"My boy, you won't be able to take an 'Incomplete' on your life." is what I would imagine my grandfather would say to me now if I were to sit at his feet and tell him about how my academic year went. I know that he would know just what to say, and say exactly what I needed to hear.

But alas, I am lacking in grandfathers. My grandfather on my father's side I encountered very few times and very briefly. I cannot recall him ever speaking directly to me. It is possible that he never did. He came from a culture that held their young in reproach and contempt (and the little bastards were damn well expected to be thankful for it.) He was murdered in 1998, my sophomore year of high school, at a bus station in his home town of Oaxaca, a very rural town in Mexico. My mother was the one who had told me what had happened. My father never spoke of it. I see now that I have learned well from him.

My mother's father I am not familiar with. From what I understand, he is not someone I wish to know. He remains just another forgotten relation, of which I have many. But then, I have been particularly concerned with all that "who begat who" nonsense. I understand that it mattered at some point. But I also understand that it ends with me. And I do not deal with obselete information. I know who my family is.

This is Day Six.

Another close call tonight at Lauren Resnick's and Beth Froehlich's cocktail party, but I managed to control myself. However, my mistaken belief that I was the designated driver of the evening may have had a lot to do with it. And I did eek by on a technicality. See, the way I figure it, midnight is the start of a new day, thereby resetting my drink limit. So I ended up having four drinks. But that only leaves two for the rest of day Six, there is another party tonight, and I am completely out of loopholes. Blast. Ah, well.

Today is still Day Six.

This is where I would ask, "Are you proud of me, Grandfather?"

I wonder what a grandfather would say to me then?