Let the mayhem begin. I just got back from getting my brother at the airport. We’re already cross because we had tickets to see Conan this weekend at Herbst Theater which Conan cancelled. Of course this doesn’t have anything to do with the dolts at NBC who gave him his lifetime dream and immediately took it back after his entire family and staff uprooted themselves to the West Coast. Is the public hanging really necessary? Poor Coco is probably traumatized, in the fetal position on his bed with kleenex around him. Not cool, NBC. Jay Leno is white-bread, not edgy, a far cry from witty and although seems a semi-decent guy is as bland as a styrofoam cup. But I digress.
My brother and I have a long history of psychological warfare which probably started when we were 6 and 3 and I convinced him that he was adopted. This wasn’t too hard to do considering everyone in my family has very dark hair… except for him, of course, with his Aryan white-blond mop. It went something like this:
Me: “You’re adopted.”
Seth: “No, I’m not!”
Me: “Yes you are, why do you think you’re the only one in the family with blond hair?”
Seth: “Mom, am I adopted?”
Mom: “No, you’re not adopted.”
Seth: “But how would you know?”
Mom: “I think I would remember that.”
I like to think of such provocations as an altruistic desire to prepare him for the harsh world; the idea being that anything after dealing with the torture of big sis became child’s play. The adoption story actually paled in comparison to what followed over the years, but he always fought back – for example, by putting Nair in my shampoo – which inspired me to get increasingly stealthy and evil. Our shenanigans bolstered creativity in outdoing each other which I kept reminding my parents at the time. And I think he came out relatively unscathed. No, I’m sure of it. I adore him though, he’s an amazing person and I would still have the utmost respect for him even if he was a random human being and not my brother. We shall see what the weekend brings. Poor Conan.