2005-05-31 9:53 p.m.


The Grandpaficiation of my father continues apace.

Several years back, my parents called me up in Austin, incensed. "Your grandfather has been calling us up at 9 AM on Saturdays," my father griped. "On Saturdays." I don't remember what it was that Grandpa had been calling them up about, but undoubtedly it was something trivial every single time, since that was his way.

"Hey, don't look at me," I replied. "He's your father."

Famous last words.

So who should happen to call the other day, in a tizzy because a menu for a (clue #1) vegetarian restaurant mysteriously turned up on this fax machine (clue #2) about a week before his vegetarian daughter's birthday, the same daughter who lives relatively nearby and who doesn't have a fax machine of her own at home? And who was all atwitter over the possibility that he was somehow being fax-spammed or stalked or something by those dastardly vegans over at Millennium and called to tell me about it, at 9 AM on a Saturday? A Saturday?

"I know you really want to be a grandfather, Dad," I said to him later. "But do you have to become that particular grandfather?"


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