Italians Love Walmart.

I love Thanksgiving.

During this weekend in late November, my Thanksgiving is spent surrounded by Italians who are forever nursing the "When in Doubt, Make Pasta" philosophy. Surprisingly enough, I am comforted by the casual yelling, the chaotic 8:5 kid to adult ratio, the endless questions of "Are you hungry? Would you like twelve more meatballs?" Maybe this is only born of the fact that I've been around it my whole life. Otherwise, how could one explain my tolerance of my huge Italian family, which unsurprisingly enough, pure-blood Irish Dad can't handle?

My greatest regret is that after seventeen years of being submersed in this language, I still have not picked it up. My immigrant grandparents sport a mix of English and Italian when they speak, the production of four decades in the states. I can understand the general concepts but everything else is a big Italian blur. Instead I focus on the braccioli, italian stuffing, cannolis, granita, and home made espresso. So good.

"Dobbiamo andare a Walmart per ottenere tomato sauce piu, perche abbiamo persone troppi per alimentare."

What's worse is my grandfather's incessant need to yell at me in a language I do not understand in the least. I doubt he could keep himself from such disapproval if I was Gandhi. 

Despite the circumstances I derive comfort in high-stress holidays. I even enjoy the airport.

^^ sample from yesterday.

I'm not Naive Enough to Say I've Won

Stuck in solitary this weekend, so here goes.

It went on like that for 14 minutes... we both stood opposite each other and took turns flicking on and off the light switch.

"It's 2pm, why do you want the lights off," I screamed at him. It felt like I was calling down a long tunnel, on the other end of which he was standing.

Every couple of switches I punched him in the chest for good measure. An 18 wheeler cascading down the tunnel. I didn't want to hurt him but  I had run out of ways to show him that I care. If a fist to the breast plate was the only way to revive his crashed web pages then so be it.

Every time I turned them on another memory of us came to light in my head: the kayak in the Appalachians, badminton in the backyard over a torn net, tutoring me in math late, late at night. All burning up with the bulb filaments. If only he could direct his anger at his fear of success, instead of at me. My biggest fear was that he would mistake my anger for the fact that I didn't care about him anymore.

Eventually I just took the bulbs out of the overhead lights and hid them under my bed with the rest of my inhibitions.

Mercy Killing

After all, is it so awful to replace a lack of skill with discipline, with perseverance, with raw power? More admirable, sure, but is it the same? No. Of course not. If that was true anyone who showed the least bit of effort would get everything they ever wanted. Perseverance is enormously important, but so is succeeding.

Annual legality debates in English class. Ugh.

Which are justifiable? (The ones I said yes to are bolded, but remember to read my disclaimer below)

1. Capital Punishment
2. Abortion
3. Revenge for murder of a family member
4. Mercy killing
5. War
6. Treason
7. Human experimentation to find cures
8. Eliminating a harmful person in society
9. Killing an intruder in one's home
10. Eliminating an unproductive member of society

 I try to force every fiber of my being into justification of abortion when I think all murder is evil. What about war? And mercy killing? Can murder be necessary but still damnable? That's just unfair. At the end, I'm just left confused and poorly graded for lack of participation. I try to blame others but I know it's my fault. If given all the time on the planet, I would not be able to organize my thoughts on this subject in a succinct yet coherent if-then statement.

All I'm left with is a disclaimer:

"All of this DEPENDS and I'm only answering because I'm being forced." bratty. and evasive.

Also my "Murder is justifiable when..." statement goes a little something like this. Notice how it doesn't even start with "Murder is justifiable when...":

"Any instance of killing and its justification (or lack thereof) depend on the situation AND ONLY this situation (cannot be influenced by past situations, however similar) and must be decided by all and only those involved."

Why can't I get off this fence? Hopefully I'll be able to make up my own mind before I die. Or before I decide to murder someone.

I'm waiting for this to happen to the world.

This Cloud Above Me

Horror movies don't scare me. They used to. They used to give me awful nightmares. Cold, sweaty, jerky nightmares. I never screamed though. I woke up silently, so no one came to comfort me. It was sick irony. Like a flower that can only thrive in the Winter. Or a miscarriage.

But now I sleep. I realize that each artificial Hollywood sequence is devised within a set of uniquely bullshit circumstances, and my own life is too fucked to accommodate them, so there's nothing to fear. It's a hollow reality I exist in, not one of wet and exciting plot lines. It only scares the viewer, never the character.


Her face rises to show eyes squinting. Ink black hair whipping around her head in the wind. Fat drops of sweat wander down her skin like rats leaving a sinking ship. They mix with the rain. Tongue slips out between chapped lips and jaw expands, clenches, releases. She imagines her teeth shattering into a million pieces and getting stuck in her throat. Somehow that would be better than going on. She sinks back into the grass, glistening in the dark moonlight. The rain is over now. Sweat becomes one with the dew and she is entangled in her own despair, guitar solo echoing around her addled brains. Nothing compares with the amped snow. And the Stardust.