December 13, 2001, 1:31 a.m.

In which family is neatly limned

back & forth

So my parents and I decided to get absolutely shitfaced tonight in their hotel room and swap stories. We'd been to Arlington so I could show them the new house and then we all went out for Thai. They pulled out a box of sweaters, which were nice (and I can always use V-neck sweaters to establish my place in the academic hegemony, yo) and a big pile of books from grandmother T's, which my dad had, with great trouble, saved from being sold, in bulk, to a disreputable second-hand book dealer. Including a signed set of Coulton's Medieval Life, a coronation-year guide to "Simple Heraldry, cheerfully illustrated," in this case, with amusing cartoons by the painter to the then-Lord Lyon King of Arms. But the absolute plum of the collection is an 1806 Ossian, still resolutely "translated" by James Macpherson.

As if that weren't enough drinking, SLB called in the middle of all that to remind me that we had a standing date at yet another margarita emporium. Margaritas mittens nostras ante porcos, I guess.

So yes, I am going to be moving before the end of the month. This is terribly exciting. So exciting I should probably sleep now.

But first, a great A's Dad story from tonight: when he was a late-teenager, in the early sixties, my dad used to help out in my grandfather's office during summer holidays. My grandfather was in HM's Civil Fuckin' Service, specifically, the office which awarded state scholarships to university. One hot day in June, my dad was helping them move some filing cabinets around the office when there came to light a lost file. Dated 1902. One of the very stupid people in the office snapped it up and began drafting a letter of apology to the poor young man. My dad pointed out (oh, and he would point this out) that the person in question was not merely well past college-age, but probably quite dead. The secretary looked consternated for a second before he began drafting a letter to the "Late Mr. So-and-So".

* * * * *

Certain people ask me where it comes from.