Before Dad Flies

I’ll be driving Dad to Queens – where the cousins pronounce Cliff “Cleeeeef!” – tomorrow for his flight to the Philippines. A month where there’s one less person who needs the car. I joked with Merce about throwing massives at home while Dad is away and Mom’s at work. His coworkers-turned-drinking buddies tonight are loud, but harmless enough. I’m debating whether to have a beer with them. Budweisers don’t make wise men out of FOBs. Rain (my Maltese-perpetual-pup) will need a bath before Dad’s flight. Those neighbors (who I assume are puti pissed off) across the backyard fence in the condos will miss the wrath of Itay. Those were our dead trees that we cut. Privacy? Put some curtains on your windows! Expect high-beams blazing across your immaculate kitchen counter. Two shiny moons at night for you to howl to. Ain’t much to look at anyhow (except their cross-shaped windows). It’s the freakin suburbs for God’s sake, not Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Besides, I’ve got a lawyer for a neighbor. Even though we race to see who gets out of the driveway last on workdays, even though we’re the eldest son burdened by vintage suits and fat bellies, even though we both can’t stand mowing the lawn and lonely sabbaths, even though I don’t care for black clothing (except for my hoodie and radio-friendly Depeche Mode) or designer labels: we’re cool, totally kosher. btw, I’m watching a marching band competition on cable access. I could’ve been Drum Major (they get all the fringe benefits) if I didn’t “concentrate on my studies”. Never follow your girlfriend to the same college. Just call me dork from now on. Dang, Arlington is still nysnc. Ahhh… memories.

Livin large: NOT my American Dream. Give me some Donnie Darko dreams and I’m as close to Confucius happy that a fisherman can be.