To the US of A

A friend emailed this to me a couple of days ago. The letter's old and has been floating around the internet a couple of years. It's entertaining, so I thought I'd repost it here.

To the citizens of the United States of America,

In the light of your failure to elect a competent President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective today. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths and other territories. Except Utah, which she does not fancy. Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up revocation in the Oxford English Dictionary.

Then look up aluminium. Check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it. The letter ‘U’ will be reinstated in words such as ‘favour’ and ‘neighbour’, skipping the letter ‘U’ is nothing more than laziness on your part. Likewise, you will learn to spell ‘doughnut’ without skipping half the letters. You will end your love affair with the letter ‘Z’ (pronounced ‘zed’ not ‘zee’) and the suffix ize will be replaced by the suffix ise. You will learn that the suffix ‘burgh is pronounced ‘burra’ e.g. Edinburgh. You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as ‘Pittsberg’ if you can’t cope with correct pronunciation. Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look up vocabulary. Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with filler noises such as like and you know is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. Look up interspersed. There will be no more ‘bleeps’ in The Jerry Springer Show. If you’re not old enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn’t have chat shows. When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won’t have to use bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter ‘u’ and the elimination of -ize.

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents. It really isn’t that hard. English accents are not limited to cockney, upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier). You will also have to learn how to understand regional accents – Scottish dramas such as Taggart will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we’re talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as Devonshire in England. The name of the county is Devon. If you persist in calling it Devonshire, all American States will become shires e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to play English characters. British sit-coms such as Men Behaving Badly or Red Dwarf will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy American audience who can’t cope with the humour of occasional political incorrectness.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, God Save The Queen, but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American football. There is only one kind of football. What you refer to as American football is not a very good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays American football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies). We are hoping to get together at least a US Rugby sevens side by 2005. You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the ‘World Series’ for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead of baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls’ game called rounders which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves, collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public than a vegetable peeler. Because we don’t believe you are sensible enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new national holiday, but only in England. It will be called Indecisive Day.

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips. Fries aren’t even French, they are Belgian though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat. Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. The substances formerly known as American Beer will henceforth be referred to as Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine, with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser company whose product will be referred to as Weak Near-Frozen Knat’s Urine. This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last 1000 years in Pilsen, Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of confusion.

13. From November 10th the UK will harmonise petrol (or Gasoline as you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices (roughly $6/US gallon – get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you’re not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you’re not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you’re not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It’s been driving us crazy.

Tax collectors from Her Majesty’s Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).

16. Last but not the least, and for heaven’s sake.....it’s Nuclear as in clear NOT Nucular.

Thank you for your co-operation and have a great day.

John Cleese

Third Gear

Where the hell did my twenties go? They're not over – not even close – but I seem to have lost a couple years in there somewhere. Today, while talking with some friends on a break it occurred to me: I'll be twenty-seven in a couple of months.

[sarcasm]
Oh my god! Twenty-seven?!? You're an old, old bastard now. How did you end up wasting your entire life?
[/sarcasm]

I'm not freaked about it in the least. This is no Sally "someday" moment. I was just surprised at the passage of time. It's just that the experiences that encompass my twenties do not feel significant enough to have spanned six years and some change. It wasn't until I verbalized my age (being closer to thirty than twenty) that it struck me now much time has passed recently. Yeah, I know time's static, and I get the whole "watched pot" thing. It just feels like I lost a couple months in the shuffle somewhere. Caught me a little off guard.

It's like I've been stuck in second gear, and am just now finding third. Gaining some momentum, y'know?

I'm not there yet, but I think my life's starting to come into focus a little bit. Got things to do and people to see. It feels like I think a life should, with plenty to do and plenty more than I hope I find the time for. I have no idea what changed, but it happened pretty recently. It sure did take its sweet time getting here.

Can I find fourth?

Communication Lines

If I have one major flaw it is this: an inability to socialize. I've said it before, and I'm certain it'll come up many more times before I finally conclude this blog, whenever that may be. It is a demon that I will struggle with for the foreseeable future.

The trigger for this particular thread came from an email I received early this morning from my grandparents. It did not have any particular substance to it, and was in fact a little out of character from what I've come to expect from them. Normally, I'll receive a short letter with the happenings or health of the pair, usually revolving around stories of the quiet Pennsylvanian town in which they live. Today I received this link, which leads to a little "Go Team!" animation for the Pittsburgh Steelers (who, if you didn't know, are Super Bowl bound). I didn't realize that either of them followed football, and if they did, were charged up enough about the team to be forwarding this kind of thing to friends and family.

