The drive itself was fairly pleasant, being that traffic was light (as far as LA freeways go) and we were borrowing my grandmother's air-conditioned car.

We had whisked ourselves away on this excursion to enter a separate reality, some enclave of the past that filled my mind with childhood memories of being bored to tears.

Great Grandmother's was the destination. Yes, Great Grandmother. We're a long-lived set, somewhat mentally unstable set of eccentrics. My folks now visit her bi-monthly, but the matriarch enjoys viewing the line's only descendant sometimes (a.k.a me).

She's going to be 97 soon and doesn't seem to show much sign of fading. Sure she needs oxygen, but again the women in my family are incredibly long-lived; men too (is that a good thing? I guess it depends if you need Depends).

She lives with my Great Uncle Jack, who followed the male side of my family well by being involved with the mafia at some points. As an aside, almost every male on my mother's and father's side has either been a minister, thief, or con-artist; good genes for the tongue, I suppose.

I inevitably think about death when I visit, though it doesn't bother me. Death never really did for some obscure reason. It was nice chatting...well, shouting politely with her.

I kept thinking about the family line and the fact that I was the last. It reminded me of Picard on some star trek movie, where he finds out he is the last of his line.

You see, I never want to marry. I think the institution is an overly romanticized property contract. If you love someone, you'll stay with them. If not, you won't. If there's a child, some agreement can be worked out or s/he can hop on the bandwagon of others who have to deal with tough life decisions. We were meant to evolve and endure, not be coddled and protected. I utterly despise and abhor modern, Victorian-inspired conceptions that children are weak and need to be sheltered. I come from a "broken home," allegedly, but I dealt with it, learned from it, and I kick just as much ass now as children from "stable" backgrounds do, probably more so.

But I digress from my self-indulgent ranting. She was very happy to see me, said she prayed for me every day (staunchly Protestant). My mother sung my praises as usual on our way back. Others besides her have also done this, some people who are almost strangers to me.

I still don't know why so many older people feel the need to say I'm so splendid. Am I really THAT special to so many people?

.

.

"There's a hole,

In my soul,

Yeah I should have known bet-ta,

'cause your love's like a thorn without a rose"

-Tyler, Aerosmith off of the Nine Lives album

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