A couple things you learn from reading SkyMall, the inflight catalogue: lost golfballs are one of mankind's foremost concerns, iPods must be submersed to be fully enjoyed, and shaving your legs is too difficult without a pedestal mounted to the shower wall. Wait, I must have that...
The family took a rent-a-car from the Medford airport to Grant's Pass where we checked into a La Quinta motel. I have few complaints about the place other than the continental breakfast is lame. They have a hundred channels on the tv and free wifi, which made me want to cry with joy. I immediately proceeded to illicitly download tv shows and music.
There wasn't much time to sit around at the motel because we had to attend a cookout for the bride and groom's families. The groom, David, seemed super-pleased and confident and just this side of annoying. Later I'd see why: his bride Cynthia has... a fine figure. The families didn't mingle that well during the cookout, and our family didn't even mingle that well amongst itself. This is the only situation where you'd need that really gregarious relative to break the ice. I tried to do my part by throwing a squeezy ball to and from a 2-year old from the other side, but she sucked at catching it, and I was disappointed. The only other mildly interesting attraction was the pyromaniac 12-year old who kept sticking his hand in the tiki torches. His dad threatened to "whoop his ass in front of everyone" and finally threw his hands in the air and told his kid to just put his hand in the fire and burn himself so he'd learn his lesson. The kid did stick his hand in the fire again, but when he burned himself, he just did it again.
Aunt Rosie, David's mother, is supposedly crazy based on what my mom has been saying for years. I don't know how weird this is, Aunt Rosie had me take a container of food garbage out into her front yard and bury it with a shovel. I thought it was all in the spirit of family cooperation, but she had me do it again and again in the night, and I'm a guest. Yes, I deem it weird.
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