"What's this? A poker video game?"
-Mama Brick, 8/20/06
Yeah, Mom, it's a poker video game. I'm quad-tabling 2-4 against the computer. You know damn well I'm playing for actual US dollars but if you want to convince yourself I'm playing a poker video game go right ahead. I told her I play online poker "for real money" a long time ago.
Parents are goofy. They know what goes on but don't want to think about it or acknowledge it. Like when your daughter goes away to college or your son tells you he's gay. That first Saturday your nubile, 18-year-old daughter is gone you know she's out there getting wasted and blowing five guys, but since it's not right in front of you can convice yourself it's not really happening. When your son tells you he's a homo, your mind is just programmed to never acknowledge that he likes dicks in his butt, but you know what's going up there.
If my son ever tells me he's gay I'm going to say: "So, you like dicks up your butt, huh? Please be careful and use lots of condoms and lube. A lot of the gay guys I met growing up had the hiv. What? Stfu and listen to me, dumbass. It's a common fact that all men are sluts, and that butt sex has a higher rate of hiv transmission than regular sex. So you get a bunch of sluts having butt sex and a lot of scary shit is going to get spread around. So be careful and don't be stupid. Huh? No, I don't consider butt sex "regular" sex. Oral sex isn't "regular" sex either. Please shut up. This has nothing to do with prejudice against gays or any of that liberal hippie bullshit. I like gay guys as much as anyone. Saying gay men are sluts with the hiv isn't prejudice. It's just the facts. Be careful out there."
My son would probably hate me after that, because I imagine he would be about 17 at the time. That's when you're in that retarded stage where you don't know shit about shit, but have somehow convinced yourself that you are this fountain of wisdom and have learned all of life's lessons and your parents are useless amoebas good for nothing but cash distribution.
Wow, this blog post sure took a disturbing turn.
So yeah, my parents visited. My dad was in town for some astronomy club reunion and his mom (who lives 15 miles away from me) turned 100 last Thursday. So they made it a reunion/100th birthday party/visit Brick trifecta vacation.
My Grandma's 100. Holy shit. You know what happens when you get to be 100? You get your own personal podiatrist to come to your house and clip your toenails for you.
"They don't want me clipping my own toenails," she said.
I don't know why you need a full-fledged doctor to clip your toenails, but then again, I'm not a 100-year-old toenail clipping specialist. I wonder how much that costs. Grandma claimed to not know. I have no idea how the conversation turned towards Grandma not knowing how much her personal toenail clipper costs, but all I could think was: "quit wasting our money."
My parents were cool. Their presence was only somewhat annoying. My dad had the pleasant habit of leaving the air conditioner in the spare bedroom running while we weren't in the house. You think electricity grows on trees, Dad?
We went to the museum on Friday and went out for pizza. There was an exhibit about Leonardo Da Vinci. It did nothing to enhance my view of him as a genius. What I took away from the exhibit was:
Leo liked to dick around with lots of different things and had lots of different ideas for wacky machines and drew really pretty, detailed pictures and plans of these ideas. He was also a genius self-promoter. Yay.
The pizza was underwhelming. We got a thin crust supreme and a deep dish sausage. The sausage was really good (due to the deep-dishedness) but the supreme was blah. I don't get why thin crust pizza in this city sucks so much ass and is so expensive. And why do they have to cut it in squares? Cut it in wedges for crissakes. It's not cute, it's just annoying. The pizza at Sam's Club could kick this pizza's ass, and also costs 1/3 as much. I did enjoy the deep dish, though. The crust was excellent. It was like sourdough with a hint of beer. That doesn't sound good but it is.
Saturday we sat around and fought about the rehearsal dinner I was supposed to plan. Ms. Brick was mad because I was supposed to plan it and have done nothing. I'm not good at doing stuff. My mom wanted to get it figured out so she wouldn't have to worry about it and could invite her family.
I wanted to have pizza for the rehearsal, so Mom started calling the places I had listed. None of them would work. Then Ms. Brick started yelling at me. I walked out, got a Coke at the corner convenience store, grabbed the latest Onion from the newsstand, and went and sat on a bench at the train stop and drank my Coke and read my Onion. The Onion is funny. I think Ms. Brick should just chill the fuck out because we have a whole month and just because every place we called is already booked is no reason to worry. I also have to figure out the damn tuxes and figure out the damn cake. I've decided I'm going to hide in the corner under a pile of coats and hope everything works out.
I eventually went home. My parents then went for a walk in order to get away from us. The Bricks fought for awhile and then somehow weren't mad at each other an hour later. We are an interesting duo. We can have a full-blown land/air/sea battle during the ride home from the grocery store but then leave it all in the car and unload the groceries in harmony.
That evening we took the train downtown to see my cousin play violin in her orchestra and then Sunday was my Grandma's birthday party.
I have nothing more to add.