Probably I should update this

After all, that is what one does with a blog. I’ve let it lapse too long.


Something that happened here was that we played some poker. Just Hold ’Em, because they weren’t gutsy enough for dealer’s choice. It was just Jay, Ben, and me, with a three-dollar buy-in. I joined in late when I came by and saw them playing. Jay knocked Ben out shortly after I got in, and then I proceeded to beat Jay. Thus, I won six dollars. Jay thought he only had to give me the three that he won from Ben, but I eventually convinced him that he owed me three too. I’m still not sure what I told him to convince him made sense, but it was in response to what he’d said, which definitely made no sense, so it worked out in the end somehow at least. Later we had a poker study break, and I stuck around to the last hand, but lost it to Ben. This time there was no cash buy-in, so all Ben did was win Departed the DVD.

Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone. I got a ride with a different guy this time, whose name really is Dan Malarkey. In Ohio, he lives in the same neighborhood as Dave Chappelle. It was snowing pretty good as we left Grinnell, but we came out of that by about Illinois. So, we talked awhile as he drove me to his house. He’s interested in film and stuff. Senior, French major. Then Mom picked me up and drove me to Cincinnati.

We had Thanksgiving at Grandma & Grandpa’s house. Nice to get back home again and remember all these people that I’m still related to. And I get to come back yet again, for quite a while, in just three to four weeks! Thanksgiving made me happy. I ate far too much, but it didn’t seem like enough. As always, we had wildly inappropriate dinner conversation, which we always try not to do, but it happens anyhow. That’s us. Then I ate more – pumpkin pie and a black cow – and watched Ratatouille with Sierra, and she made me pretend I was that rat in the movie and had to lead her everywhere. I lost a pool game, which was too bad, but I still played a pool game. In sadder news, we’re toning down Christmas this year. Each adult is only buying one present; we did a drawing to see who’s buying for whom. (But it’s a secret, so I can’t tell who I’m buying for.) It makes things simpler and saves some money, but it seems like it’ll take the spirit out of the present-opening part. I like there to be lots of presents and a long time opening them all and wondering if there are any more for you. This year, we’ll just get one present, and there’ll only be one surprise in store for us. We’ll be in front of the tree for maybe ten minutes. I guess most of the participants are pretty jaded as regards the surprise element, having done this stuff for decades, but for me it’s still something special. I guess I’m still a kid, even if I wasn’t allowed to be one in the drawing (kids don’t have to buy, and get presents from everyone), and Christmas still gives me that something to look forward to. This year it’s less to be looked forward to. Seems like we’re regarding it more as a chore, like, “Ahh, Christmas is coming again. Snorrre.” I still like it. The other argument for it was, “Who needs that much stuff?” Well, I’m as Thoreauvian as1 the next guy, but even if you like to “Simplify, simplify,” it’s still really nice to get presents, and I mean, it only comes once a year. Maybe I’ll buy presents for everyone. Maybe I won’t, because I don’t have much money or a car or a mall, but maybe I will. I guess I’ll continue considering it.

We wrapped up Turkey Day with a Scrabble game, and drove off to our respective homes feeling full and happy.

On Saturday night, I had a little fun. I called up A—2 and we completed a plan we’d devised earlier, to go out on a midnight run to ihop. (“Did you know ihop is pohi backwards? POHI!!” —Keith, last year) He drove by and picked me up at about 0145. We collected another friend of his, S—, and went about trying to find gas, which was a complete fiasco. S— had to call up one of her friends, who told her where a station was. We weren’t on fumes getting there, but not too far away. Then he drove us to the ihop on Colerain and we had some breakfast. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but got pancakes. A— got a full-sized breakfast and S— said she’d have my third pancake if I wasn’t hungry enough. They both mainly had coffee. A— tried to drink his normally, but S— kept putting sugar packets in it. Like, five of them. And creamers, too. And he drank it anyhow. She also kept throwing stuff at him. She was pretty slap-happy. A— threw stuff too. Heck, I joined in the fun. S— made a cootie catcher, and I drew a creepy splitting face on it. We ate our pancakes; I gave S— my last one because there was no way I was going to eat it. They were both broke, and I’d known from the beginning that I was financing the venture, but it was worth it, and anyhow it was only about twelve dollars, plus tip, plus I paid for that gas. A—‘s going to pay me back, though. We left ihop and, at S—‘s behest, moved along to the Colerain Historical Cemetery. She’d been there before, though not by night. It took us ten or fifteen minutes to get to it, down a long and winding road. It’s marked by an old wooden sign, and after that there’s a lengthy gravel path through some tall grass. At 0350, it was decidedly weird. We came to a sunken field surrounded by a low fence, with a scattering of headstones in it. The moon illuminated streaky clouds and accentuated the frozen air. There weren’t many headstones, so the tour was short. Some of them had been broken down by vandals. I only read one, which marked about four graves in a family, dated around the 1890s. There was a section in a corner sunken a little farther than the rest of the cemetery, which was apparently the children’s section, but we didn’t go to it. I wanted to get home at a kind of reasonable time, so we didn’t linger forever. A— drove us back down the gravel path, this time avoiding the giant pothole. Then he dropped me off at my house, around 0430. We need to do that again! …Maybe without S—. She basically served to make a huge mess, and give us a few chuckles by throwing stuff at A—.

  1. more Thoreauvian than 

  2. Name redacted just in case, because his parents are kinda strict, even though we didn’t do anything bad 

File under: adventure, deep thoughts, college


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Anonymous

History

Don’t worry about the gifts. You’ll still get some from some people, and Joe’s not going to be here, nor are Dan and Tracy so it’ll be quieter already. But it is tough sometimes letting go of the magic of Christmas when you take on more of the responsibilities of it. Sometimes growing up is a bummer. I will play Scrabble with you again. By the way, send me a little Santa Claus letter one of these days, the way you used to do. It’ll help. Love, Grandma

Reply

Bug

History

Well, you’re the 7th hit for ‘dasanki’, and I noticed POHI…

Damn funny, the Finneytown Secondary article was, BTW. Thanks for lightening up my week; it made me feel better about my own crazy education.

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