Please begin with the previous post.

ShireMonkey ‎(2:24 PM):

there was a guy at geneseo who looked just like him, facially

but he was bigger and had bad 80s hair

we called him FRDJB

faux robert downey junior boy

Barefeet ‎(2:24 PM):

my paranoid schizphrenic neighbor from 1991 looked like judd nelson

ShireMonkey ‎(2:24 PM):

oh that had to give you bad dreams.

Barefeet ‎(2:25 PM):

http://www.triviatribute.com/images4/juddnelson2.jpg

like that version of him

ijust had either a craving or a flavor memory (fine line, that) for kraft mac and cheese

from the box

ShireMonkey ‎(2:26 PM):

not even cooked?

Barefeet ‎(2:26 PM):

well yeah

ShireMonkey ‎(2:26 PM):

ah the old cute judd

Barefeet ‎(2:26 PM):

i guess waht i meant was actualyl not waht i said

i meant the powdered kind, not the alter innovations involving squeezy packets

ShireMonkey ‎(2:27 PM):

i never liked those

Barefeet ‎(2:27 PM):

i did

ShireMonkey ‎(2:27 PM):

i always liked the powdered

better

faker flavor with the others

of course i haven't tried in 15 years

Barefeet ‎(2:27 PM):

they both weer basically salt flavored

ShireMonkey ‎(2:27 PM):

ha

ShireMonkey ‎(2:29 PM):

Evita has reminded me that FRDJB wore a scarf all the time

Barefeet ‎(2:29 PM):

you know Evita?

Un

Barefeet ‎(2:20 PM):

can you give me a name for this game

ShireMonkey ‎(2:21 PM):

potato

Barefeet ‎(2:21 PM):

thanks.

ShireMonkey ‎(2:21 PM):

Know your neighbor!

neighborly love and addiction

Barefeet ‎(2:22 PM):

addiction!

ShireMonkey ‎(2:22 PM):

WHO WAS ADDICTED TO COCAINE IN THE 90s

Barefeet ‎(2:22 PM):

ROBERT DOWNEY JR

ShireMonkey ‎(2:22 PM):

he's working ehre?!

EEEEEE

Barefeet ‎(2:22 PM):

sure

ShireMonkey ‎(2:22 PM):

i'm going to find him and lick him.

Barefeet ‎(2:22 PM):

you'll get high!

ShireMonkey ‎(2:22 PM):

even better

ShireMonkey ‎(2:23 PM):

he's like a south american frog

i bet no one's ever said that before

robert downey junior is like nothing if not a south america frog

tree frog

Barefeet ‎(2:23 PM):

indeed

endlessly compelling, shrouded in rumor

ShireMonkey ‎(2:23 PM):

name it Tree Frog

name it RDJ Tree Frog

Barefeet ‎(2:23 PM):

and brightly colored

Somebody's birthday's a-comin' ...

I wonder who it could be ...

Hint: It's the pretty one.

O how I miss her!

Hey to the Ea Thursday, July 31. She likes stuff.

(Also the birthday of this guy, if you follow such things, and I think you do.)

Bravo, Kudos, and other words of great applause, especially Italian, what with them operas and all

To the Olympic Committee: Felicitations on choosing a city for the summer games that not only is hazardous to your athletes' health, but will necessitate the canceling of entire events! Suck it up, those of you who've busted your asses your entire lives for this chance at the ultimate test of your endurance, strength, agility and skill! There's always American Gladiators.

This so never would've happened under Mitt Romney.

Don't get me started on "Batman" just yet

When I started typing "Christian" into the Google toolbar lodged in the upper right corner of my Firefox, at around "Chri" it offered me "Christopher Walken whore."

When I finally got to the Christian Bale story, I learned this:
He left the back of the station in a blacked out
silver Mercedes people carrier and sped past the awaiting paparazzi and heavy security.

"People carrier"? Apparently this differs from the automotive vehicles with which I have become familiar in my years. Certainly it must be some form of transport into which human beings climb via a slotted ramp, and inside it they stand together in a damp clump, their hands wrapped around straps dangling from the ceiling, eyeing their surroundings with curiosity and fear. Or maybe there are rails to keep them upright, like in line for a Disney ride. Or is it like the WedWay People Mover/Tomorrowland Transportation System? Whatever, I am curious about this "people carrier." Is it a cargo plane? Are Oceanic people hiding in the shadows?

The pink and glittery surround conveys
the magical experience that is riding in
the Mercedes Viano People Carrier.

Why, it resembles nothing so much as our own "minivans." I assume "people carriers" enable the British to fit more scones and jam around their feet.

Brilliance

Hawkman: if i was ever bill gates rich i would start a television station and get joss whedon and just throw a bunch of money at him and say "do whatever the hell you want to do"

Lucky day!

me: my dresser just squeezed out a KITTY!
minuterice: a new one?!
me: she looks familiar ...
minuterice: aww
minuterice: still though
me: i'm trying names out on her
me: she seems partial to "Blissy"
minuterice: last name "pants"?
me: YES!
me: you know her too!
minuterice: yeah, she's a cool cat
me: is she ever
me: i think i will keep her.

