In honor of the premature passing of one Russell Jones, I must recount just one example of the way my family finds ways to torture each other. I am sure it is some sort of dysfunction that my cousins and I spend so much of our time together poking fun at each other. But if you're going to pick a dysfunction, incessant teasing is not a bad one per se.
Two or three years ago, my brother and I started in on one of my cousins. At the time, he was a 33 year old doctor with a high-rise flat that he owned. We called him RTP for a while because his cell phone was permanently attached to his ear and he was always ready to party. But you can see that's not very catchy. So, inevitably, after one particular evening of watching my cousin scam on women ten years his junior, we started to call him Ol' Dirty. And that name has stuck like white on rice. Even when I call him now, I can't help starting the conversation with "Hey... dir-tay!" My brother has taken it one step further in cheese factor and says, "Hey, dir-tay, baby I got your rupees, don't you worry." I don't know. We're a bunch of idiots, what can I say?
Here's a perfect example of why I love this city of mine: I'm giving my old car to a high school honor roll student. She's been here for a year, having just moved from Brazil. Since she's moved here, her mother and father separated because her mother fell in love with her 11-year old brother's teacher... another woman I might add. And, yesterday, they all had brunch together to show the 11-year old boy that they're one happy family. You can't make stuff like this up.
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