The reason I bring it up is that I probably won't email them back. I never do. Having said that, I probably will just to spite myself, but as a rule the statement rings true. This is not limited to (or directed at) my grandparents in any way shape or form, but rather just another of the many issues with me. I rarely initiate anything socially.

I can't being to guess at the number of people that I've lost contact with over the years. Any sort of long distance relationship of mine suffers due to my lack of follow through (with the exception of John, because he won't let it happen). If I don't see you on a regular basis, then I won't see you unless it's a special occasion.

The worst part is I'm not entirely certain why I do it. I think I rationalize it as not wanting to bother anyone else. Give everyone their peace and quiet and stay the hell out of the way. I'm very protective about my own personal space, and I just assume that everyone else is like that too. The dumb thing about this is that I'll continue the behavior even when I'm expressly invited to something. But, more often than not, I'll find some way to dodge an event if I'm not feeling completely comfortable about the whole thing. I'll make up some bullshit excuse.

All of this leads to the nickname I'd mentioned a few months back: "I-Would-Have Gotten-Away-With-It-Too, If-It-Hadn't-Been-For-You-Meddling-Kids Adam." This is a Scooby Doo reference, if you didn't catch it. I got dubbed with this little handle years ago by my friends, because I kept opting out of things. The nickname became an in-joke, which surfaced after I kept using the same bad excuse (that I had "errands" to run) over and over (which was easily translated by all that heard it). The shorter version of the name is "Crotchety Old Man Adam," which again refers to the stereotypical Scooby Doo villain who's dastardly plot is always accidentally foiled by the gang. He's usually the creepy old introverted guy who nobody ever sees until the episode's end, when his scheme unravels.

I'm fighting off the reflex more and more as of late, trying to confound my own expectations. I am making progress, usually of the forward variety. The blog itself is an affront to the whole idea of hiding behind excuses. I'm doing things that I would not do before. Saying "yes" to what was chronically in the "no" category.

Rhetorical: How much of my personality is dictated by experiences and how much of it by genes, I wonder? Do I have an inherent hardwired issues with communicating? Is it something I learned, and if so, where?

Upgrades and Oversights

Well, I've officially been replaced. That's right – there's a new sheriff in QA town. This morning, after taking the weekend to think over his options, my boss selected another graphic artist to take over my current position. I just need to hang around for a couple of days to cross-train, then I move into the area of the building affectionately known as "the boneyard."

Surprisingly, I was one of the last people to find out about my successor. I knew the decision was coming down today, and had a good idea who was going to fill my chair. My boss just forgot to tell me he'd made a call. He pulled all the individual candidates in privately beforehand (I was right), and then took Michael and the two QA reps and filled them in. I kinda got skipped, finding out only after reading the official congratulatory email. I'm sure it was just an oversight, but amusing nonetheless.

They also began installation of our second digital press today. This sucker's massive, a Hewlett-Packard web press with inline finishing services (translation: uses rolls of paper, rather than sheets and can cut them down to finished pieces itself). It took two full big-rig trailers to get it onsite, and it's going to take somewhere in the neighborhood of two weeks before the technicians are done with it. Forklifts and electricians going in and out all day, and they only managed to get about half of the raw equipment into the building. But it made for an interesting day. I had enough free time to watch a good deal of the process (and scope out my new habitat). It helped that I got to pawn of all my work off on the new girl.

Once this thing's up and running (and the operators get back from their training courses) all hell's gonna break loose. We're just weeks before they plan on selling this stuff and open up the floodgates.

Cartman 2.0

Before I get into another substantive post (a little later tonight), I'd like to share a little of bit of humor and fun.

Someone forwarded this to me, and it got a couple of chuckles. Create your own South Park Persona!

Outed

It turns out I've actually got some real readers now. I found out yesterday that people I actually know spotted this little endeavor of mine. The blog wasn't something I was hiding, but I didn't advertise it either. Apparently Alan was checking traffic on his blog, and traced the link I've got here.

So, I'd like to officially welcome everyone to the show.

Mr. Knight Rider

This past week and a half has been one of the best in recent memory. Surprisingly, I owe a large part of that to the music of David Hasselhoff. Yeah - that Hasselhoff. Mr. Knight Rider.

One of the guys I work with, Michael, is an amateur filmmaker. Michael's the QA lead, who's primary job it is to smooth out our most difficult/delicate situations with clients. In addition to that (and everything else he does), he shoots and edits all of our company videos and tends to joke around with the rest of his time. He's notorious for pranks.

