Unsoft's List

w a s t e d i s p o s a l

I have a theory that I'm trash. That may seem like a contrived, self-effacing, piece of comment-bait, left along the trail in hopes of soliciting kind feedback, but I assure you that statement came from Marianesque depths, where simple mechanisms like compliment-fishery would be crushed flat.

Nearly two years ago now, I attended the first family reunion on my namesake side in twenty plus years. Apparently, the general consensus among blood is that I am indeed trash. Also, if my opinion counts for anything in the matter, I believe most of them are trash too - adding important genetic weight to my argument. I suppose very loose definitions of people as trash are offensive, and that offense is actually multi-faceted. Human worth and human waste and all. Every human is intrinsically worth something, but all men aren't exactly created equal are we? So we have an admittedly variable base model price, and it becomes really difficult to account for all the dealer and after-market options, especially as we try to balance in appreciation and depreciation.

My cousin Mary, the MD, apparently finds my ghetto neighborhood and unkempt lawn distasteful. Well how do you like that? Not much of a surprise really. I recall an event in the very late 1970's - her brother John (we called him John-John, like he was some sort of Kennedy or something) was teasing my cousin Louie and me. He asked us what kind of lawnmowers our fathers had. Neither of us knew. I knew mine had a Briggs and Stratton engine, but that was about the extent of it. Anyway, apparently we were both hilariously uninformed and underequipped when it came to lawncare. His father had a Lawn Boy. A Lawn Boy with a Bag (pronounced more like BIG - in whiney Midwest preppy). After several minutes of this, Louie and I threw him on the ground, getting grass stain all over his white Izod, and Louie said "Ha, now You're a lawnboy!" "Want me to kick you in the BIG?" - I remember adding.

My cousin Jane Anne (Catholic family, all the girls have two names; i.e., Anne Katharine, Mary Beth, etc.) was standing among a gaggle of other two-names trying to turn sideways while still talking to all of them - so that she could maintain the constant visual assertion and reinforcement that she is the thinnest among their ranks. This apparently entitles her to some sort of position of privilege, but it also forces her to keep her neck constantly twisted up so that she can talk to you while you appreciate her barely existant profile. Her pencil arms flail around all the time she talks, striking anything in the immediate vicinity that threatens to come into contact with her giant teased hair. Apparently, it's a considerable offense to touch the giant teased hair of the crooked-headed skeleton princess. I wouldn't know for sure.

Then there's Mark. Mark is John-John's brother. He spent the whole time I was trying to get away from him rambling on about how he was never getting married or having a family because things like that would get in the way of his travel to professional sporting events and would even possibly cut into the money he desperately needs for his Accura storage. His assumption that my family situation (having no children at that time) was a matter of choice and some sort of intellectual bond he and I shared was enough to keep a really bad taste in my mouth until....well I'll let you know when it goes away.

When I look long and hard at what's left of my stock, this is what I see. A lot of people who have the collective depth and soul of one of those carnival machines where you try and grab worthless stuffed animals with a malfunctioning grappling hook. They think I'm trash, so there's prevailing public opinion. They certainly are trash, so there's the categorical evidence. It's ok. I've been fairly sure for a long time. That's why I never throw anything away.