Monday, November 21, 2005

holy shitcrap Batman, things are gettin' serious 'round here

Well, I got back from my Grandfather's funeral last night at about 10pm. The flight was interesting what with the alcoholic-prostitute holding my arm and laying her head on my shoulder the whole flight from Pittsburgh to Chicago. She got her foundation all over my shirt sleeve. And the saddest part about it was I actually kind of liked her affection. That's absolutely pitiful. She was really quite snuggly and she was pretty cute except for the 17 layers of makeup and the completely foul Chris-Colgan-I've-been-an-alcoholic-all-my-fucking-life breath.

Then I walked about 4 miles (literally) around O'Hare because people are fucking idiots and they switched my departure gate two times on me...after I had walked mile or so between the two gates. O'hare is a fucking zoo. I hate that airport. Avoid it at all costs.

Indy, on the other hand, was smooth sailing as usual. No lines. The completely empty parking shuttle pulled up just as I stepped out of the airport. Easiest city to get around in. Ever.

So I got back last night and instead of going to a party to attempt to finish a keg that was left over from a party Saturday night that I missed, I stayed home and studied for the logic exam this morning...which I just got back from and let me tell you, I don't think it went so well. Oh well. I think if I don't get a B in that class (which is required) I'm going to drop out. It's just not worth it to take that class again, but more importantly, if I can't pass logic on my first shot, what business do I have being a professional philosopher? Notwithstanding the fact that I really don't work very hard at the logic class, or as hard as I could, I feel if I can't get a B doing just what I feel comfortable doing, then I should be doing it for a living. Vermont/New Hampshire/Central PA here I come! Maybe I'll just do history instead?

Oh, and yeah, yesterday was my birthday.

Worst birthday ever. By far. Nothing like a funeral, alcoholic prostitutes, O'hare on a Sunday night before thanksgiving, missing a party and studying for a stupid logic exam to make a guy feel special on his birthday. I'm a sad sack. What can you do?

But on a positive note, I did get to see my family and lots of people I haven't seen for a while at the funeral. The funeral was pretty good except for my Dad's eulogy. It was really good. He did an awesome job, but it was just terribly fucking sad. The priest (whom I about strangled to the ground and kicked his teeth in because I was so pissed off at him and his incantations) was about the worst 75$ my grandmother ever spent. 75$ for 15 minutes of an obviously scripted, completely impersonal line of shit! Anyway, my dad's 10 minutes were the only real thing that happened during the funeral and it was sad. I love my dad.

I also got to see two of my cousin's who I don't get to see very often (the one I hadn't seen in like 9 years) so that was cool. He has two really cute kids, but the one is a complete menace. She's five and really out of control.

The highlight of the trip was probably seeing the camp my dad used to work at and taking pictures of old oil derricks with my brother in Rasselas.

Here are some photo highlights of the trip:

Here's a map (because Google Earth is fun) that might help orient you. My dad grew up in Johnsonburg (where the funeral was) and my mom grew up in Rasselas (not really a town) where my uncle Joe still lives and where the oil derricks were. It's really beautiful up there. It's in what is arguably the biggest patch of wilderness east of the Mississippi, which I think is pretty cool. CLICK FOR BIGGER VERSION.

My brother and I stayed with my Mom's brother, 'uncle Joe', because my Dad's mom's house was full. Uncle Joe is the man.

Rusty brontosaurus #14; old oil derrick in Rasselas PA about 1 mile from the farm where my mother grew up. It was a beautiful day. Cold, in the 20s, but nice light. CLICK FOR BIGGER VERSION.

Here are some pictures of my brother Adam; he's pretty much the man. CLICK FOR BIGGER VERSIONS.

These are some old oil storage tanks along the road. CLICK FOR A BIGGER VERSION

Here are two pics of a model #23435AE oil derrick. Just kidding. I don't know the model number. CLICK FOR BIGGER VERSIONS.