Michael emailed a file to a handful of us on Monday, part of his latest endeavor. He'd downloaded a copy of Hasslehoff's Looking for Freedom from somewhere, and was planning on using it to score some footage he'd shot of one of the IT guys. It's a horrid song, gloriously bad. The track spread like wildfire (or the plague, depending on your musical tastes) amongst most of our friends around the office.

Side Note: Michael can take it as well as he gives it out. A few months ago he went on vacation down in Cabo. He (of course) flaunted his trip in excess prior to leaving, all in good fun. Upon his return he found a Boys Gone Wild DVD box on his desk, with his face cloned onto the cover. All hail Photoshop. On his birthday the IT department moved his desk out onto the back patio of the building (fully connected and operational). Just recently, he went on an extended holiday vacation. We individually wrapped each item on his desk in Christmas paper, right down to his pens.

But I digress.

Not everyone got to hear the awesomely bad musical rendition, including Alea. I ran over to her desk with my laptop (which surprisingly hadn't melted down when I imported the track into iTunes), and gave her a listen. She immediately requested that I burn her a copy, and asked me to fill up the rest of the CD with music I liked. I did my best to load it up with some of my favorites.

The CD mix was a hit, and the gauntlet was thrown down. I agreed to make her another CD if she'd make me one. I got to spend the better part of the last couple of nights pouring through tunes I haven't listened to in months/years. Mixing CDs (cohesively into real albums, not just loading them with random tracks) is something I find very therapeutic. Music triggers a lot of memories for me, of people and periods in my life. Also, Alea's counter-album just kicked ass.

A couple other things have kept me from blogging the past few days.

The online game I play is having a festival. It's basically a long event with Game Masters running special merchants, characters, games and other neat miscellaneous stuff. They're really going above and beyond anything I've experienced in the world in a good long time. I got the chance design a custom alteration of one of my favorite items and got some stuff I've been trying to get my hands on forever. I've had a blast spending my fake in-game coin and roleplaying in some unique encounters.

I've also begun transitioning roles at work. As I said before, I've been working on the development of several huge projects, and have been stretched pretty thin. The Powers That Be have decided to shift me out of my current duties, and into a position that I can work on these new initiatives full-time. This is a good thing. Over the past few months I've basically been working two jobs, and I haven't been able to dedicate enough of my time to either. I'm going to be an integral part of one of the biggest endeavors in the company's history. It's exciting stuff, with huge potential for growth (for both myself and the company).

Adam needs sleep.

Pray-By-Mail

I just ran out to the mailbox to pick up some bills. Mixed in with the meat was the normal assortment of junk mail. Normally, I just pitch the excess, but one of the pieces caught my eye. Probably the oddest piece of junk mail I've gotten in a while.

It looks like a holy chain letter. On the outside:

Dear Jesus,
We pray that you will bless someone in this home spiritually, physically and financially. And please dear Lord, bless the one who's hands open this letter. Make good changes in this one's life and give them the desires of their heart. We pray over and bless this letter in your holy name. Amen.

Inside is a paper "prayer rug" and a brochure, outlining the wondrous changes that will be bestowed on anyone that stares at the enclosed picture of Christ, kneels and prays, then shoves it back into a prepaid envelope with some sort of checklist of prayer requests. No offense to anyone, but this concept eludes me. Not praying, but pray-by-mail.

Are there people out there that feel so spiritually lost that they'd use this? I myself grew up without a specific religious presence in my life (if you couldn't tell already), and while I have nothing but respect for people out there with faith, I just don't fathom this. It's like Publishers' Clearinghouse, gone spiritual.

Check here: [ ] Pray for God to bless me with this amount of money: $________

And the thing's got success stories and scripture quotes all over it. "I did this and got [blank]!" "The Lord healed my throat." "God has blessed us with a big six-room house." I have no doubt it was sent out with the best of intentions, but the whole tone of the piece reads like one of those late-night informercials about selling real estate or spray-on hair. Isn't the point to be selfless? Live a good life, do good things, be kind to others? I'm not trying to belittle the faith, just the (for lack of a better term) spirit of the whole thing. Please give them the desires of their heart, it says.

Not what you need. What you desire.

Capitalism

The primary goal of every business out there is to make money. To better one's own life, and help ensure that the next generation is just a little better off than you were. Capitalism is good. Sometimes, though, it just pisses me off.

