved. Pictures will be following in due time.
In other news, I, completely unexpectedly, really cleaned up on Christmas this year. My mother forced a wishlist out of me because I'm apparently impossible to shop for (I disagree) and all my relatives were asking for one back in November, so I sent her a list with a bunch of things of which I expected to get one, maybe two. Basically all stuff that I didn't want to pay for myself. Nope! I got almost all of them. Among other things:
An iPod Touch
Canon PowerShot
Tory Burch flats
New brown riding boots
Gawker Guide to Conquering All Media (a joke from Adam...but I love it)
More of my favorite perfume...Ralph Lauren Blue
Along with a bunch of other books, CDs, gift certificates, $$$, etc. I was blown away. I wasn't expecting anything, and I felt like a kid getting all this stuff. Getting the camera AND the iPod AND the TB flats was far too much. But yay! Sometimes it's great having so many relatives.
So here's the question: now that I have a functioning, quality camera, as opposed to my shitty old one or the two shittier ones before it, I intend to use it as much as possible. And I can only have so many Facebook albums before I feel like a loser. So, I need a place to put them all...do I jump on the Flickr bandwagon? Or is there something better out there? Joining Flickr feels like such a cliche, but I hate how places like Kodak or Shutterfly require other people to sign in to view your photos. Suggestions?
Update: Approximate time at home that the Broseph and I actually got along <24 hours. Better than usual!
Now that you all know what I was doing on my holidays, I can give a little review. For the record: it all went pretty much according to plan, more or less. The curling was especially entertaining, and was actually kind of fun for a little while. It actually wasn't too hard once I got the hang of it. But I see why it's referred to as a "gentleman's game"--there is little to no aerobic activity involved. Pictures will be following in due time.
In other news, I, completely unexpectedly, really cleaned up on Christmas this year. My mother forced a wishlist out of me because I'm apparently impossible to shop for (I disagree) and all my relatives were asking for one back in November, so I sent her a list with a bunch of things of which I expected to get one, maybe two. Basically all stuff that I didn't want to pay for myself. Nope! I got almost all of them. Among other things:
Along with a bunch of other books, CDs, gift certificates, $$$, etc. I was blown away. I wasn't expecting anything, and I felt like a kid getting all this stuff. Getting the camera AND the iPod AND the TB flats was far too much. But yay! Sometimes it's great having so many relatives.
So here's the question: now that I have a functioning, quality camera, as opposed to my shitty old one or the two shittier ones before it, I intend to use it as much as possible. And I can only have so many Facebook albums before I feel like a loser. So, I need a place to put them all...do I jump on the Flickr bandwagon? Or is there something better out there? Joining Flickr feels like such a cliche, but I hate how places like Kodak or Shutterfly require other people to sign in to view your photos. Suggestions?
Update: Approximate time at home that the Broseph and I actually got along <24 hours. Better than usual!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Ho, Ho, Ho: A Preview, Part III
Christmas Day is not nearly as eventful as Christmas Eve, unfortunately. In the morning, we exchange presents with my grandmother when we wake up and then get dressed and go to my aunt Lynne and uncle Larry's house, also in Fairfield. My aunt makes punch every year, which is everyone's favorite mostly because of the large quantities of alcohol in it. We have the standard hour or two of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, most of which is spent keeping Larry's dog, Toby, from jumping on the coffee table to eat everything.
Once dinner rolls around and everyone is finally seated, every year we do Christmas Crackers. I'm pretty sure this is a British tradition, and I don't know where one would buy them, but every year somehow they end up on the table. In case you're not familiar, they look like this:
To crack them, you reach inside both ends, and yank on a string inside. In my family, we like to make things difficult. Everyone crosses their arms at the elbow and pulls one side of their own cracker and one side of the person next to them. If this sounds like it doesn't make any sense, it's because it doesn't. And usually there's about half that don't even make a good cracking sound, but just come apart with a pathetic little ripping sound. Inside, there is some kind of cheap plastic toy meant for a five year old but not safe for a five year old because it usually involves small parts. There also might be a little slip of paper with some nonsensical joke or riddle on it, which will then be debated over for the rest of the meal. And, of course, there are the tissue-paper crowns:
Notice how happy everyone looks.
