Dear Georgie (a farewell)

17 Jan

Dear Georgie,

Well, we’re at the end of the road. Words fail me. You amaze me. You really, truly, undeniably do. As I sit here, bright, cold January sun filling the windows, more blue sky than gray for the first time in a month, all I can think of to say is that I am amazed.

[Note: Amazed in its more traditional sense of dumbfounded—(kind of like you: you were found dumb; found meaning created; ergo, you are dumb-founded. Don’t worry about it, it’s pretty advanced, we’ll come back to it later if you want. I know it’s late in the day to be learning English.)]

I’m a little too nervous to be grateful. Nervous that you’ll turn around and say, “Gotcha” with a little frat-boy grin, like a toddler who took off his own diaper and stashed it somewhere while you were cleaning the kitchen of strained peas.

I just know that as I watched you give your final press conference the other night (it was during the day? Oh yes, I mean, as I watched Jon Stewart show your final press conference the other night…) I had the very physical reaction of wrinkling my forehead and cocking my head to one side and half wincing/half almost laughing—sort of like I do when I watch America’s Funniest Home Videos. As in, why would someone subject themselves to this? Don’t they understand the humiliation involved? How did this ever come to be?

And in your case, where is your capacity for empathy? Not, why can’t I see it, or sense it, or why don’t you have any, but literally, where is it? I usually start by looking under the bed, or sometimes in the dirty laundry. Occasionally I find things behind the armchair that’s next to my dresser. Then I call my mom and ask her. Not that I’m suggesting she’s to blame; she just has an uncanny ability for finding lost things. While you’re on the phone with her (your mom, not mine, leave mine alone), ask her where your sense of responsibility is and when the last time you visited the ophthalmologist was. Your worldview seems to be different than everyone else’s.

Is this funny or just deeply, deeply sad? I tend to believe this is one of the situations where laughter is our saving grace. And history will not vindicate your decisions, given it’s unfair liberal media bias, unless Daddy writes the history books. But even he plays favorites sometimes, and the one coming up behind you is looking a little more High-Achieving Alter Boy than Fast-Drinking Frat Boy. I know, it’s terrible the way roles and pigeonholes are divided up among siblings. But you will always have…um…well, your own self-delusion to keep you warm and snug at night.

And anyway, you just don’t give a flying *%#!, do you?

So here’s to you, and please, go gently into the soft tee time of retirement.

MM

PS—Were you drunk at the final press conference? Sedated? Good for you, nothing like some good old substance abuse to help you through the last days of senioritis. It’s hard, when everybody picks on you, asking you questions and stuff.

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One Response to “Dear Georgie (a farewell)”

  1. SDW 20 January 2009 at 2:15 pm #

    I heart your blog, MM. Keep up the magnificent work. -S

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