The Godfather

Went to my friend's cousin's oyster roast over the weekend. This said cousin is marrying into the publishing dynasty, McGraw Hill. Well, I had to go see the scion of a controller of knowledge. He rolls up in a gold Cadillac, immediately 4 huge, black, umbrellas open and shield the opening door from the rain. He emerges to be seated in his wheelchair. He is rolled, posse in tow, to the table. Dressed in a hunter green suit and cashmere sweater, dapper to the extreme. He meets the family, gives them his blessing with his hands in a pope-esque fashion and eats his pre shucked oysters. Interesting.

Coupled with being the only non-family member with no relation or friendships with the groom or bride, I was the awkward friend who ate a load of oysters and piped in with random comments. Interesting, the Connecticut people did not know how to shuck oysters and thus refrained. Perhaps it was their $750 designer jeans, silk sports coats or maybe it was those $300-500 shoes that they didn't want to injure...I do not know, but more oysters for us.

The reason I hate Faulkner is this...his stories are the stories of my family. I respect his works, his writing style, his mastery, but I hate the stories. My family is deep south decadence, falling deeper as the pages of history are turned. Mayflower to now. Ask about this, I'll write more(actualy a great story).