I’m not dead
[ 3 Comments ] Posted on 11.27.04 in family, music
I’m currently writing from the toasty second bedroom of my grandparent’s house in Clayton, Georgia. Right now, it’s a balmy 42 degrees Fahrenheit outside and I couldn’t be happier to be indoors for once. My return to civilization as we know it in the smaller latitudes won’t come too soon.
The one thing that’s made this endeavor into the frigid recesses of the boonies is my long-awaited 40 gigabyte Apple iPod. I had been storing my meager funds ever since my car insurance had been payed off for the year. The “iPod Fund’s” initial contribution was my final paycheck from my job at the daycare this summer, but not much was added since, due primarily to a lack of resources.
My parents, being the divinely wonderful people they are, went ahead and satisfied my two-year longing with the arrival of the twenty fourth of November (my brother, Ian, was also instrumental in the planting of the iPod seed within their minds); twenty three hours of song transfer later, I had roughly twenty days of music to entertain myself with during this arduous pilgrimage to the north. It is the most fun you can have with your pants on and your blender off.
Even so, I can’t wait to be home tomorrow.
These go to 11
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 11.16.04 in family, movies
I feel ashamed to say that before last night, none of may family has been privy to the wonder that is This Is Spinal Tap.
What’s even worse is that after buying the VHS version of the movie from Walgreens for $3.99 and watching it after our sojourn to Monty’s, the neighborhood pizza place, my father and mother did not give off vibes of extreme excitement for having been shown the light after 20 years of darkness.
I am seriously now considering that it is entirely possible that I was adopted.
Bad George
[ No Comments ] Posted on 07.31.04 in family, funny stories
A few weeks ago, Ian put the capital into an investment of 100 Polo shirts from a supplier. They’ve never been opened, are in original packaging, and have a retail price of $52.50. We decided to resell them to try and turn a profit. And, regrettably, we went to the flea market. Charging $20.00 a piece, we sold $100.00 worth in shirts. Not too successful, given the surplus inventory we have. But what made the venture worth it was George.
George is a regular. 89 years young, he knows everyone by name as they do him, and he greets everyone with a smile. He admits that he moves at the speed of a 98 year-old, but mentally, he’s quick as a fox and twice as sly. He sells things you would normally find in a drugstore, you know – toothpaste and Mach 3 razors and the like. Until about 12:30 he sat at the booth next to ours, imparting immeasurable wisdom upon us.
First, it was about the flea market. After over 20 years he knows what’s too expensive, what will and won’t last, and the types of items that sell best. But then our conversations turned broader. We touched upon subjects of race, sex, religion, and age.
My favorite George-ism was when he explained interracial relationships. He thinks that every white young lady who becomes involved with a brother is bound to be beat. When asked why they stay with the abuser he answers, “They like that black oak.”
I will miss George. From now on, no more flea markets for us.