Particularly infuriating are re-releases and "special editions" of entertainment products (specifically DVDs and music). Maybe it's just my own bad luck or poor timing, but I always seem to purchase something only to discover shortly thereafter that there's a newer model, or better version of whatever the hell I just bought.

I bought an iPod a few months back, just weeks before they released the color screened variations. Now they've upgraded to the über video models. I like my iPod, but still...

I'm a DVD hound, and have a little more than 200 titles on my shelf. Granted, I've got some crap in my collection, but a vast majority of it is stuff that I just love. I started purchasing DVDs pretty early on, back when VHS was still alive and kicking. When I was younger (with less responsibility and more disposable income), I'd pick up a couple a week every week. This rate of purchasing dwindled, and now I only purchase titles once or twice every couple of months. I can't begin to count how many of my DVDs now have "special editions," filled with features that I couldn't find before. Is George Lucas running the show?

The newest frustration comes at the expense of one of my favorite television shows, Firefly. Ever since the show's cancellation back in 2003 I've wanted to get my hands on a copy of the soundtrack/score. Sure, I could burn some music files off of my DVD set, but I wanted a clean copy of the music, without sound effects, dialogue and other distractions. Nothing was available for years. Right before the release of Serenity (the feature film continuation of the series) I found it – a soundtrack! It was only available for purchase through Fox's online store, but it was what I'd been looking for. Busted out my credit card immediately and started downloading.

Then today comes. I'm browsing on Amazon and notice the soundtrack listed on it. Odd. I pull up the listing and not only does it include the tracks I bought, but five additional tracks that weren't available from the "exclusive" official release from the network. One of the missing tracks was one of my favorite bits of composing for the entire series, a disappointing omission from the first go-round. So now do I pony up the cash for a second copy?

Wash: Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!

I'll spend the money, guys. Just give me fair warning that you're gonna release multiple variations of something. Stop doing it on purpose. Give me the opportunity to evaluate all of the options, and choose the product that I want. Please?

Anonymity

I woke up about a hour early this morning, startled into consciousness by a dream. It's not often that I remember my dreams, and I cannot recall the last time I was awoken by one.

As I think about it, I'm fairly certain I had a couple dreams last night (which I hear is pretty standard). The first couple were of the random, normal, don't-remember-a-thing-about-them variety. I was half-awake when the last one hit me, and it only lasted a couple of minutes.

This particular dream was unsettling, and stuck with me for a good portion of my morning. I wouldn't call it a bad dream, in the strictest sense, mainly because it doesn't follow fit into one of the standard archetypes of a true nightmare. It just felt like it had actually happened, and I couldn't shake the feeling for several hours. Maybe it was the fact I wasn't totally asleep?

The dream's pretty simple. In it I was online, checking out the forums for the online MUD I play. Just checking out posts, reading up on the news – you know, normal stuff. I stumbled across a post about me. A flame. A raving, blatantly dishonest portrayal about something I supposedly said or did (which I didn't). I logged into the game (again in my dream) and there was more of it, just this one guy up on his soapbox, spewing hate in my direction. I was confused more than anything, because I like to think of myself as a generally nice guy and could not figure out what triggered it.

Now the part that spooked me was what he was saying. Somehow the guy had all of my personal information, stuff that I don't give out (full name, phone numbers, details about my family, etc). It was like the flaming itself was completely unimportant, just a way to grab the attention of as many people as possible and get to the true purpose: a complete and utter loss of my anonymity.

I'm not particularly paranoid of putting myself out there on the internet. Like most people, I am concerned about things like identity theft, stalkers, and enjoy the shield that a good pseudonym provides. I try to be careful and omit crucial details (names are often changed to protect the innocent). It was just that fact that I couldn't stop the boulder from rolling downhill and crushing everything. Pandora's Box.

I'm not looking for a psychoanalysis, although I'm certain someone tag me with a pretty accurate one. I write it off as random neuron firing, triggered by things I was doing as a fell asleep (with a little bit of Freud and some subconscious anxieties thrown in there). I just felt like writing about it.

Dad & Liz

My father and his wife, Liz, drove down for a visit on Thursday. It was only the third time I'd seen them in the past two years (we usually only communicate annually, but my sister just had the first grandchild). I don't really know how to describe the evening. Maybe it would help if I filled in some back-story...

