Posts tagged Mike
Happy Good Friday!
4In honor of Jesus’ death, let’s everybody take a moment today and ponder the fact that He loved everybody. And then got crucified for it. I’m going to be more like Him and take the shunning that comes from being inclusive like the bad-ass that He taught me to be.
While I ponder this (and, perhaps, draw parallels between my life and His), I’ll be waiting for my mom, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephews, my sister, and my brother-in-law to come visit. They’re all coming today! And staying for Easter, when my Columbus friends and families will join us all for brunch. And I’m going to pretend that I gave up sugar for Lent and eat it like I haven’t eaten it in 6 weeks. There will be baked goods; Oh, yes. There will be baked goods. And then they’ll be gone like a baked goods rapture. Poof! Amen.
Saturday night, my brother is playing and singing at Gresso’s from 9:00pm-1:00am. Bryan and I find it difficult to stay up to watch a half-hour tv show these days, so we’ve scheduled some naptime on Saturday so we can stay up. You should do that, too, and meet us there. It will be fun, I promise. He sings some Kings of Leon and some Neil Young and some stuff I don’t know because I’m not hip and some more stuff I don’t know because I’m not that old. (He was born in the 60s, so his musical frame of reference is way different than mine.) Some people think he’s good, but I’m not going to say that because he used to tie his dirty sweat sock around my face and gag me with the stench of his sweaty, hairy feet. And also when he and my sister babysat for me, they would wait until I fell asleep and then put horseradish or mustard in my mouth. Bryan thinks we have a lock on the bedroom door for other reasons, but really it’s because of the trauma of waking up to a mouthful of horseradish while two giggling teenagers fall all over themselves snorting with laughter and wiping the tears of hilarity out of their eyes. I hope they had fun. Idiots.
My Very Own Brother Rocking and Rolling
0My brother does this thing where he plays his guitar and harmonica and sings good songs and stuff. He’s going to do it at Gresso’s in Columbus on April 10th or 11th. Do you wanna come see? I’ll be there! If that doesn’t sweeten the deal, I don’t know what will.
Here’s a mellow sample. He does less mellow, too. And his own stuff. It’s all good. That reminds me, I saw a comedian once say, “I think it’s unfair that Neil Young can sing, play guitar, and play harmonica all at the same time and everybody loves it and he’s a serious artist and everything, but if he were to add a pair of cymbals to his knees, then he’d just be a moron.” Here’s my brother, sans cymbals:
My Brother and Sister are Lovely, I Swear!
5And I’m not just saying that because this is what happens to me when I post about their oldness:

In this picture: Tracey (almost 40), Abby (just over 30), and Mike (40+)
It was just a love-tap. All in fun, really. And I’m not just saying that in the way that hostages sometimes have to go on camera and read a letter that says, “I’m ok. My captors are lovely and I’m being treated swell. No hurry. They’re really nice. You should totally give them what they want, though.”
My Brother was Born in the 60s
7And today he’s 40.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! My brother is 40. Don’t tell my sister, but she’ll be 40 this year too. In about 11 months. (My parents thumbed their noses at silly things like birth control and abstaining from sex for 6 weeks after the birth of a baby. “Pish-posh” said they, and then they had 2 babies in the same year. Dummies).
I like to tease my brother and sister about being born in the 60s since the rest of us (meaning their spouses and Bryan and I) were born in the 70s. My sister protests and thinks she’s as young as we are because she was born a mere 2 weeks before 1969 ended and her husband was born only 3 weeks into 1970, but the protest doesn’t stand. It was the 60s. Everything was different back then. And things that were around back then are old now. I didn’t make the rules.
My 40-year-old brother lives all the way in West Virginia now, but our grandmother saw fit to die yesterday* so her favorite grandson would have an excuse to travel to Chesaning so he could spend his 40th birthday at Dave’s bar playing Setback with his dumb ol’ buddies. Why yes, I did just spend 12 days in Chesaning, during which time my grandmother was in the process of dying and, yes, she actually did wait until the day after I arrived back in Columbus to die. Par. For. The. Course. Mikey was always her favorite. And for that, he’s a douche.
Bad Music. Good Christians.
4ETA: By good I mean, well, a decent enough Christian. Mostly, though, it’s cool Muslims in the video (why are they at a McCain rally? I don’t know. Free country, I guess). I wrote the title like that because I’m always all down on the Xtians (they hate when you put an “X” there. They hate it when you do it to XMas, too, because what if Jesus is that small that it makes him go away when you abbreviate the Christ out of everything?) and I thought you’d be surprised that I used the words “good” and “Christian” together. Surprise!
Maya watches the Mr. Roboto video more times per day than necessary. And she sings along. I blame my brother. Maybe he didn’t introduce her to Styx, but some of our shared (obviously mutant) genes must have been lying dormant within me and I inadvertently passed them on to my precious baby. Too bad there’s not a pre-natal screen for that. At least we would have been prepared and we could’ve tried to keep the gene from becoming active. My theory is that Maya’s mutant Styx gene would have remained dormant if she hadn’t been next to me listening to her uncle’s voice on the phone the other day. Obviously, it’s an auditorily-activated gene. Sick.
In other news, more of this needs to happen:
Muslim McCain Fans Confront Intolerance at Rally

