I have a (distant) cousin to whom I refer as Lucifer, because he's as beautiful as they get and bad as homemade sin. I recently discovered, by accident, that he's a guest of the Great State of Tennessee, County of Davidson, City of Nashville, until the end of June for his latest stunt. I'm not sure what this one was, exactly, but it's listed on the Department of Corrections' website as a probation violation. I also don't know for what he's probated, but it's a misdemeanor and I'm willing to bet it's drunk and disorderly, or straight up public intoxication. Anyway, I had a hangup call on my voicemail from the Davidson County lockup, and since he was living down there (last I heard), I decided to do a search on the inmate listings. Bingo.
Usually when he disappears off the face of the Earth for a prolonged period, he's either off to Japan for work (a major automaker that has NOT been in the news of late) or back in jail again. He tends to live in the bottom of a bottle, which is really too bad since he's quite brilliant- just not brilliant enough to avoid getting caught at whatever deviltry into which he's gotten.
We have an odd relationship. He's strangely overprotective of me, while conversely being an ass the rest of the time. He's done some things that I wish he hadn't, including spying on one of my boyfriends, a Brentwood attorney, at a Titans football game. His employer's box wasn't that far from where said boyfriend was sitting that day (or so he said); Lucifer was angry because I'd been invited to Nashville for a jazz concert the previous evening and summarily shuffled off home before the game. He proposed that I attend the game with him for the purpose of proving that I didn't need any stinkin' boyfriend to get me in, an offer which I politely declined. I'm just glad that he got so drunk that he couldn't stagger forth for a confrontation, although I was later treated to a lengthly, scathing diatribe on the subject of men who will not introduce you to their friends.
It's just as well. I don't believe in professional sports, and in my world, football is what brackets the band's performance at halftime. That's the only reason I know squat about that sport- the fifty zillion freezing Friday nights spent hauling a drum around a wet football field in high school. Lucifer played for Tennessee- to my eternal shame-you could say we disagree on the relevance of the actual game, plus I attended a rival university. It makes things interesting around Thanksgiving...
Anyway, I went out and bought him a "Thinking of You" card, noting inside that Target was fresh out of "Sorry You're Back in Jail" cards. Enclosed is a letter that includes my observations regarding his lack of criminal acumen and the notion that he needs to find something else to do with his time. Don't let my cavalier attitude fool you, though; I am worried about the little twit. All that brilliance, and nothing productive to show for it...what a shame.