I'll spare you (and myself) the "holyshitwhenwasthelasttimeIblogged" diatribe and jump right in.
The holidays were fabu: Dara's dad came out to visit (!) and saw the west coast for the first time since he shipped out to WW2. Wild, ehn? We carted him all overthehell, wore him out pretty well, and stuck him on a jet. Then we head up to Mammoth for New Years and hung with 9 friends in 2 condos that we rented, spent FAR too much money (we dubbed it the "let's pretend we're nouveau riche" vacation), skiied, cross-country skiied, drank like guppies, somehow acquired controlled substances, consumed them, and came back on the 2nd.
Good times. Great oldies.
Ever notice how those 2 absolutely must go together?
So I'm steering the blog here in a different direction, taking a cue from a psuedo-acquaintance Shane Nickerson . He traced his life from year to year from the day he was born, a year a post. So here we go...
1970 - This year I don't remember much from. I know that Jimi Hendrix died on the day I was born, but I have an alibi. Anyoldway, on Sept. 18th, Ruth and Robert McGarry popped out a kid in Melrose Park, Illinois and - for some reason- named him Russell Anthony McGarry ( I share a birthday with Lance Armstrong, Greta Garbo, Cubs 2nd baseman Ryne Sandberg, and Robert Blake). I spent my first year living in LaGrange, Illinois, about 20 miles west of the city of Chicago, in a 2 bedroom apartment. I imagine I spent most of my time crapping myself and spitting up on my parents, but I dunno. For my first Christmas, all I probably wanted was to be changed out of shiatty diapers and spit up on my parents.
I met my insane family this year for the first time: Emilia and Antonio, my mom's folks, Betty and Bob, my dad's, and Uncle Tony, his wife Pat, twin aunts Barb and Bridget, Aunt Beth, and special guest Jamie Farr.
I keed.
All in all, I'm thinking was a pretty good year for me. Lots of sleep, people "goo-gooing" me all the time, and did I mention shiatting myself? Good.
The holidays were fabu: Dara's dad came out to visit (!) and saw the west coast for the first time since he shipped out to WW2. Wild, ehn? We carted him all overthehell, wore him out pretty well, and stuck him on a jet. Then we head up to Mammoth for New Years and hung with 9 friends in 2 condos that we rented, spent FAR too much money (we dubbed it the "let's pretend we're nouveau riche" vacation), skiied, cross-country skiied, drank like guppies, somehow acquired controlled substances, consumed them, and came back on the 2nd.
Good times. Great oldies.
Ever notice how those 2 absolutely must go together?
So I'm steering the blog here in a different direction, taking a cue from a psuedo-acquaintance Shane Nickerson . He traced his life from year to year from the day he was born, a year a post. So here we go...
1970 - This year I don't remember much from. I know that Jimi Hendrix died on the day I was born, but I have an alibi. Anyoldway, on Sept. 18th, Ruth and Robert McGarry popped out a kid in Melrose Park, Illinois and - for some reason- named him Russell Anthony McGarry ( I share a birthday with Lance Armstrong, Greta Garbo, Cubs 2nd baseman Ryne Sandberg, and Robert Blake). I spent my first year living in LaGrange, Illinois, about 20 miles west of the city of Chicago, in a 2 bedroom apartment. I imagine I spent most of my time crapping myself and spitting up on my parents, but I dunno. For my first Christmas, all I probably wanted was to be changed out of shiatty diapers and spit up on my parents.
I met my insane family this year for the first time: Emilia and Antonio, my mom's folks, Betty and Bob, my dad's, and Uncle Tony, his wife Pat, twin aunts Barb and Bridget, Aunt Beth, and special guest Jamie Farr.
I keed.
All in all, I'm thinking was a pretty good year for me. Lots of sleep, people "goo-gooing" me all the time, and did I mention shiatting myself? Good.
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