Tuesday, May 27, 2003

The Mythology of the S*irk*is Barondes Joseph Robenspiel Clan

so... and old version of my template brings me somewaht back to life.... but it's only a matter of time (and time to be a good enough Unix geek to get Moveable Type up and going) until I kiss blogger good bye.

anywhoo.... every couple of years I get to spend some significant time with my mom's cousin (mother to my Identical Twin Cousin Daniel, who just published his first novel), and she will regale me with stories of my family as poor jewish immigrants.

so, the Si*rki*s family is from the poorest of the poor parts of easter europe.... the 19th century equivalent to trailer trash according to cousin Nancy. it also seems like the cossascks had a special taste for butchering the jews from our village....

so, the story goes that the family fled to the US at the turn of the century, and then Great Grandma Stella married well, and the man took her back to Russia to live in the lap of Tsarist luxury, but then they had to flee a SECOND time during the 1917 revolution, and that during this second flight, my 2 year old grandmother had to be gagged so the cosacks and the red guards would not hear the jews hidden away....

The family mythology holds forth that the reason that my grandma was such a awful loudmouth is because she was not able to be a vocal child.

Nice neat theory right?

thing is, my grandma is 85, and would have to be 87 or 88 in order for this to work.


so, is my grandma being vain and lying about her age (entirely possible) or is she being pathetic and making up stories in order to garner sympathy (equally possible)?

Sunday, May 25, 2003

can I even begin to tell you how pissy I am about blogger not only loosing my links, but my entire template and several posts as well?


FUCK ME!

no really, this makes no sense... the crappy scripts and lagging servers that they've got going on have conspired to keep some real tense and ill advised emotional rants from the viewing public.


maybe for the better, but frankly, I want to vent.

maybe tomorrow.


for the time being, every time I get on the elevator to my room, I get to look at a portrait of David Byrne that hangs in the lobby, abd I realize that.... welll shit... david slept here.