That picture is from a few years ago, and I just realized that there are a lot of people missing from the table, but I don't know why. Anyway, we're required to wear the crowns for the entire meal. Yes, wearing these ridiculous tissue contraptions is mandatory. For what purpose? Your guess is as good as mine.
After another evening of copious amounts of food, we all retire back to the living room for a little while. My mom and aunts' cousins and their father will usually stop by for dessert, and after dessert we always play some sort of game like Catch Phrase, Pictionary, Cranium, etc. We split into two teams, and every year claim it will just be some friendly holiday competition, and every year it takes about five rounds until everyone is yelling at each other, throwing things across the room, and accusing everyone of cheating. Needless to say, the game ends pretty quickly, and usually my cousins, Broseph and I will escape to the den:
Which is usually where we remain in hiding until it's time to leave and go back to my grandmother's for the night, happy to have survived another year.
This past fall, my cousin (on my Dad's side) married her long-time boyfriend and moved into his house in Connecticut, which just so happens to be a town away from Fairfield. So, this year we're completing the Christmas Marathon by celebrating with my Dad's side of the family on the 26th, which consists of my cousin and her husband and my aunt and her husband, who are coming down from Newport, Rhode Island. I'm assuming this will become a tradition, since it kills two birds with one stone. In past years, there's always been a battle over when we celebrate with them, and sometimes it doesn't happen until mid-January. It's convenient that now we can get it out of the way (which is a horrible way of putting it) on the way home back to Boston. It's also a lot better than what we did last year, which was to go straight to Newport on the way home on the 26th and do it there. And maybe I shouldn't be complaining about having Christmas and getting presents for three straight days, but it is EXHAUSTING.
This year, not only are we simply exchanging gifts and eating a meal, but we're adding a little something more into the mix, which I fear will also become a tradition: the sport of curling.
I have never played this sport, never even watched it in the Olympics, have no idea what on earth I am getting myself into. My father was trying to explain it to me over dinner last night, but instead went off on a tangent reminiscing about playing it years ago at The Country Club*. I still have no idea what to expect, but I do know that I was wrong when I thought my family could not get any more WASPy.
So, stay tuned for what's sure to be some lovely stories from that holiday experience.
*The Country Club is actually the name of a club here in Massachusetts, which happens to be the oldest country club in the US. It is not, in fact, the club that family belongs to (we belong to Brae Burn Country Club), but is the one my grandparents belonged to. And in case you were wondering, yes, all the stereotypes are true. I.E, Caddyshack.
***************************
In other news: yes, I am home. I have spent my first full day here decorating the tree, driving around mall parking lots aimlessly, and hacking ice out of the gutters on the roof with my father. Woo suburbia! Also: the Broseph and I are getting along. A Christmas miracle!
Also--has anyone seen the Ciroc vodka commercial with P Diddy in it? Two things: first of all, the song that's playing in the video is Kanye West, which I find odd slash funny. Second, how the fuck does Ciroc become "the official vodka of New Year's Eve"? How does this get decided? Is there a vote? Does this mean if I make a commercial saying that Milwaukee's Best is the official beer of New Year's Eve, people will automatically drink it in large quantities despite the fact that it tastes like urine?
These are things that occupy my time when I don't have to go to work.
Form your own opinions:
Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you think of me in the next few days and get a little chuckle knowing you're in a better place.
