Granny = Comic Genius

Granny Marx is a racist. Granny Marx is a homophobe. Granny Marx complains about everything. She's had a stroke, fallen down the stairs, and her memory is fading away. Granny Marx is also the world's biggest Clay Aiken fan. She is a Claymate. She may even be a Claymaniac.

My dad and I made an obligatory visit to Granny's house a few days ago. Her front door was left open. My dad shouted, 'Hello! Grandma!' several times without any answer back to us. My dad likes to call his mom 'Grandma' because he knows it makes her angry. We walked into the living room where Granny was sitting in the dark, her brown poodle on her lap. For a moment, it was a very sweet picture - a granny and her puppy. Then, the dog woke up, started yelping and running throughout the house. Granny yelled, 'Who is that? Who is that?' and my dad had to assure her that it was us. Sometimes, she doesn't know who you are even if you tell her. Her mind is fuzzy like that now. Granny clicked on the antique lamp by her side that provided us with just enough light to see the stained carpet.

After the obligatory 'How is New York' Questionnaire (I swear, I should have a pre-printed answer sheet to just start handing out to people when I go back home - I answer the same questions 400 times), Granny told my dad to look around the house and see if there is anything he wants to take. Granny has started giving away many of her precious gems, jewels, and ancient bric-a-brac in anticipation of her death. 'I'm fading fast, Jeffrey', she warbles in a hushed yet abrasive tone, 'Maybe you should take a look and see if there is anything you want from this old house before I go.' She has been giving things away for years in anticipation of the rapid approaching death. Somehow, she keeps holding on. My dad and brother sell her crap on ebay. My mom and my aunt add to their own adorable antique collections. A Norman Rockwell Santa Claus for my mom, a purple frog ornament for my aunt and everyone is happy.

I didn't think there would be anything worth hauling back to NYC in Granny's dilapidated home, but then I saw a CD tower full of Reader's Digest CD Collections, Engelbert Humperdinck, and....Clay Aiken. I was very impressed on many levels that Granny owned this CD. Turns out she is a huge American Idol fan. She has watched every season. My dad continued hunting for Granny treasures while this exchange took place -

ME: You know, Clay wasn't the winner. He came in second.
GRANNY: Oh yes, that filthy, big, black man won.
ME: His name is Reuben Studdard.
GRANNY: Well, Clay was much better.
ME: I still can't believe you have this CD. I love it.
GRANNY: It's such a shame that -

Granny stopped mid sentence. She grasped at her head where her brain was supposed to be, searching for lost information. She had short circuited.

GRANNY: Such a shame that - damn it, what?
DAD: ..that he's from The South? (He loves mind tricks with Granny)
GRANNY: No!
DAD: That he wears glasses?
GRANNY: No, thats NOT IT!
DAD: That he is single?
GRANNY: No, damnit!
ME: That he's gay?
GRANNY: YES! That's it! It's such a shame that he is gay...he used to be so talented.

I tried to explain to Granny that it was only wide speculation that his sexuality was of the homosexual nature, that he, indeed, had not announced he was gay or had it been made official in anyway. I wanted to make sure Granny was not succombing to gossip and rumors. I also tried to tell her that being gay doesn't decrease your talents...it enhances them.

I think I will send Granny Marx a picture of me kissing a boy.