First things first, I’d like to welcome Uncle Frank and Aunt Janet to the wonderful world of the internet and say congrats on their first ever computer.  It’s been a busy few weeks for me–I’m training for a new job and still working at Once and Again plus thesis plus the research paper for the online class I’m taking is due next week–so my free time went from slim to none relatively quickly and I haven’t managed to wiggle blog back in until today.

And logically…in the middle of me drafting this post…my Aunt and Uncle got a computer, so I had to do a little revising…just a little though.

The Hashbrown Metaphor

The hashbrowns in this story are not real hashbrowns (thus, “metaphor”) although there is some really bad wine.

A few months ago, my aunt and uncle (or my great aunt and great uncle for those of you who like your technicalities.  My Uncle Frank is my Grandpa’s brother.  As I seem to have more of these ‘greats’ than your average bear, I’m going to continue saving myself a syllable as I’ve been doing my entire life) realized that their cable bill was too high and called Comcast to see if they could lower it.  Comcast said, well, if you bundle it with internet the bill will be lower by a good bit.  So they got internet, and this is where the hashbrown metaphor comes in.

When we go to Pennsylvania, I assume that I’m going to be disconnected from whatever online life I have at the moment.  I get over it.  I move on, and I figure out what I’ve missed when I come back.  My mom is the opposite, in large part because she’s a realtor and has to go online to get work done.  She was excited that for the first time ever we were going to be able to walk up the hill from Grandma Alice’s to Uncle Frank’s and get online. Personally, I wouldn’t have touched it with a thirty nine and a half foot pole(sometimes you can just feel a headache coming from a mile away), but like good family members Dad, Aunt Polly, Grandma Alice and I hiked up the hill with my mom to try and figure out how to use their brand new internet.

We sat down in the kitchen, Aunt Janet fed us even though we weren’t hungry (because she’s wonderful like that, and the pizzelles were delicious 🙂 ), and my mom tried to log on to the internet.

It didn’t work.

Broken.  Clearly it was my mom’s fault.  Mom broke the internet.  All of the internet.  And if my mom didn’t break it, then my dad touched it (because you can touch the internet…poke!), and if my dad didn’t break it, well, then, John set it up so it’s probably his fault.  You see where this is going?  Circles.

So somewhere in the confusion of my mom trying to fix the internet, and my dad trying to fix the internet, and John (my uncle’s son in law) driving over and trying to fix the internet Uncle Frank tries to get Aunt Janet to explain to us why they got internet in the first place and the hashbrown metaphor was born.  As my wise Aunt Polly said, it’s like when you go to McDonalds and you want a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee, but for some reason it’s 15¢ cheaper to just get the meal with the hashbrown included even though you don’t want the hashbrown.  But what do you do with that hashbrown after you’ve got it?  You either throw it away because you didn’t want it in the first place or you eat it because it’s there and you might as well not waste it.  So my eighty something year old uncle just purchased his very first computer so that he can use the internet he’s already paying for.  Eating his hasbrown, so to speak.  Be afraid internet.  Be very afraid.  🙂

In the middle of the arguing–because we’re Italian and that’s what we do; we holler at each other for no reason and it’s somehow normal.  Ha! Normal–Uncle Frank pulls out the bottle of wine pictured above.  We resist for a while.  The bottle says it’s a white whine.  Poured, it’s a funky yellowish brown; not the color of any white wine I’ve ever seen.  But Uncle Frank says it’s fantastic wine.  Says he’s been drinking it all day.  Says we should try the wine.  It’s good wine.  It’s great wine.  Aged 10 years.  You buying this?  We weren’t buying this.

It got to the point where we couldn’t say “no thank you” anymore and brave Aunt Polly took a sip.

Remember the face you made the first time you ate a Warhead?  It reminded me of that.  She took one sip and her face contorted into this weird pucker/grimace that I really do wish I had on video.

Then she passed it to the left and I was on the chopping block.  And then I know my dad took a sip.  I think it’s really amazing how we all make very similar puckery faces.  The wine had definitely turned to vinegar.  When I told Frankie (Uncle Frank’s son) about “10 year old aged to perfection wine” the next day at the wedding he laughed and told me “maybe from when I was 10.”  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?  Or, at the very least, more cautious.

For the record, we did finally fix the internet.  And subscribe him to the Scribbler Experiment, because why not?  So…if I’m in trouble now, just remember Uncle Frank that I only pick on you because I love you…and also, that means you’ve figured out how to check your email!  Which is awesome!  So, I’ll accept being in trouble gracefully and hope that you guys have learned to check your emails.

Orange Shirt Guy

As everyone now knows, the main reason we went up to PA in the first place was for my 2nd cousin Juliet’s wedding.  We all had a wonderful time, and I’m not going to go through every little detail of the wedding, but I really wanted to introduce everyone to orange shirt guy because he made my night. (And I’m leaving the picture tiny for a reason.  Trust me.  It just gets worse when you full screen it)

This is orange shirt guy.  Earlier on in the night my aunt had asked me why so many guys were wearing orange shirts; wondering if I had heard of some new fashion trend that she hadn’t.  Still not sure why there were so many of them…maybe 5 to 7 of them total, but that’s a really bright color for a guy…at a wedding.

But anyways Grandma Alice had already danced a good while and she was chillin’ at her table resting her feet (she was seated with my other aunts and uncles at a table conveniently located next to the dance floor).  We had come over to sit with her when the dollar dance (I think that’s what it was) started.  A huge line of people forms and in it, directly in front of us, is orange shirt guy (who, for the record, Juliet says is a “nice Italian boy” although I can’t remember his name for the life of me…oops).

Since he’s standing directly in front of us I, logically, have to ask him: “so, why the orange shirt.”

“I don’t know,” he replies, “do you like it?”

“Yeah,” I say, “It’s pretty cool.”

“Do you like my bow tie?” He asks.

“Heck yeah!” I answer enthusiastically. “Awesome bow tie.” I don’t think that photo was oddly lighted…I think his bow tie was actually purple.

“Thanks,” he says. “I tied it myself.” Billy Nye the Science Guy also ties his own bow ties…in case anyone was wondering.

“Is that your Grandma?” He motions to Grandma Alice sitting relaxed at the table.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Can I dance with her?” He asks.  Such a nice Italian boy.

“If you can get her to stand back up,” I agree, “you go right ahead.”

Obviously, he got her to stand back up, and she had so much fun dancing with him.  So thank you orange shirt guy.  You are awesome-ness.  Period.

And that, dear friends, was the story of orange shirt guy.

Alright, well, I’m going to go work on my research paper, and then maybe sing “Hello” to my cats (and if you pop by my house I’ll sing hello to you to: practice, practice, practice).  No clue what next post will be about, but I promised it’ll pop up in a timely fashion this time.

Have a great week everyone!