The Diary of Queen Mothy |
My Uncle, the Gypsy written @ 6:30 PM on May 11, 2004 I had another nightmare about cicadas last night. I think I'm more perturbed by this once-in-17-years phenomenon than I thought. *** It's time for me to tell you about my Uncle Alan. He's my mom's youngest brother, forty-something, has a snake tatoo from his ankle all the way up this thigh, is a Rhode Island School of Design drop-out from their culinary arts program, is gay, hasn't been legally employed in at least ten years, the government probably doesn't know he's alive, and the last anyone knew he was living in San Francisco as a dumpster diver. If you don't know what a dumpster diver is, it's when someone goes through dumpters, picks out semi-valuable things, and sells them for cash. I hope I've given you an impression of his character at the very least. Back in 1997 or '98, he moved from Hawaii back to Rhode Island, where my mom's family is from, and decided to clean up his act and open up an antique shop. Didn't really matter that he was living on my grandmother's couch, he was turning over a new leaf, or so we thought at the time. I thought Uncle Alan was the coolest guy I had ever met. One day while vacationing up in Rhode Island between my family's move from New Jersey to Ohio, he took me hiking through downtown Providence and showed me all the cafes and bars the RISD students hung out at. I was only fourteen, but somehow I knew Uncle Alan had good intensions to jump start my education at RISD... which sort of proved in vain since I ended up going to school in Kentucky. My grandmother invested in Alan's antique shop-- her John Hancock was on the legal papers-- but soon Uncle Alan fell back into his old ways, and he and my grandmother had a falling out due to my uncle's "business practices." Suddenly, my uncle had stolen two plane tickets to San Fran from a friend of his, cashed hers in, and hopped to California... where we lost all contact with him except for a periodic phone call on Mother's Day. Meanwhile, one time my mom began to help my grandmother clean out my grandmother's attic, and that led to the discovery of a tupperware container containing half of the cremated ashes to a guy we'll call Kenny, who died years ago from AIDS. The other half of Kenny was scattered into the San Francisco Bay by Kenny's parental units, in case you're interested. Obviously Alan had planted half of Kenny's body in my grandmother's attic and either forgot about them or left them there for one reason or another. Yes, Kenny is still up in the attic to this very day. It's got to be a crime somewhere. (This is a side story, fast forward to this weekend.) This weekend-- appropriately on Mother's Day-- my grandmother got a call from my uncle, saying that he wanted to come home to Rhode Island. His apartment had been robbed, and the mojo in San Fran wasn't good anymore-- or so he claimed. His plans were to take a Grey Hound bus across America. All he wanted was a place to stay. My mom and I both think my grandmother's nuts because we know the vicious cycle is about to repeat itself, but my grandmother tacked on one stipulation for Alan: he's to get a real job and help out around her house and my other uncle's house, who lives right across the street from my grandmother. First of all, Mom and I don't think Alan's place was "robbed" per se. We think there is someone who is after his head, and it was time to leave San Fran, be they punks or the feds. His furniture, apparently, was cut up as if someone was searching for something. I personally think my dear, dear uncle became a dealer of some sort. And that he was using Kenny's ID to get around for a while. Mom's afraid the Grey Hound bus is going to stop in Cincinnati, and one day from a pay phone she's going to hear, "Hi! Guess where I am!" If I pick up the phone, it's my job to say, "No hablos ingles" or something. I never took Spanish, so it's probably going to be a concoction of random European languages. Mom is coming down to the dorm this evening to help me pack some stuff, so I'll get further details about this latest juicy piece of gossip in my nutty family later. *** With that said, I am pleased to announce I am officially on summer vacation! Woo. Hoo. My last exam got done at 3pm today, and after my production meeting for work tomorrow, I'm heading home. Hazaa! A few final thoughts (adjusts hair like Jerry Springer): This year sucked. Oh, I had a great time beyond class work and I love college, but I never reached some lower lows than this school year. Some great things happened, though, like amazing progress with my art, my first set design gig, and forming fake bands at the dorm and stuff (the DVD of which I just got today so we must all flop at my house at watch it!). In any case, what's important is that I am ready to move on, to plow forward with the march of time. Never look back with regret-- progress, progress, progress! It's going to be a hell of a summer. I turn 20 in four days (how crazy is that?? I feel like I'm 12!), the third Harry Potter movie comes out in 23 days, and I have a list of art stuff I'm going to accomplish this summer. First thing to do: Pack.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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