Saturdays some times suck

As far as weekends go, this was supposed to be a good one. Today Aly and I were to get up early, go check out a photographer, come home and eat lunch, go to the Harvard/Northeastern football game, go out to dinner with Nick and Debbie and then watch the Sox beat the Yanks. Tomorrow I was supposed to go to the Pats game and either watch the fourth game of the Sox/Yanks or see Public Enemy and Living Colour.

There's always a fucking monkey wrench.

We got really lost this morning and the photographer pretty much blew. On the way to the corner store for some milk I found out that my uncle is dying and will be gone within ten days. Apparently he has been shitfaced for the last 30 years and his liver finally gave out on him. His skin is yellowed from jaundice, he's bleeding from every orifice and they just took him off his pain killers.

This is my dad's brother, and he's been a bit estranged. The only time he would call the house is when he was drunk and then it was a 3:00 am ramble. At first it used to freak me out because he was sort of scary, just that bizarre vocal vomit that alcoholics spew when they don't know better. And it's frightening because they're capable of doing anything.

After a while, the fear melted and it turned to a laughing matter. "Who called last night?" "Oh, it was your uncle Chris." "Yeah? What did he say this time." These were the type of conversations my parents, my brother and I would inevitably have the day after the midnight calling.

But, it's really serious now. I haven't seen the guy in probably 14 years (since my grandmother died), but I still feel really shaken up by it. It was all I thought about tonight. He was (what the fuck? he's not gone yet) he is a good guy, he always made Jay and I laugh. He's sort of like a big kid, a lost soul who really didn't do any damage to anyone but himself. However, by messing up himself, he's messed up the people around him.

I don't know. I went to a bar tonight to watch the Sox get clobbered by the Yankees tonight and I couldn't bring myself to order any sort of drink. Not even a beer. It just seemed really disrespectful. I had a sip of Aly's and it tasted like poison.

Then I called Jim around 11:30 pm and told him that I couldn't go to the Patriots game. It was a dick move. If someone called me at 11:30, I would be pretty pissed, and honestly, I feel awful. But here's the thing, I was supposed to get picked up at 7:30 am, and I bet we'd get to Foxboro around 10 or so. The game starts at 1:00. What do you do before a football game? You drink. I couldn't do it tonight and I can't do it tomorrow. I just can't. Us Magranes have to be careful, we can easily fall into the trap baited with alcohol.

Another reason is because I have to be close to my family. What if something happens to him and I'm in Foxboro goofing around like nothing is the matter? I'd feel awful. One day I may look back and wonder what the hell my problem was. If I look at it from another's perspective, I might think: who cares, you barely knew the man. And what you did know of him it was either through fear or ridicule.

But it's not that I feel bad for him. It's my father. This is his brother. He's losing another piece of his family. A family he may not have been close to, but a family nonetheless.

So, the Harvard game was ok. I really wasn't in to it though. Then Aly and I came home and we got into an argument. We rarely fight, but when we do it gets pretty intense. I really don't feel like rehashing it, but it fucking sucked.

The last I checked the Sox were losing by 12 runs. It was like 19-7 or something like that. It was just a terrible game. This depressed me too. Not as bad as the events earlier in the day, but I was looking forward to this game and the Sox climbing back into the series, but it's not to be. See you next spring, Sox.

This is what I hate about the end of baseball. It's the end of warm weather and the summer and you have to go through a long winter of cold, wet, dark weather in order to see your favorite team again. And then it's another year gone by, you're a year older and you still haven't seen a World Series championship. It's just too depressing to think about.

I hate them. I hate the hold that they have over me. I wish I could just be an unattached yahoo fan and not care. That's the problem. The caring. The heartbreaking. The love of the Sox. The absolute hate of the Yankees. It's blinding. And maddening. All at once.

As for the Public Enemy/Living Colour show. Fuck it. I had too much to do this weekend, now I have nothing. And that's fine. I want to go into a cocoon and never come out. This has been a trying weekend, and it's not even Sunday yet. How much do you want to bet that I get a call from work tomorrow about a show? I'd lay even money that I do.