Karl and I are headed to San Jose at the end of the month for a family wedding. It happens to be the second one in as many months. The first was in Cleveland over the Labor Day holiday. The last time I was in Cleveland was for, surprise, a wedding, in 1994. That would make me 15 at the time. Over Labor Day Weekend, many family members approached me, "You may not remember me from the last time you saw me, but I'm your [insert family relation here]." You would think they have to constantly remind me about their identity because I was dropped on my head as an infant.
The sad thing is, I *was* dropped on my head as an infant.
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