So, like... Blog

Hmm, Yahtzee's got his strange assignment thing again, and I've nearly completed it. I have started a humor site, however it is not daily nor funny most of the time, but I've linked to his site. Ha! If you ever read this (yeah right) you owe me a cookie. Chocolate chip. Homemade. With no syringes, razor blades, poison or other ways to injure, maim, kill, or otherwise harm me inside, outside, or anywhere near it.

Anywho, when my grandfather died in North Carolina, he was cremated, and there was a memorial service. There wasn't supposed to be one there, but his selfish/in denial/whatever sister, who wanted him alive and drooling/crapping his pants for the next ten years of his "life" didn't want him off life support despite his DNR. She makes my poor addle minded Polish grandmother (now even more so that her husband of forty some-odd years is dead in the hospital) have a service down there because they aren't going to come up here to New York for the real one.They make those Polish jokes for a reason; my grandma once entered an elevator in a hotel that had two floors and asked "Which floor?"

Then her sister decides that oh gee! I guess we'll come up here after all! Thanks a lot, you could have said something before my grandma had to spend an extra thousand dollars on a funeral where two people came.

So we go to my grandpa's funeral two Fridays ago. His Catholic funeral. Don't ask me why he, one of the least religious (and open minded) people I knew would choose a Catholic funeral. Actually, he let his wife choose it, but one would think he wouldn't want to put us through it. His exact wishes were "put me in a tin can." So I guess he left it up to interperatation.

So, it was the basic Catholic funeral: rah rah, go God, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight! Do some kneeling, don't bother pretending to read the hymns. If you've been to one of these services, you know the drill. The priest jumbles an incredibly long phrase into an almost monotone (there are two notes instead on one), trying to cram it into as few sylibles as possible while pretending he knows my grandpa and that he was a good little Catholic. His ashes sit at the front of the church, next to a poster of pictures of him in various stages of his life. Around him are four Christmas trees, each swathed in lights not on. He mentions that they are for Advent. You know, where you pull the cards out of the calendar once per day until Christmas. That thing. Everyone around is crying, or is bleary eyed, except me. I'm pretty emotionless most of the time, and while deeply saddened by my grandfathers passing, I only felt the twinge to cry once and very briefly, and it may have been the mood. I like to think of myself as a robot with emotions and a sense of humor. Wow, that was one crappy analogy, quite contradictory.

So, I look around and notice that there are suddenly five or six big guys in trenchcoats. They have quietly entered the church for my grandfather's funeral. Well, he was friends with my great uncle Bronislaw Pobeiglow. Yes, the only polish guy in the mafia. Benny the Polack. Once snuck into a train yard and stole dozens of buckets of white road paint and sold it back the highway department. Good man, my uncle.

Afterwards we go to a local bar/restaurant for a big lunch. Everyone on my mom's side of the family is there, and all of them offer their condolences to each other. We are treated by my second cousin, who owns this place, and is about six-five, three hundred pounds. For lunch/supper we have decent chicken riggies, not so good bread, and the best friggin' meatballs ever. They were a party of ground cow muscle in my mouth. I ate about ten of them. And they were quite large too.

Nothing strange there, until people start going into the back. Lots of them. And they don't buy anything. Then, about five minutes later, they come out again. Now, I know these people are mafia oriented (the niceer kickass Italian Mafia, not the crappy "Kill you over Drug Money" other ethic backgrounds mafia.) Franky & Fritzy type stuff. So naturally, I am curious as to what they are all doing there, but don't want to end up seeing someone getting whacked. Eventually, curiosity wins out and I go back there, feigning having to use the bathroom, and casually, inconspicuously glance around, bracing for a blow to the head.

A tall guy, with a scar running down his face glares at me, saying in his best mob voice "Hey! Who'dis?"
Another guy, very tall and wide, says in an ironic high pitched, whiny voice "Duh, I dunno, Chicho. Let's whack him!"
"Hey, Legs, calm down! He aint even seen nuthin' yet!" The tall guy, Chicho, says to his compadre.
"Awww, I was only playin' with 'em. I'd only have busted his knee caps some." Legs takes off his fedora and itches his receeding hairline. By now, about eight other fedoras have their attention on me, and I'm nervously inching my way back out into the main hall of the bar/restaurant, a distressed grin on my face. The background noise has complely stopped.
"I didn't see anything guys, hon-" I'm cut off as I bump into another man entering the back, and i whirl around to face a pistol. The barrel seems to be an eye, forcing me to stare right into it, as I raise my hands and back slowly into the room again. "Let's talk about this, fellas, I just wanted to go to the bathroom, and my grandpa just died." I say nervously, glancing around. Ok, lots of guys in trenchcoats, tables, small windows, dead guy being stuffed in freezer... Wheres a friggin' exit when you need one?
All at once Legs says "Aww, geeze! You knew Lou? Why didn't ya say so!" He walks over to me, giving me a hearty slap on the back. "I'm Dan," he says, now giving me a bone crunching hand shake. "Sorry about your gran'pa. He was great people." I breathe out, not realizing i hadn't been until now. "Bathroom's over there, kid." Legs says, pointing.
"Thanks," I mumble, releaved, and wander into the bathroom, which has an actual towel that you pull out. It rotates back up into the holder, and near the end stops, reminding one to change it. Wierdest thing ever.

Ok, so I'm lying. There are a bunch of guys sitting at tables eating. Most of them talking to eachother. Nobody in trenchcoats, no guns, dead guys, nothing. The bathroom does have one of those wierd towel thingys, but no one says anything remotely important while I eavesdrop during my handwashing. I go back to my seat and report to my dad, who concludes these people are placing bets. Ah well, what are ya gonna do?

posted by Slade at 9:09 AM

Just another boring day. I had a quiz in math class and have been painstakingly cleaning out my folders. Our school doesn't recycle and it's eating me up inside. All of that paper is just going to go to a landfill. I could have saved 1/20th of a tree with that much paper. Some hobo is going to be colder when he gets kicked out of his favorite soup kitchen, without the fuel my old quizzes could provide in his burning barrel. A kindergartener is going to go hungry. It's a shame. I've got some nice healthy bruises from skateboarding, too. I've been slowly jumping away at it, for an hour or two each day. Sometime I'll get my ollies down. It's wierd, it doesn't take ten minutes before my forhead is dripping in sweat. I'm not even short of breath, but I get really hot. The wee ones were messing around on my skateboard, both feet under the board while it's upsidown, then jumping up and landing on it. I showed them, though, going from casper to normal. (In casper, your back foot is on the back of the board, upsidown, and your front foot is under the board, holding it up in the air. Not hard if you start that way.)

I may get to writing another story update tonight, maybe not. And if you've read this, drop me a line. My contact thingus on the left has my E-Mail address. I need some feed back so I know if I should waste my time and study halls writing this stuff, or give up, and go back to doing mostly nothing again.

posted by Slade at 12:35 PM