– Woke up hungover
+ Hangover hung around all day
– Made coffee. Chronicled the events of Friday. Made an egg sandwich.
– Got fish tacos, rice and beans, and an horchata from El Palmar. I wasn’t even hungry, but I knew I wouldn’t eat again for a few hours, so I shoved food into my face. I truck with this line of logic a lot and it’s pretty dumb. The “eat three meals a day” nuclear family ideal has been baked into my brain. But I should not eat if I’m not hungry.
– Took the train to the train to the suburbs for a farewell family dinner with parents, aunt, uncle, young twin cousins
+ Dad’s menu: baked cherry peppers stuffed with sausage and cheese, wine-marinated brisket, garlic mashed potatoes made with chicken stock, haricots vert, challah, pickles
– Mom orchestrated an elaborate treasure hunt for the twins for no reason
– Mom very sweetly made me a cake that illustrates my impending move to New York and just so happens to uncannily resemble the events of 9/11
– The menfolk watched the Bears game, the ladies poured over the scrapbook my mom made for my sister’s wedding
– Dad drove me back to the city, told me some of his New York stories: Psychotic relatives in parts of Brooklyn where Russian Jews reconstructed communities from the old country down to who sat on the local chamber of commerce, Yiddish the only language ever spoken; distant cousins who made saltless pot roasts on oppressively hot days after cross country family road trips; passover seders with fraternity brothers from BU who smoked a joint before every course; an obligation to represent his branch of the family at a shiva in Newark where he ducked out, made out with a beautiful girl who he never saw again.
– A few friends stopped by to help me drink my remaining booze, smoke what’s left of my pot
+ They brought their dog and we put hats on it
+ We ate leftover 9/11 cake