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You MAY Remember Remembering...
Feb. 15th, 2015 09:03 amSnowed all day yesterday. I went out at the beginning of the storm to stock up on high-caloric treats, which I consumed with great gusto throughout the day. This did stave off Winter Storm Psychosis, but didn’t do a lot for my waistline. I probably look like the Pillsbury Dough Girl. Must. Go. To. GYM!!!!!
Other than that, I’m in prime revenue generation mode since I’m going to be spending the latter part of the month in prime socializing mode.
Numbah One Son finally got his first law school rejection – from Yale.
In a way, this is good because had he gotten into Yale, he would have felt compelled to go there – top law school in the nation; yada, yada, yada – and I’m not at all sure he would have been happy there.
I suspect he’s gonna end up going to Boalt – which, of course, is a perfectly fine school. I think he’d actually be happier at NYU. Or maybe I’d be happier if he was at NYU.
The Future Mother of my Unborn Grandchildren just adopted a dog, which strikes me as a stoooopid thing to do given that both she and Numbah One Son are about to embark on very rigorous training schedules over the next couple of years. Hers – nursing school – will actually be more rigorous than his. That dog is gonna be spending a lot of long, lonely hours at home.
I broached this with the Numbah One Son, rashly describing the Future Mother etc’s decision as “impulsive.”
He leapt to her defense. “It’s not impulsive! Liza’s been thinking about this for a long time --”
Right! Shut the fuck up, Future Mother-in-Law. I get it.
But how else would you describe that decision, which is almost certainly gonna bite the two little lovebirds in the ass or at least leave multiple piles of steaming dog shit on the welcome mat?
I’m worried about the beautiful Future Mother – whom I like very much, by the way. She has a tendency to spin out when she’s under stress, and she’s going to be under stress a lot in the next three years. She also has a tendency to act out when she feels she’s being ignored, and Numbah One Son is gonna have to ignore her because once you’re in a competitive law school, your priority must be getting through the competitive law school, not the emotional complexities of your beautiful girlfriend. Hey! I saw The Paper Chase!
“I think it might be very smart for you and Liza to do some kind of proactive therapy around your upcoming school commitments,” I said haltingly on the phone.
Surprisingly, Numbah One Son agreed.
So that is gonna be my birthday present to them – they more-or-less share the same birthday, his on the 25th, hers on the 26th.
Therapy!
I’m doing an art project to frame the gift. Dissected an ancient clock I found in a thrift store, gesso-ed it and am painting it a pale, luminous green. Using the inside as a frame for a photograph I took of Max during one of our many road trips to southern California.
We were driving along Carmel Valley Road, the part just before it descends into the Salinas Valley. The edge of the world, the most beautiful grassland imaginable, just miles and miles of it, and the wonderful clear view below.
“Ten years from now, this will all be developed,” I said. “Rows and rows of ticky-tacky cottages. Just like Pacifica.”
“I don’t think so,” Max said.
“Wanna bet?”
“You’re on. Ten bucks.”
“Fortunately in 20 years, you won’t even remember this conversation,” I laughed.
“Oh, I’ll remember,” he said.
“Trust me. You won’t. You may remember having had the conversation. Maybe. But you won’t remember the conversation itself.”
“I’ll remember,” he repeated.
“Say cheeeese for the camera!”
Two years ago, he called me and said, “You owe me ten bucks.”
Anyway, that photograph. And a check.
Other than that, I’m in prime revenue generation mode since I’m going to be spending the latter part of the month in prime socializing mode.
Numbah One Son finally got his first law school rejection – from Yale.
In a way, this is good because had he gotten into Yale, he would have felt compelled to go there – top law school in the nation; yada, yada, yada – and I’m not at all sure he would have been happy there.
I suspect he’s gonna end up going to Boalt – which, of course, is a perfectly fine school. I think he’d actually be happier at NYU. Or maybe I’d be happier if he was at NYU.
The Future Mother of my Unborn Grandchildren just adopted a dog, which strikes me as a stoooopid thing to do given that both she and Numbah One Son are about to embark on very rigorous training schedules over the next couple of years. Hers – nursing school – will actually be more rigorous than his. That dog is gonna be spending a lot of long, lonely hours at home.
I broached this with the Numbah One Son, rashly describing the Future Mother etc’s decision as “impulsive.”
He leapt to her defense. “It’s not impulsive! Liza’s been thinking about this for a long time --”
Right! Shut the fuck up, Future Mother-in-Law. I get it.
But how else would you describe that decision, which is almost certainly gonna bite the two little lovebirds in the ass or at least leave multiple piles of steaming dog shit on the welcome mat?
I’m worried about the beautiful Future Mother – whom I like very much, by the way. She has a tendency to spin out when she’s under stress, and she’s going to be under stress a lot in the next three years. She also has a tendency to act out when she feels she’s being ignored, and Numbah One Son is gonna have to ignore her because once you’re in a competitive law school, your priority must be getting through the competitive law school, not the emotional complexities of your beautiful girlfriend. Hey! I saw The Paper Chase!
“I think it might be very smart for you and Liza to do some kind of proactive therapy around your upcoming school commitments,” I said haltingly on the phone.
Surprisingly, Numbah One Son agreed.
So that is gonna be my birthday present to them – they more-or-less share the same birthday, his on the 25th, hers on the 26th.
Therapy!
I’m doing an art project to frame the gift. Dissected an ancient clock I found in a thrift store, gesso-ed it and am painting it a pale, luminous green. Using the inside as a frame for a photograph I took of Max during one of our many road trips to southern California.
We were driving along Carmel Valley Road, the part just before it descends into the Salinas Valley. The edge of the world, the most beautiful grassland imaginable, just miles and miles of it, and the wonderful clear view below.
“Ten years from now, this will all be developed,” I said. “Rows and rows of ticky-tacky cottages. Just like Pacifica.”
“I don’t think so,” Max said.
“Wanna bet?”
“You’re on. Ten bucks.”
“Fortunately in 20 years, you won’t even remember this conversation,” I laughed.
“Oh, I’ll remember,” he said.
“Trust me. You won’t. You may remember having had the conversation. Maybe. But you won’t remember the conversation itself.”
“I’ll remember,” he repeated.
“Say cheeeese for the camera!”
Two years ago, he called me and said, “You owe me ten bucks.”
Anyway, that photograph. And a check.