Mary, Gnome, Ellen

Mary, Gnome, Ellen, originally uploaded by MonkeyPantaloons.

This may be my favorite photo of all time.

Skinny bowtruckles and the velveteen mayor

Wherein the past weekend of wonderful people is paid tribute
Part I of V

It begins with a wedding.



First, a little family background. My Mom is the oldest of eight Boggan kids — six girls and two boys. I have 17 cousins, and I am in the elder bunch. But really that’s not the whole picture. We were three more once, for one thing. When I was little, maybe 5, my cousins Yvonne, Keith and Yvette were killed in a car accident on their way home from church, along with my Uncle Earl (my Mom’s brother and my godfather) and a neighbor child.

My Aunt Marion was thrown from the car and woke up from a coma two weeks later to find out what had happened to her husband, her children, her world. Gaah.

Aunt Marion remarried and had two daughters (the spitting images of their lost half-sisters), Natalie and Rachael, giving us two more official-but-not-blood cousins. Then my Mom and her siblings also have one cousin, Fred, who married Barb and had two boys, Kevin and Brian, giving us two second cousins. It’s been many years since we’ve really seen any of these quasi cousins, except for when I stayed on Kevin’s couch when I first moved to Florida 10 years ago. Barb and Fred (Fritz) are still close with my Mom and some of her siblings, though, and they come to these big family events.

I’m not sure how much of that you need to know, but I didn’t really know how to write this without it.

The Delineation of Us 18:
Bob and John
Rick, Pat and Marc
Me
Jenny, Pete, Sam, Ben
Jill, Erin, Sara, Josh, Katie, Megan
Ann and Joey

My cousins are now almost all married — six of us left single, I think, and me the only one in the upper eschelon. (Correction: John, who is my age, just got divorced. Seven.) There are 18 offspring of the cousins and their spouses, with one more in the immediate offing (due Nov. 2). So you can imagine what it would be like for ALL of us to get together. I’m about to start eliciting promises about my own if-it-ever-happens wedding. I want everyone there. So: 17 cousins, 11 spouses, 18 chilluns, plus our seven progenitors and their spouses, who number … 10, and Sylvia, our step-grandmother.

57 people including me. 60 with Barb, Fritz and Aunt Marion. 61 once Next Baby Marthia arrives. Bigger than the population of the principality of Monaco! Really, I'm pretty sure that's true.

part II below

The Wedding of Sara to Tom

Wherein a girl who still seems to me 16 is wed, and cousins are met with song and drink
Part II of V

I’ve always been really good with little kids. When I was a teenager, my little cousin Sara and I would be attached at the hip at family events. But when I went off to college, I didn’t see so much of her, and then she went and got about the business of growing-upness.

(The first family event I missed while at college, she thought my cousin Jenny was me.)


This weekend, Sara, who is now 26 and entirely unknown to me on any real level beyond that chubby-cheeked, dimpled, blue-eyed hip-cherub of yore, got married to her high-school sweetheart, Tom. It was nice, a very basic Catholic wedding, with her four sisters, Jill, Erin, Katie and Megan, among the attendants. Her brother, Josh, also ushered and played guitar.

The best thing was, of course, spending time with my family.

These goombas.

And I realized this weekend that that has gotten loads better again after a few years of my feeling completely unmoored and alone among this very large group of relations. Especially awesome was that my cousin Bob came with his wife, Vicki. I’ve thought very highly of Bob since he married her, see. (Always did, of course, ha ha! HI BOB, XOXO) So yay, I got to spend a lot of time with them and the other cousins/cousins-in-law in attendance.

Some cousins couldn’t make it to the wedding, due to their own babies having been born mere days or a couple of months beforehand, having to move to Dallas, etc. And this was an adults-only reception (no strippers, though), so some spouses had to stay home with the kids. (Did you know how hard it is to get baby sitters on the 4th of July? Apparently somewhere in the realm of VERY VERY VERY HARD.)

At the reception, my cousin Marc kept trying to get me drunk. (When I told his wife this the next day, she wasn’t surprised, not even a little bit.) I hadn’t seen him for an hour, for instance, when he found me in the line for stir fry, a Labatt’s in one hand and my second gin & tonic in the other. “It’ll be near Aunt Pam,” he said as he went off with the drinks. Lucky for me the bartenders seemed to be making things pretty weak; I normally would never have been able to drink two and a half.

Late night for Cree! I got a ride with my Aunt Margaret and Marc, her son the drink-presenter. I think we left at — ! — 11:30. I had to wash my hair when I got home because it reeked of someone’s perfume.

I suspect Barb.

we continue with part III below

Showering Annie

In which amazing cake is had and gifts are opened
Part III of V

Next day was my cousin Ann’s bridal shower, given by my Mom at the Roycroft Inn in East Aurora, one of the most beautiful places I know (that the common folk of Buffalo can enter, anyway).


