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My Profile
Because I can't bear to eulogize Doug - 2008-08-19
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10:31 a.m. - 2003-04-09
It's fugly outside. Drippy and the most recent snow is patchy and sloppy. It's been difficult to wake all the way up. What with the time change and that the sun hasn't shown itself for days, we are all just stumbling around blinking sleepily and nodding out at inappropriate times. Last night Alex fell asleep during dinner. It was pretty funny and reminded me of a story. I've spoken of Mrs. B. Mrs. B the Story Lady had a wicked sharp sense of humor, but she also enjoyed such low antics as body noises and prat falls. Basically, everything made her laugh. When I was little my family and I would have dinner with the B's on Wednesday nights. Mrs. B would cook up an enormous pasta dinner and we'd sit around the table laughing and talking half the night. Mrs. B had three kids and her youngest was the same age as my little sister. Marco was always on the go. He played hard and just went full tilt boogie all day long. By dinnertime he was exhausted. Marco would suck down a plate of spaghetti and then ask for seconds. Mrs. B would load his plate, making sure to put a lot of sauce on the noodles and pass it back. We'd keep talking and eating, but we also started watching Marco. Marco would take a bite or two and then simply run out of gas. He'd yawn a couple times. Then his fork would drop from his hand and PLOP! He'd go face first into his plate. It was hysterical. Every week! Sick bastards, all of us. We were evil enough to watch this poor kid fall asleep and take a header into his spaghetti every week. And my how we laughed! Especially his mother. Marco going face first into the pasta was like the high point of our lives. Just before his 25th birthday Marco was killed in an auto accident. He was on his motorcycle and an 80 year old man who was legally blind took Marco out with one swipe of his old man's Lincoln Continental. The funeral was surreal. Mr. B is a big kahuna in state politics. Marco wasn't just a guy who rode a motorcycle, he was a biker. So the wake was totally bizarre. Big time politicos, even the Lt Governor, were there out respect for Mr. B. Marco's gang members were there in full force too. It's traditional for them to wear their baddest biker outfits to send-offs for fellow bikers. Heartsick and stunned over the loss of my "little brother", I tried to cope, but I simply lost it. Not crying. No, I was laughing. The utter weirdness of seeing waspy Senator Blueblood making polite chit-chat with a 350 pound guy with a bone through his nose and his huge tattooed bare belly bulging out from his leather vest just sent me over the edge. The Chanel suited Lt Governor twiddling her pearls standing next to a babe in ass-less spandex pants and a chain mail bra. Surreal. Completely surreal. Finally I got my shit together and got the giggles under control. I went up to the casket. Marco’s sister joined me. We knelt side by side and said our silent prayers. The kneeler started shaking. I looked over at Antonia. She was working hard not to break up. She had the giggles too. I whispered, “What? Turk and the Gov?” She shook her head and snorted. She mimed falling asleep. The spaghetti! Oh God, the spaghetti. With a mutual wail, we grabbed each other. Crying and laughing, we somehow got to our feet and still clutching each other staggered out of the viewing room. We sat outside, smoking and sharing Marco stories until we’d cried and laughed it all out. I miss you, Spaghetti Face. And love you still. It’s Wednesday. Think I’ll make pasta for dinner. ~LA
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