A Better Son/Daughter

I feel a little like Greg hiding out from Mike and Carol.

I’ve spent the balance of Thanksgiving Weekend in the basement of my father’s Indianapolis home. I was bumped from the premiere rooms at the inn by my brother, his wife and son, Ethan, who took top priority. Which is fair. And fine with me. The basement is roughly twice the square footage of my New York City apartment. There’s a television with cable and a DVD player, two computers, a stationary bike, eliptical machine, and pull-out couch. Ok, so there are ducks on the wall. Whatever.

When I have ventured out — and it’s been rare and brief — I’ve been the classic fish out of water. We went to Circuit City to pick up an XM Satellite Radio this afternoon. It was so huge, so bright, and so full of stuff — digital pedometers, GPS, cameras, printers, flat panel tvs — my mouth literally fell agape. But what’s with these greeter dudes, saying hello as soon as we cross the threshhold? Leave us alone to consume already.

On the way home, we passed this ridiculous and absurd housing development. In the middle of this field, some 146 blocks north of Indianapolis (imagine a city with no lake, no river, no mountains — nothing), hundreds of “traditionally styled” homes have sprung up like wildly-colored weeds. But here’s the thing. The whole thing’s supposed to feel like some oldie-timey town. So there’s a town hall out of “Back To The Future,” apartments out of “Barry Lyndon,” and mis-matched homes ripped straight from “Spartacus,” “Deadwood,” and “Gangs Of New York” — just a few feet from one another! And not a tree in sight. Totally weird.

Chris, Jen and Ethan flew home this morning. Ethan’s toys are still scattered around the house. It’s quieter, and a little less fun. I’ve been hiding away down here all day. I’ve been watching movies (nothing good), reading (“Jarhead”), goofing around online (My Space — I asked Jenny Lewis and Ryan Adams to be my friends), rehearsing for next week, and even cranking out a new song (“What Was I Thinking?”).

It’s after midnight. I’ve been tip-toeing around upstairs stealing beer and ice cream from the fridge. I’m watching “Clear & Present Danger” on AMC. It’s like high school. But not.

I’m ready for the rock.