I miss you. A lot.
I know things are supposed to “get easier” as time passes, but this hasn’t. That said, I wasn’t terribly shaken when you died, since it was about damn time. However, I’ve had this perpetual state of 5% melancholy ever since, and sometimes it manipulates my attention more than my other thoughts do.
The Lakers won the big shebang last night! Seven games! Second year in a row! I still think Kobe’s an asshole, but Ron Artest was hilarious. I think he might’ve been drunk at the post-game press conference, but he did thank his psychiatrist on national TV about 90 seconds after the game ended, so maybe he was just really euphoric. That, or he’s always like that.
I’m going to law school! Probably Georgetown, as that’s the only place I got in. I did NOT apply to Yale (sorry…I don’t remember which college you were in, anyway). I did apply to UChicago, your other favorite, and it’s still my favorite, although they haven’t taken anybody off their waitlist this year, as far as I can tell. Penn let most of its waitlist go yesterday, but I’m still standing, so I bet you’d be pretty excited about that! I haven’t been to Pennsylvania at all since you took me to your house a decade ago. I want to go back and try to find that house. I can see the general vicinity on the map and have a decent idea of maybe the few acres it must be in, but do wish I’d had the presence of mind to write down the address.
I’m trying to read more like we used to after 2009’s debacle — reading 30 books doesn’t count when half are Harry Potter and Narnia re-reads.
There’s this show, Mad Men, that you’d like, especially since you made me find you The Sopranos at the library when you “heard” (aka read) it was supposed to be good. It’s the same creator! The protagonist, Don Draper, is a real asshole, but exceptionally well-groomed. Upon watching it all over a second time, I started to think that you and he might have a lot in common. Sorry, I don’t mean to call you an asshole, but I wish you’d seen it, or at least Season One — it’s eerie. He grew up during the Depression, too (although, he’s a little younger than you — Korea); is using his profound intellect and charm to work his way to the “American Dream;” doesn’t seem too satisfied with said Dream; has a problem with authority figures; and likes to keep his independence. He turns down this lucrative contract, and even runs off during a business trip to California!
Oh, and I’m pretty sure that in the California scenes, he’s supposed to be in Long Beach, too. It must’ve been crazy to step out of the car and settle in Palos Verdes after Michigan. I guess you saw it all during the War, though.
Speaking of the War: Nick’s grandfather did radio stuff, too! And he ended up inventing the electric cardiogram or something! You must’ve been birds of a feather. He seems like he ended up a lot more anal than you, though. And he sold his company to GE. But still, wouldn’t it be weird if you actually knew each other? (He even ended up in Chicago after the war, too! I know you and Marian were there when you first got married, since you said you were going to law school at night until she got pregnant. Stupid brother, foiling your plans. Maybe you should’ve worn a French Letter. ha)
Anyway, I know I haven’t written in a while, but that’s just because I’m pretty sure you’re floating at the bottom of the sea somewhere. (Can you “float” at the bottom? hmm) I’m glad that you’re probably in the Pacific, because there’s this fucking Gulf spill that’s an absolutely fucking disaster.
Speaking of — remember when Hurricane Katrina hit? I didn’t get it. You did, right away. I guess age lends wisdom, after all. I wish you’d called me out for being a dumbass, though. You know I would’ve loved to know why it upset you so.
Sorry, I digressed. The point is, I miss you — for some reason, more than usual — and I’ve been blogging (web-logging! aka public journaling! I know, it doesn’t suit your privacy needs) more lately and don’t want to ruin my streak. You know, it’s like exercise; if I stop for more than a couple of days in a row, it’ll end up a three-month hiatus.
Also, apparently it’s Father’s Day this weekend, since David Yurman kept advertising it had free shipping. So…Happy Dad’s Day. Stupid fucking Hallmark and its made-up bullshit. Every day’s fucking Father’s Day to me.