The Piano Man Has Been Drinking

Last night I wrote in my journal, "I'm going home this weekend." Then I stopped and stared at the page, because "home" has never been so abstract. My parents sold the house I grew up in, the house on, yes, for real, Unicorn Lane, and moved to an apartment. This was somewhat tragic for me. However, they managed to squeeze the house into the apartment so that nothing looked *that* different, and to some extent I was satisfied.

Now the house is gone and the apartment is gone. My mother's new apartment is not yet finished, so in the meantime she is shacked up with my grandma. When I go down this weekend, then, I will be stay there with them -- three generations of females under one roof with the piano I get calls about from time to time.

[Phone rings]
ME: Hi Mom!
MOM: Hi sweetie. Grandma's been worrying about the piano again.
ME: Mom, we've talked about this. I can't take the piano.
MOM: I know, I know, but --
ME: No but! We already share a small one-bedroom with two African drums, a bicycle, and a whole arboretum of chairs!*
MOM: I know, I know. ... Are you thinking of maybe buying a bigger place?

Well, regardless, to DC I go, and I guess "home" is wherever my mom is, unless she moves to Mississippi or Brazil. Oh, dear, they must be very sad in Brazil today. I am happy, however, because I am rooting for the Netherlands and Ghana. (The Netherlands because we had Dutch au pairs growing up; because they have the best airport in Europe; & because it's not their fault Anne Frank died / Ghana because a number of my friends have lived there and not all of them contracted malaria; because the players are handsome; & because of white guilt. If Ghana plays Holland I do not know what I will do.)

When I was watching the end of the game today, an African gentleman approached me and asked who won. "The Netherlands!" I said. He looked at me without understanding. "Holland?" I tried. "The Dutch?" Still nothing. Finally, I said, "Europe. Europe won." And at last he said, "Ah! Okay."

That gentleman is almost as good at sports as I am! I really only know enough to root against countries that harbored Nazis or countries I'm temporarily mad at because I've just read the devastating but extremely well-written British novel, Little Bee.

But perhaps this is obvious. Perhaps you know this about me, that I am bad at sports, the same you already know Mel Gibson is an asshole and Shalom Auslander is adorably neurotic.


*I'm not sure how it happened but in our one-bedroom, we have:

- one arm chair
- one black metal desk chair
- two white table chairs
- two blue smaller arm-chairs
- one wooden fold-up chair
and
- one huge wooden rocking chair.

There are so many chairs there almost isn't room for people. Still, my friends cried out for a couch, so now, on top of all that seating, there is also a couch.