My mother died when I was thirteen. Early in the year she came down with what seemed like a tenacious cold. She waited the obligatory time for it to pass naturally, and when it didn't headed off to the doctor's office for some professional help. In May she was diagnosed with colon cancer and she died in December. It was an aggressive strain, which had already spread to other organs before it was caught. She went downhill quickly – all the chemotherapy and treatments available did nothing. Being thirteen, the entire experience passed in some sort of surreal haze, like a dream about your life that you can only observe.

My father, sister and I are all very much alike. Peas in a pod, or whatever clever analogy you'd want to use. We did the same things, had the same hobbies, liked the same kinds of food. It's one of the things that makes Christmas shopping so damned easy (I just think "What would I like?"). My mom didn't fit into our little clique. She had her own interests, her own life, but was still as much a part of the family as rest of us. She was the glue that kept everything together.

After her death, we all mourned silently. There was no funeral, no open grieving, no formal declaration that she was gone. The three of us just went about our lives, trying to grasp on to some sense of normalcy. We all retreated back into our routines, but without our anchor began to drift apart. We projected the appearance that all was well, but it really wasn't.

Working for Xerox, Dad had accepted a job up in Los Angeles several years earlier. Due to the extreme commute, he had purchased a boat that he stayed on a couple times a week. While my mother was ill he was around constantly. After she died his presence slowly eroded over the next three years, until one day a week up north transformed into one day a week down south.

I spent the next couple of years testing boundaries. Without any sort of check and balance I just kinda drifted. I had just started my freshman year of high school when my mother died, a period that (I imagine) is difficult enough as it is. I had almost complete autonomy, sans financial independence, and was treated as a full-fledged adult amongst the family. This lead to a lackluster scholastic attitude (I only did enough to get by), and a lot of time spent amongst friends. I make no excuses for my choices now, looking back with an analytical retrospect. The other substantial event during this time was the relationship I described in an earlier blog.

My sister was the first to openly rebel from the illusion. She, like my father, spent more and more time out of the house, days at a time with her boyfriend (now husband) and his family. About the time of my ill-fated relationship and live-in girlfriend she came to the conclusion that she'd had enough of the whole thing. She moved out and fell off the grid. A lot of emotions had been bottled up between the three of us, some of the nastier ones surfaced during her departure.

A few years passed without anyone having any contact. Finally, after realizing how stupid we'd all been, a reunion was scheduled. Wounds healed, and blood forgiven. Amy and I, having been very close before, fell right back to our old dynamic (after the mandatory awkwardness, of course). Dad, on the other hand... the relationship between parent and offspring was never quite the same.

Dad, I think, ended up abandoning the conventions of his previous life. He became quasi-retired, giving up the corporate world he'd used to support the family. He took a job working in the local marine supply shop, which along with assorted odd jobs around the harbor, provide him with enough coin to supply food, liquor and the occasional bag of marijuana. Dad gets to wear sandals and shorts, travel in his dingy to work, and let his dog Chewy galavant around the store during business hours. I think the world of my father, don't get me wrong. He's happy.

And, as I mentioned, he got remarried. Liz is a kind-hearted woman, and quite a character to boot. She's a little fried, but it's a quality that adds a lot of memorability to most of her stories. Dad describes her as a "trip," often saying that she'd (at one point or another) been addicted to every substance known to man. While clean now, she has one lung and emphysema, so is obviously not in the greatest of health.

The two of them complement each other well. They're part of the "scene" up in Los Angeles, constantly throwing parties on the boat, or attending local events and concerts around the major metropolitan area. They seem to have a vast network of friends, each more interesting than the last. It's not the type of life that either my sister and I would choose, but it suits them.

Reckon that's enough information to get back to (what was, before the tangent) the crux of my post: the visit.

It was odd, I gotta say. We did the small-talk thing, caught up, and had dinner at my sister's. Dad and Liz got some face-time with the grandchild, and everyone laughed and joked. Under the surface, though, that intimacy between generations was just gone. It felt more like the interaction between distant cousins, or the way a teenager would react to a grandparent. No substance. Dad was obviously proud of the way his children have come into their own, Liz was just happy Liz. Gary seemed to be uncomfortable (not being fond of dogs). Amy and I seemed to be pretty much normal-ish.

The whole thing just felt weird. A quote from Garden State keeps getting stuck in my head as I try to vocalize my thought. Since I can't seem to express the idea to my satisfaction, I'll just leave you with the quote. Been going on way longer than I meant to anyways.

Andrew: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew: You'll see one day when you move out. It just sorta happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know? You won't ever have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself. You know, for–For you kids. For the family you start. It's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know? Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.