Excessive heat warning in Arizona

And Kevon Looney re-signs with the Warriors.

I missed a This is bullshit post because I finally got COVID and it kinda kicked my ass.

I don’t really get sick very often—I have a pretty robust, full-bodied, fruit-forward immune system. I get that from my dad. I don’t think he’s been sick since the mid-80s.

My dad is a complex guy. But also not that complex of a guy. He’s not really one for humor, or music. He mostly drinks whiskey, plays golf, and hoses down the patio. I’m not sure he’s ever told a joke before. When he laughs, it’s usually at my brother-in-law for being a shitty golfer.

There’s only one song I know he likes, but I’m certain he doesn’t know the name of the song or who sings it. And I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t remember what it sounds like.

A few years ago, we were driving down the I-5 after helping my sister move into her first house. I was playing the song Woman by Mumford & Sons in the car. A few minutes into the song, my dad asked what the name of it was. It’s called Woman. By Mumford & Sons, I say. “Good song,” he replies, never looking away from the bumper of the car in front of us.

We didn’t speak again for the next 14 years.

Nah, I’m joking. We talk a lot. But mostly about the weather in Arizona and if the Warriors are going to re-sign Kevon Looney.

My dad’s a good guy. He’s a great dad. Growing up, we had our issues—but I was also a shithead as a teenager. It didn’t help that my dad could be a bit of a hothead, but he never stopped trying to be a better father. If there’s one thing you can say about my dad, it’s that he’s a persistent son-of-a-bitch in absolutely everything he does—including fatherhood.

My dad had me when he was older. He’s now in his 70s. I’m currently in my 20s.

My grandpa was also fairly old when he had my dad—my grandpa was actually born in 1892. It’s a weird thing to think about, my grandpa being born mere months after the game of basketball was invented.

I think my grandpa was about four years old when he decided to wade into the Mediterranean and swim from Greece to the United States. If I had to guess—he probably just got to Ellis Island, rung out his trousers, had himself a raw onion for lunch, lit up a cigar, jogged to rural Wyoming and got started working on the railroad.

He had two kids. My Aunt Georgia and my dad, George. I’ve heard conflicting stories about the George/Georgia naming rationale—none of which make much sense to me.

I never met my grandpa. He died many, many years before I was born.

I learned from my aunt that my grandpa never told my dad that he was proud of him.

And I think my dad still holds onto that.

My dad has never been good with words, but he’s never missed a chance to tell me how proud he is of me.

And I’m proud of him, too. Although I don’t think I tell him that enough.

After a few whiskeys, my dad likes to talk about his high school football coach, Bobo Cegelski, his days wrangling horses during Cheyenne’s Frontier Days, and how he used to drop hay bales out of C-130s when he was part of the Air National Guard.

My life is a lot different than my dad’s. I work remotely as a data scientist, I have a rescue dog who eats quinoa, I’m allergic to hay, and I write a newsletter called This is bullshit and so can you.

My dad doesn’t read my newsletter. He doesn’t know about it. I’m afraid he wouldn’t get it, or understand the point of it. Although to be honest, I’m not really sure I understand the point of it.

But I do want to tell him about This is bullshit and so can you. At some point.

It’s just that we have a lot of other things to talk about first—like how it’s really hot in Arizona right now. And how the Warriors re-signed Kevon Looney. I heard it’s a three-year deal. $25.5 million.

All that other stuff can wait.

Missed my last This is bullshit and so can you post? Read it here.

And if you have some time, check out my other newsletter: Psychology Onions