Once dinner rolls around and everyone is finally seated, every year we do Christmas Crackers. I'm pretty sure this is a British tradition, and I don't know where one would buy them, but every year somehow they end up on the table. In case you're not familiar, they look like this:
To crack them, you reach inside both ends, and yank on a string inside. In my family, we like to make things difficult. Everyone crosses their arms at the elbow and pulls one side of their own cracker and one side of the person next to them. If this sounds like it doesn't make any sense, it's because it doesn't. And usually there's about half that don't even make a good cracking sound, but just come apart with a pathetic little ripping sound. Inside, there is some kind of cheap plastic toy meant for a five year old but not safe for a five year old because it usually involves small parts. There also might be a little slip of paper with some nonsensical joke or riddle on it, which will then be debated over for the rest of the meal. And, of course, there are the tissue-paper crowns:
Notice how happy everyone looks.
That picture is from a few years ago, and I just realized that there are a lot of people missing from the table, but I don't know why. Anyway, we're required to wear the crowns for the entire meal. Yes, wearing these ridiculous tissue contraptions is mandatory. For what purpose? Your guess is as good as mine.
After another evening of copious amounts of food, we all retire back to the living room for a little while. My mom and aunts' cousins and their father will usually stop by for dessert, and after dessert we always play some sort of game like Catch Phrase, Pictionary, Cranium, etc. We split into two teams, and every year claim it will just be some friendly holiday competition, and every year it takes about five rounds until everyone is yelling at each other, throwing things across the room, and accusing everyone of cheating. Needless to say, the game ends pretty quickly, and usually my cousins, Broseph and I will escape to the den:
Which is usually where we remain in hiding until it's time to leave and go back to my grandmother's for the night, happy to have survived another year.
This past fall, my cousin (on my Dad's side) married her long-time boyfriend and moved into his house in Connecticut, which just so happens to be a town away from Fairfield. So, this year we're completing the Christmas Marathon by celebrating with my Dad's side of the family on the 26th, which consists of my cousin and her husband and my aunt and her husband, who are coming down from Newport, Rhode Island. I'm assuming this will become a tradition, since it kills two birds with one stone. In past years, there's always been a battle over when we celebrate with them, and sometimes it doesn't happen until mid-January. It's convenient that now we can get it out of the way (which is a horrible way of putting it) on the way home back to Boston. It's also a lot better than what we did last year, which was to go straight to Newport on the way home on the 26th and do it there. And maybe I shouldn't be complaining about having Christmas and getting presents for three straight days, but it is EXHAUSTING.
This year, not only are we simply exchanging gifts and eating a meal, but we're adding a little something more into the mix, which I fear will also become a tradition: the sport of curling.
I have never played this sport, never even watched it in the Olympics, have no idea what on earth I am getting myself into. My father was trying to explain it to me over dinner last night, but instead went off on a tangent reminiscing about playing it years ago at The Country Club*. I still have no idea what to expect, but I do know that I was wrong when I thought my family could not get any more WASPy.
So, stay tuned for what's sure to be some lovely stories from that holiday experience.
*The Country Club is actually the name of a club here in Massachusetts, which happens to be the oldest country club in the US. It is not, in fact, the club that family belongs to (we belong to Brae Burn Country Club), but is the one my grandparents belonged to. And in case you were wondering, yes, all the stereotypes are true. I.E, Caddyshack.
***************************
In other news: yes, I am home. I have spent my first full day here decorating the tree, driving around mall parking lots aimlessly, and hacking ice out of the gutters on the roof with my father. Woo suburbia! Also: the Broseph and I are getting along. A Christmas miracle!
Also--has anyone seen the Ciroc vodka commercial with P Diddy in it? Two things: first of all, the song that's playing in the video is Kanye West, which I find odd slash funny. Second, how the fuck does Ciroc become "the official vodka of New Year's Eve"? How does this get decided? Is there a vote? Does this mean if I make a commercial saying that Milwaukee's Best is the official beer of New Year's Eve, people will automatically drink it in large quantities despite the fact that it tastes like urine?
These are things that occupy my time when I don't have to go to work.
Form your own opinions:
Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you think of me in the next few days and get a little chuckle knowing you're in a better place.
Friday, December 14, 2007
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