Brian Keaney

Tag: family

Feels pretty damn good

Yesterday I marked a milestone in my life, and closed by saying that “at least medically, I’m probably as good as I’m ever going to be.”  That may or may not be, but I would hope that in terms of physical fitness that I am still improving.  I finally made it back to the gym tonight after a week or so absence (this not working from home thing really eats the hours out of the day) and think I posted a pretty respectable time in a pretty tough workout.  At the very least, I beat my brother-in-law, so I was happy.

In any event, after the WOD, and then some birthday cake, I returned home to find a number of text messages waiting for me.  One was from a cousin who loves to remind me of  just how old I am, and she pointed out that today, the second day in a row for me, marks an anniversary.  She asked: “How does it feel to be a decade past your 21st birthday?”

I would never give her a truthful answer as I don’t like to use that kind of language to begin with, and as a rule avoid it while speaking to the fairer sex.  She asked a question, however, and even though it was designed to antagonize me I still thought it deserved a response.  Remembering that I need to keep a positive outlook on the growing number of candles that appear on my cake, I responded thusly: “Feels like I could out run you, out party you, and drink you under the table.”

I can say all three things – to a collegiate athlete in the NCAA record books, no less – with 100% truthfulness and confidence.  She wants to know how it feels?  That feels pretty damn good.


My celebrity family

My mother has decided, she told me the other day, that if I am OK with telling my newlywed sister that I want a nephew, she is OK with telling me that she wants a daughter-in-law.  I don’t quite understand why seeing as she already has two daughters of her own, but reminded her that one of them is still unwed, and that gay marriage is legal here in the Commonwealth.  Surprisingly, that did little to comfort here.

Much like the great Ferris Bueller, I used to think that my family was the only one with weirdness in it.  The more I travel around the sun, however, the more I realize just how relatively normal they are.   Several months ago I was getting a free meal visiting my parents when I heard my mother cry out, “Oh no!”  When I inquired what was wrong, she told me that “DiNozzo got an earring.”  I asked why she let herself get so emotionally involved in the nonsense she watches on television, and she reminded me of how often I will scream at the TV after a dropped pass or bad call by an official.

More recently, she told me that DiNozzo, of the television program NCIS, reminds her of me.  I thought it would be because of my dashing good looks, encyclopedic memory of all things cinema, or my way with women.  Not so much.  Turns out all the sarcastic remarks he spits out on TV are what make my ears burn.  I told her that I thought I was more like the doctor on the show since everything reminds me of a story.  As evidence, this blog post is only three paragraphs old and I am already three stories deep.

It is my youngest sister that reminded me of a character on the show, however.  Both the forensic scientist and Lauren are soft as a grape.  Take away the goth couture, and you would have my baby sister down to a T.  She who bore me laughed, agreed, and then added that Gibbs was just like my father.  She wasn’t too far off the mark, but I think I have an even better fictional character to whom I can compare him.

While watching the latest Indiana Jones film, it struck me that my father would respond in every situation almost exactly as Indy did.  I now want to go back and see if I find the same thing in the three earlier films, or if this was just a fluke of the screenplay.  Yea, that’s right.  My dad is just like Indiana Jones.  He’s clearly cooler than your dad.

Finally, to wrap this all up, I want to show a video that is sure to scar everyone.  Not so long ago, I mentioned that “my grandmother had to explain to me who Kim Kardashian was and why she was famous, and I’m still not sure as to the latter.”  Fortunately, the words “sex tape” never up, but tragically, that means she was the first person I thought of when I saw the following video.

Be warned, it is not for the faint of heart.

My dad is cooler than your dad

It takes me a little bit longer than most people to peel an orange.  When I was in high school I was on a camping trip with the Scouts, and one of the guy’s father took an orange and removed the peel in one piece.  It was universally agreed that being able to pull off a feat like that was a Dad Thing.  Though I don’t have any children of my own and really no reason to do so whatsoever, I almost always try to get the peel off in one piece as well.

I thought of this last weekend while up skiing in Maine.  My sister was complaining that her boyfriend didn’t do as good a job as our father in putting her mittens on her, either unaware or more likely just uncaring of how ridiculous  that made her sound.  As I walked by I said something to the effect of “He’s just better than you,”  to which the other sister asked, “at what?”  I replied, simply, “everything.”

I don’t recall the boyfriend who was struggling to put mittens on a grown woman saying anything, but the rest of us universally agreed that my father was better at just about everything.  Over the course of the weekend a couple more examples of how he was better than us organically came up in conversation.

The other boyfriend – an engineer – told of how he struggled for hours to fix his heater last winter before my sister broke him down and made him call my father who correctly diagnosed the problem over the telephone.  I mentioned how in 20 minutes he fixed something for a woman in my building who the repairman said was broken beyond repair and would cost $11,000 to replace.  She was literally in tears.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old man pull off an orange peel and keep it intact, but I’ve got no doubt he could do it.

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Only 10 shopping months until Christmas

I don’t like being known as the oldest of all my cousins.  I much prefer to be known, and I think it is universally accepted that I am, as the biggest kid.  If I’m not directly responsible for the vast majority of the screaming, yelling, laughing, and horsing around, you can bet that I am at least involved in it.

For Christmas I picked up a present my great-aunt was giving to my youngest cousin, who is also usually responsible for most of the ruckus taking place.  It was a remote controlled helicopter, but it came with a note from Santa Claus.  The little one was not allowed to even unwrap the present unless he agreed to a few conditions.

The first was that I got to play with it whenever I wanted.  It was also stipulated that he had to bring it on vacation with him in the summer, so that I could play with it whenever I want.  If he didn’t agree to these terms then Santa was going to send an elf down from the North Pole to take it away from him and give it to me.

I should have held out for more.  After viewing this video, an 18 inch helicopter doesn’t seem nearly as cool anymore.

Santa, if you are reading this, next year I want a fighter jet for Christmas.  And, since those guys got a scale model, I want a real one.  I don’t think that is too much to ask.