|Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before|
Sunday, February 15, 2004
I went to see my grandfather today. Dude is 95. He is out of it. Doesn't recognize me at all. Thinks that maybe I'm my mother's husband. Then thinks maybe my mom's first husband died. Doesn't remember that his own father was run over by a drunk driver who took to the sidewalk. Can't recall his wife. Doesn't remember taking me fishing. Doesn't remember me coming over to watch Mets games with him. Thinks he still might have a job.
Worst part of it all is that the one thing he does recognize is the fact that he's out of it. He points to his head and says "My mind's not so good no more."
This demise is only about a year and a half old. He was still doing pretty well up until a fall he took that sent him reeling into dementia. He's the coolest man I know. I've never heard him complain. A 95-year-old that doesn't complain? Difficult to find. He doesn't make a big deal out of anything. At his surprise 90th birthday party, I asked him if he was surprised. He said, "Well, I didn't think this would be so big, but it happened and that's it." That's it. It happened. Happy to be here.
this place he's living in, assisted living, is actually a beautiful place. But it smells like old people and shit and is occupied by people ringing heaven's doorbell. Depressing. Very. As I was leaving, my mother said, "I don't think it would be so bad to just come in here with a gun and put them out of this misery. Even if I do have to spend a couple of years in jail." I told her it'd probably be more than a couple. I hope she doesn't do that. It's hard enough to visit her in Barnegat, NJ.
Anyway, seeing him there made me feel melancholy, which I've learned if you pronounce ma-lunk-a-lee, turns out to be a much more fun word. Thanks to this lady.
So that's why you have this somewhat downer of a Sunday evening blog. I'll try to turn it up tomorrow for a hilarious President's Day blog. I've got an idea with George Washington and Abe Lincoln in a gay porno with Lincoln saying, "Shoot it at my head." Get it? He got shot in the head and all. But with a bullet, not presidential sperm. It will be called Founding Fuckers.
That's not true. I will not do that. I just thought of that right now. Speaking of things that people thought of just now, I was talking with people today about what their idea of hell is, and this one lady named Asia said that her idea of hell that just popped into her head was running in snow, trying to get to an unknown destination, but she gets pushed down every two feet. This goes on for eternity. This was the most interesting hell to me because it is cold. Most people go the hot route.