Monday, March 16, 2009


You would think that because my "ancestry," if you could call it that, includes four generations of Chicago cops I would have managed to hit up the South Side Irish Parade before this year, just because. It's a Chicago tradition. Technically it's a relatively new tradition based off of an old tradition that got snatched away from the Chicago Irish, who are the collective batshit murderers of plenty of frustrating things that make people angry, like Irish American pride, Catholicism, bad beer, and the White Sox.

I'm allowed to say these things, because half of my family is like that.

But no, that's a half lie... The cop part of my family is the Italian side. They speak with that Chicago Italian accent and everything they do focuses on the stereotypical masculine: food, sports, beer. Simple, really. They're all proud to be a "cop" family, even though Poppy was the last one, and he left the force in like, the early sixties, and now they're all businessmen and accountants. But before then, it was four generations of police officers and butchers, and chances are they were crooked.

The Irish part of my family is a group of over-educated liberals from Sauganash. The kind of people who collect secondary degrees like Bluebeard collects the heads of wives, who would rather play Master Mind than baseball. They just sit around acting smart all the time and talking about books and history and markets and I never understand, ever, but my sisters do, and I just sit there and get drunk and yell things at them that I know, just to prove that I'm not completely retarded.

"Blah blah consumption and distribution blahgitty blah blah," someone will say while drinking like, a high-end beer no one has heard of, or a glass of red wine. They probably know exactly how the grapes were culled, and whether or not "culled" is the correct word to describe whatever you do to grapes. Or, for the sake of uniformity and grammatical tense, whatever you did to grapes. No, that's not right...

I interrupt whatever they're saying. "The 1973 Academy Awards were crap. Tatum O'Neil should have been up for best actress. None of this supporting nonsense. How is it that the ugly woman that bangs Robert Redford in The Sting wasn't up for shit? She was awesome."

"What are you talking about?" one would say.

"You weren't even alive then," another would contribute.

It occurs to me that they're probably arguing about the Civil War or Ancient Greece or something, but I just keep going. "And isn't it weird that both Robert Redford and Paul Newman totally get with chicks that really aren't that hot? Eileen Brennan? Who the fuck is she? Miss Bannister, that's who."

"Who is Miss Bannister?"

"Pippi Longstocking's like...teacher...whatever. The old whore who runs the school they make her go to to learn math and then Pippi gets everyone ice cream. And then in The Sting she's an old whore...ohhhhh."

"You watch too many movies," whoever I'm talking to would shake his or her head, and turn back to the important conversation at hand about like, saving the economy or whatever.

"And she was totally on Blossom."


Originally, this was going to be a post about getting drunk at the parade yesterday. But, much like every single paper I wrote in college, I decided to make it about something else halfway through, and conclude nothing.



Le Meems said...

Then this post, much like your family , can be summarized by the following...

"and chances are they were crooked."

Mrs. Booms said...

Private Benjamin



CLUE, bitches. My sister and I watched that movie, rewinding, fast forwarding, making sure every little thing was plausible.

Anonymous said...

Everyone in my husband's family is either an engineer or chemist. In my family, chemistry is not encouraged. So my attempts at conversation follow much the same lines as yours.

Rygantron said...

2005, White Sox: God, what a boring fucking World Series.

Anonymous said...

dude, i was looking forward to a funny recap about dogs and kilts and hot uniformed men.
and i was there to witness it all, but wanted a wonderful recap.


Anonymous said...

I read this post while waiting in line at Wendy's. Then I totally bungled my order. Rassles is a one-woman hazard to organized, civil society.

Anonymous said...

Blossom! Today I danced just like she does that the opening of her TV show. But with a poop rake in the barn. Oh, and there was country music on the radio. Nevermind.

Fantastic Forrest said...

It is impossible to watch too many movies. You sound like the cool sister.

And, yes, Dimitra Arliss was great in The Sting. I was totally surprised that she was the hitwoman!! So what if you weren't born then. Keep educating your siblings with your insightful observations. Some of it may stick.

Anonymous said...

there's no such thing as watching too many movies

paperback reader said...

Chances are, my family was too boring to ever have a run-in with the law. And when parts of our family become too boring, we just stop talking to them. It really saves the day.

Lailani Ali said...

I handed in my first paper in my first college class. My teacher sat me down and said- I asked you for a comic book, but you gave me war & peace.
Which may or may not have anything to do with this post.

Rassles said...

Meems: True that. Perhaps I should let you title my posts from now on, because I totally had a hard time with this one.

Boomer: I COMPLETELY FORGOT SHE WAS IN CLUE. You blow my mind with your knowledge.

Franklin: Someday, I will be able to hold my own with the smarty-arties. I can't wait.

Ry: Don't remind me, I can't even think about it. That series ruined Journey for me. Fucking South siders, adopting "Don't Stop Believing" as their motto and taking every opportunity they can to yell, "You can put it on the booooaarrrd...YES!"

Gyna: You got it, hooker.

Erin: Next time, get me some chili.

Mongo: were just dancing with a rake covered in crap. Just like Blossom. Did you have a skirt made of neckties?

Fantastic Forrest: Well, thank you. But if you tell my sisters that, they'll start shrieking, and then the dog will start barking, and everything just sucks.

Nurse: I concur.

Pistols: My family is pretty boring, that's a lie. We're all amazing and destined for greatness.

LaiLani: But wouldn't a comic book have been much more fun? Still, no one likes an overachiever. No, that's a lie too. Damn.

Bluestreak said...

The conclusions get me every fucking time. If I don't have one, I don't post, which is why I never post, because to conclude you have to have something to say, and most of the time, I just don't. Which is just a retarded notion, because you could have a conversation over a beer and that shit could be funny as hell and interesting and meaningful and you don't need to close wrap it all up like a speech, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to post anything where I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. Which means, I just shut up and don't blog and then I get mad at myself for it.

I'm considering starting a new blog where I follow absolutely no rules whatsoever.

~Mountain Lover~ said...

Shit, I'm far behind on blogs. in my defense Rassles, you're way too smart for me to read when I'm teetering on insanity and living in a dumpster. Anyway, I only really logged in to say . . .


Um... that about covers it.

Oh yeah. My grandpa (my dad's dad) lives 2.5 hours southwest of Chicago and he says stuff like, "Yous guys." He's like 2nd generation American (from Germany). Regardless, I'm pretty convinced he's part of the mob. Who else says yous?