rock chalk jayhawk

Graduations and weddings come ready-made for overindulgent celebration. The University of Kansas' Commencement took place this weekend, and Reilly was there for her final send off. The rest of the clan rolled into Lawrence primed to properly acknowledge the sordid truth that the final Pharo sibling (under)graduated, and only rip roaring rollicking would befit such an accomplishment. I know the kids read this site, and as such, I'll minimize my lauding of a weekend that can be best summed up by my sister's drink of choice. "The nicest vodka that still comes in a plastic bottle." So that's how it's gonna be...
To be fair, vodka is more the serf's drink of choice, and most of us pick gin. The gentleman's rotgut. Reilly seems the one most prone to Russia's poison, despite our efforts to right her.
The Pharo/Porcelli/Kimball clan came in from Denver, and my uncle and aunt came up from Dallas. Another uncle came in from Portland, and my grandparents are just up the road in KC. This adult show of force complimented the dozens of friends and family that arrived in support of the other 13 girls my sister Reilly lives with. In some states, that kind of living arrangement has been outlawed as a brothel. Best I could tell, 1334 Ohio Street in Lawrence masquerades as a saloon. Music pours out of the windows, and beer comes right out of the faucet. A cowboy's horse may have even been tied to the fence. The wild west lives on!
We spent time at a few other locales around the college town. Namely: the Chi-Oh fountain, a sweltering football stadium wreathed in round Midwesterners, The Wheel, The Hawk, Yokohama's, and countless shops. The best t-shirt of the week featured the faces of Bush, Cheney, and Rice with the caption "GOODBYE, FUCKERS!" below. Do not for one moment believe you have your finger on Kansas' pulse when your digits trace the Lawrence Artery. The blood that flows here is young, idealistic, and dreadlocked. "Make Tea, Not War" they announce at a parade.
The biggest night of the weekend was a Saturday feast at Pacemamma's, one of the town's nicer establishments. 50 or so arrived to hear the jazz quartet and eat. When things finally wrapped up around 1:30, my uncle Mark was searching for me under planes, trains, and more likely, automobiles. To no avail, because I was happily asleep back at the hotel.
A quick word about Mark. My dad's brother is a fantastically entertaining ringmaster from the Big D. Ironically, he is about 5'6. He perpetually speaks with that irrepressible Texas twang that only comes out of my father when speaking of the glory of horse punching, and tells stories about anything and everything that would make his wife blush, if she weren't so used to the shenanigans. Due to the fact that "you fuck one midget," "grab the scrotum and TWIST," and an incredible Sling Blade impression came out of his mouth on this trip, I'll forever refer to him as Jethro.
Monday, and I'm finally back in Boulder, re hydrating, and praying for a nap that the shakes keep at bay. I have to go to Greece for 10 days in June with much of the same cast? I don't know what scares me worse...more than a week in the Aegean with the pirates from this weekend, or the fact that I was at times so incapacitated on graduation weekend that I alerted people to my impending trip to Greek. This could be a long spring.