1.
When our Dad got really mad he would write words in the air. Using proper punctuation, indentations and grammar, he crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s and the madder he got, the more swirly and expansive his cursive became. When he was totally furious, his writing looked like the Preamble to the Constitution. That’s when we hid.
When the nuns from my brother’s Catholic school called to tell my parents that he stole the “Body of Christ” wafers from the altar, my Dad sky-wrote a freaking novel. Side note: who steals wafers that taste like neither body nor Christ?
2.
My fifth grade teacher (Ms. Shannon) was young, skinny and pale. I sat by her desk just so I could look at the tiny translucent blue veins on her eyelids. Every day, from math through social studies, Ms. Shannon perched on her desk and, holding each Dorito by an edge, methodically licked off the zesty, red coating before throwing the chip into the trash. By the end of the day, her wastebasket was full of naked tortilla chips. I didn’t learn a thing that year.
3.
My Aunt often begins a conversation while the television is on and the volume is off. If she doesn’t like your answer she turns the volume up. It’s like having the Neilson ratings right in the house and it’s an excellent way to ascertain your relative’s political leanings. Say “I think my son’s friend is gay,” and the volume shoots to 14. “My son’s friend is a girl,” 15. Mention Obama and the TV shuts down as she whisks you to the garage to tell you how “it’s not nice to say things like that at a family party.” She may even throw in a “your Uncle is old and we have no idea what this kind of talk can do to him” for effect.
4.
I went to elementary school with Athena Kukalakis. She had a trick knee and a sister named Jane. Thanks to Athena Kukalakis, I learned that a randomly exploding joint is a get- out- of- class- free card, particularly when accompanied by a doctor’s note. I also learned that naming your first kid after the Greek Goddess of Wisdom can create hostility between siblings; Athena and Jane often had fistfights right on the playground: I call it the Lesser Baldwin/Lesser Mandrell Syndrome.
5.
We’ve all had: a neighbor who no one knew what he did for a living, a place where bad children were left, at night, with no food or water and a kid who rode his bike (without permission) at the front of town parades and never got in trouble. To that end, I offer: Nutsy Kurkle, Draeger Woods and Billy Bike*.
* I know that Billy Bike sounds more Adam Sandler than David Lynch. But you can’t change history. (You can, however, use it in your blog.)
Fresh Air and Sarcasm 
Spectacular!
Top-to-bottom awesome.
So who is David Lynch?
ydaf