My two younger brothers visited me in Seattle last weekend. The two of them are so different, but both are amazing. The older of the two, Starving Artist brother, is a 24-year-old glass-blowing artist, and the stuff he can make boggles my mind.
The younger one, Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother, is a 15-year-old high school kid, and pretty much my hero. He doesn't have anything figured out yet, and the best part is... he's in no rush - perfectly happy to dabble and experiment in what his young life has to offer. He's brilliant, musically gifted, goofy, artistic, athletic, wide-eyed, humble, and funny as hell. This weekend, with my Seattle friends filling his keg cup, he was also a bit chatty. At various times over the weekend, he would wave me over to a corner to ask about this friend or that friend.
Here are some highlights...
On my childhood friend Deuce... "He's totally wasted... I can't go near him without a 30 minute conversation about Pearl Jam."
On my friend Ali... "She's really funny, and when she talks she can't keep her hands still (said to me as he gives a reenactment that looks kind of like the robot dance)."
On Starving Artist brother... "If we ever get in an argument, and I actually win, I can tell because he'll just go silent and won't say anything. Like on the drive over yesterday, he totally got quiet and neither of us spoke for like 10 minutes. We both stared out the windshield until he broke the silence with some stupid question like, 'So, what kind of music do you like?' It's like talking to my dad..."
On my friend Hoosty, who always rocks a leisure suit (this time powder-blue and checkered)... "That's a sweet suit... is he serious?"
On my buddy Ainge... "Is that really a Pullman High shirt that he's wearing?"
On Law Student roommate... "He's kind of quiet... isn't he drinking?"
On my buddy Weed... "Has he gained some weight?"
On himself... "You know, I think I figured out why I have such a bad short-term memory. You remember back when I was a little kid? I used to suck my thumb, and I would always have my blanket in the same hand. Well, I would also be sucking on a corner of that blanket, and the blanket got all tattered and worn on the edge. But get this... I think the blanket was giving off some fumes or something, from my sucking, because I remember how I would always smell this smell. I remember feeling all funny and being addicted to sucking on the blanket. Mom and Dad thought I just liked sucking my thumb, but I think I was getting high off the blanket. Do you think they used some weird adhesive or something on the edge of that blanket? You're not going to tell anyone about this are you?"
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