My Dad's cousin Rick (aka 'cousin-ricky') is the big Game Warden in Elk County and he also runs the trout hatchery. He has a special little side project going on up in the mountains: he's raising some absolutely HUGE trout for special events. The biggest fish he has in the pond, that he's seen, is a 31" Brown Trout. That is fucking ridiculous.

Interestingly enough, the pond is part of an old camp that the local paper mill owns and my Dad lived there for 2 summers when he was in college as a 'caretaker'. It sounds more like his position was more like sitting around in the woods with his friends drinking beer, but whatever the case, what a cool place to live for a summer, or two.

Here's a picture of the lodge; CLICK FOR A BIGGER VERSION:

Here's my dad on the porch. He claims that in his day (the mid 60s), they had a much better sign. CLICK FOR A BIGGER VERSION.

This is a shot of my mom, dad and my cousin Jeff with is kids Emily and Caitlin (sp?). CLICK FOR A BIGGER VERSION.

And here is the menace herself, Emily:

Here's the pond with the coolest contraption ever: a solar powered fish feeder that has a little electric fence around it to keep the bear, deer, raccoons etc. from getting the fish food.

Here's a pic of a decent sized brown trout. Decent for the pond only as if you were to hook into this 22" brown trout on a stream with a fly rod it would be a fucking banner day that's for sure. CLICK FOR A BIGGER VERSION.

This concludes today's tour. Please mind the gap as you exit the ship.


Anonymous said...

The most elder Mr. Dunn, who recently passed away, once told me that in China the government makes shoes out of you if you get in trouble with the law. I didn't know if it was true or not, but it never seemed to matter. He told us a lot of cool stories about serving as a tail gunner on what I believe was a B-29 in WWII, although Big daddy would know better than I what kind of plane he flew on.
He was a good man and not one to fuck around with.
Best of luck Dunn Family.
A man who used to peg his jeans before going to get ice cream at Mount Juit.

D Hanks said...

Nice pics Dude. Sorry to hear about your grandfather but for Christ's sake man stick out the grad school experience. You're too far gone to jump ship now. I wish I had 2 full years behind me. Not that I'm in grad school right now but you know what I mean.


Anonymous said...

Fucking A, I got a rash man.

Anonymous said...


Long's your old roommate, Kevin. I ran across your site after talking to Trace-dog one night. Sorry to hear about your grandfather. I wish I had known you were in Pittsburgh recently...could have gotten together. Anyway, shoot me an email sometime. -K

k(h)ara said...

Aw Dunn, I am so sorry to hear about your grandfather. Sounds like he was pretty amazing.

On a nicer note, happy birthday a few days past. I've come to the conclusion recently that you're not allowed to have amazing birthdays all the time when you're older for two reasons - 1) it makes the others more special and 2) they don't want all the excited birthday adults attempting to rent out chuck e cheese all the time. It'll be better next year!

Lastly, stick with school. You are a brilliant person and way too tough to let one bastard class get you down. You have every right to be a grad student and philosophy major, don't ever doubt yourself.

love you!

Anonymous said...

Big Daddy,
I don't know this K(h)ara chick, but I would not listen to he advice. A man like you should be working as a ski instructor in Aspen. No, the French are assholes. Jackson Hole would be much preferable. At any rate, you would be in the thick of shit, really living life. You'd be able to develop a usefull life guiding philosophy that you could then sell to yuppies with tons of expendable income. Eventually you'd latch on to some hot little ski bunny with a rich old-man husband, the senile old fool, and then he'd die in a breathing accident and you'd spend your days reading, blogging, skiing, fucking, drinking, smoking, and writing your book: How to Live Big. It'd be a spoof on self-help books that takes cutting slices out of the right-wing conserveatives and silly liberals alike. Plus you're edge would leave a caustic venom in their wounds and years later it would fall them and people would build statues of you and then fornicate under those statues and the babies from those unions would forever remember you as Los Papas Fritas.
Keeper of the Seven Stink Knuckles