That's Ann with my Mom

All six Boggan sisters were there together, which doesn’t happen too much anymore, once a year or so.


How many are drunk? No one knows!

Ann was quite happy, and we got to meet her future mother-in-law, who seems to really care about her. The cake was possibly the best cake I’ve ever had under groups circumstances like that (the best that wasn’t homemade, anyway): nice dense dark chocolate cake; really smooth, unsugary frosting. Even I ate some.

Afterward Vicki and I went out to Rushford Lake. Our great-grandparents built a cottage out there when my Mom etc. were chilluns. A few years ago my Aunt Margaret took ownership of it from my grandfather, and Marc and his brother-in-law made some really great but simple changes to it.



(You’ll remember the cottage from the Cree’s Lonely Childhood post, you will.) There I was brought strawberries and organic kettle corn and saw, from a distance, for they are boys and don’t really know me much, a bunch of those aforementioned offspring. I couldn’t stay long, for I had a Karla to meet for dinner, but it was good to see it; I can’t remember the last time I was out there. Maybe 1996 even. Damn.

When we were wee, one of the best parts of Rushford was Pa’s Bus. I don’t think the chilluns are allowed on there now, but yay, it’s still there!



See?

You will find part IV if you turn your glance
further down the page

The Afterglow and the Audacity of Hope

Wherein others are met, faint hopes are dashed upon the rocks (with salt), and Loki laughs and laughs, that motherfucker
Part IV of V

Saturday evening was some quality time with Karla, which is always awesome.


Not even a little bit drunk

Then came the news of an unexpected girlfriend in a situation I’d hoped to visit elsewhere on my way back to Ithaca, which was disappointing and nothing if not Proof of Loki. Soon I’m seriously going to come up with a Loki Seal of Approval. Point, Loki. Advantage, Loki. No love for me, which I realize messes up this loose metaphor, except that the source of the term in the tennis world is the French for egg: l’oeuf, arising from the nice round emptiness of the zero. WHATEVER; I wanted to sock someone in the gut. I’d even shirked my normal social anxiety in the face of the opportunity. But as most of you know, it drops perfectly into the story of my life.

Sunday, Paul came for the afternoon, which was also, as always, awesome.


Can you see a fly or maybe a basketball in my nose?*

He’s an especially good buffer with my parents.



*If there's anyone who gets that old Letterman reference (and there's more to it than that), I will write you a post of great praise.
... Dave.

Just one more in the series; keep on keepin' on, gentle reader!

The Kicker

You just keep reading, you
Part V

I finally had to leave a little after 4 (later than planned, but who could’ve left sooner with all the great people to see?). All along the first half of the drive I kept thinking about stopping to buy (a) French fries at a service area and (2) a bottle of Lucas Miss Behavin’ white table wine back in Ithaca. I was really craving the fries, and ready to indulge. So I stopped at Scottsville, the second service area heading east away from Buffalo.

Busy busy day on the NYS Thruway. I got my fries and a fish sandwich that I was startled Arby’s had. Heck, I even bought a Coke! A Cherry Coke, because the gift shop (and vending machines) were out of regular. Can you believe that? Is this not America? Is this not the time during which we celebrate the birth of the greatest nation OF ALL TIME with sugary, bubbly drinks? What kind of commie tarrorisst service-area manager/vendor doesn’t stock enough Coca-Cola for the WEEK-END?

I AM TELLING YOU

Anyhoo, I got back into the car with my snacky treats, turned the key in the ignition, and …. Nothing. Rrr-rrr-rr, but nothing more. Tried like five times. Sat there thinking, You are kidding me. You — have got — to be kidding me.

Called AAA. For some reason they can’t go onto the Thruway, so they sent a Thruway Guy along. I waited about 40 minutes, which wasn’t really so bad, but gave me time to think about the fact that I am always dealing with these situations alone. I had awesome people ahead in Ithaca and awesome people behind me back home, and even some in that third point of the triangle Floridaward, but I’m always alone in between.

(In particular I had, by phone, Chris and Melissa in Ithaca and Chris Prime in Orlando, but had to watch my cell battery, so when I hung/pressed up, I had only their memories to keep me company.)

Thruway Guy was really cute and very nice, and very young. Stop now, please, really. His name was Edo (Ay-doh), which seems like it should be Spanishy but he didn’t seem very Spanishy. I gave him $20 and he was all surprised and “Are you sure?!” and aw. Edo.

So I couldn’t stop again, a real treat for Driving Bladder Cree. But Melissa met me at my mechanic’s and let me run into Wegmans before taking me home.

So that made me pretty cranky, which I didn’t want to be after what was otherwise a mostly just damned great weekend of people-mooting. Kitties were all chatty and delightful upon my return, which is always the most important thing anyway. Now I come to you with this so-long post and try to figure out whether to make it one long one or several shorties. But you will not see the shorties in the right order, so I have my answer.

Actually, no. We'll see if this works.