Okay, already!

Apologies to those whom I disappoint with a lack of blog. Joel, Ken, Melissa, etc. I needed some material. So from my Spokane trip, it’s the “How Did I Spend My Day” Show.

Day One:

So this morning starts out at about 6:30 am with some baboon in workman’s chothes working outside my hotel door dropping a ladder and banging away. I half expect to hear Jane Goodall narrating:

“See how Bobo makes his first attempts at using tools. He starts by mimicry but I believe he is actually learning to use the tools differently to yield best results after a while…”

Bite me Janey, it’s 6:30 am and if you want to see tools be used, check out the cranky primate without his latte, but with a .30 shotgun learning to use the tool differently to yield best results.

So my cousin and I finally get our act together and head out in her jeep which is totally tricked out with all the gadgets and joy that makes men love cars and we proceed into Spokane proper to collect my grandmother. Grandma insists on “Shari’s”. For those of you that have been to a Shari’s, I really don’t need to say more, but for those of you that have standards and/or feelings of elitism, let me paint a picture.

Imagine a place that looks identical no matter where in the world you may find the franchise. You could be in war-torn Iraq and go into a Shari’s and it would look exactly like a Shari’s from Iowa. Even more so than a Denny’s or a IHOP. Identical. I actually believe there is one Shari’s that is a nexus between dimensions and if you know the mystic words, you can travel anywhere. But I think I have to take back the identical label, because in Spokane, Shari’s is staffed by the un-dead.

“Would you like coffee, dearie, “ the She-Crypt-Keeper rasps and gurgles, as parts of her fall off.

Looking around the restaurant, one realizes that this is geezer central. Median age 120. I am sure this is the Spokane Retiree elephant graveyard and Gus, and Elmo are just waiting for the angels to take them to the “Monster Truck Rally” in the sky.

The menu has pictures of what the idealized version of the meal looks like. I find myself thinking the idealized version is sort of scary. Stuffed hash browns? WTF? Wait, I don’t want to know. But the interesting thing is the menu has been cut back quite a bit since I was last tormented by this ritual suicide. Guess the recession has other victims that GM and Morgan Stanley. Please Barack, do not bail out Shari’s.

So we go back to Grandma’s lair and do the gossipy family thing. Who’s sleeping with whom, when parole dates are coming up, etc. Then the Camel Killer calls. He wants to take Gram out for lunch. Part of me is torn. I’d like to tag along and see if he would be taking us all out to lunch, but I know since he is the world’s most stingy man (I once had to shame him by yelling out quite loudly in a restaurant that he forgot his tip), he’d be very unhappy to see me there and well, I also had no desire to listen to a one-sided conversation about himself and the fact he just discovered that Star Wars action figures can do the same job as a well placed gerbil. Ok, I am just being mean. To the gerbil.

Or God forbid, more tales of "Hospital Cop", his security gig at the local hospital. He once told me he was given the most heinous assignments because he lost his sense of smell in the Army. Don't wonder, just go with the flow.

Or how his girlfriend is bleeding him dry. Too much 99 cent store for her!

Or the series finale of Battlestar Galactica (which made me reel with how stupid I found it) and how humans sprang from the stars despite the fossil evidence. Reality it seems is subjective.

So I not only make an excuse for myself, but my other cousin who is sharing this little trek with me, that we need to “run errands”. My cousin is also relieved because she knows her peril. Plus she knows she’ll get a shot on Saturday which is the big party or what’s known as “Free Lunch On The Elderly” day. I think he will be doing a cameo and splitting before his brother, the born again White Supremist shows up. They don’t get along. I think it had something to do with CK being a dullard and his brother being a thug, but that’s just a guess.

Now this cousin I am traveling with is my favorite of the bunch because she has class and style and knows what to do with utensils. But she has siblings in Spokane and she was catching me up to speed. Apparently, her sister whom last I saw looked vaguely similar to beef jerky, has a new career as a “makeup consultant for Walgreens.” I am afraid this inspired me to want to go see this for myself. I wanted to watch her weave magic on the bovine cud chewers. What shade of mascara will attract the most mullets with El Caminos? My cousin who can match me pound for pound in derision and scorn would not indulge me, but we did laugh our asses off.

Getting back to the part with my cousin being able to use utensils, I think I should point out that she has a liberal definition of use. Numerous times, she has said to me, “I am going to so stick you with this fork…” I think she said it when I told her 15 year old niece who hadn’t seen her in the last decade and didn’t recognize her that my cousin just got out of the “joint” for killing a man. Truth is ol’cuz just can’t stomach Spokane, but why tell the truth when you can lie?

So more to come, but I gotcha something finally…