Great Uncle Fonzi is in the Hudson River...

...Sanitarium. He’s in the Hudson River Sanitarium It was a very hot late June Friday in upstate NY. The heat and humidity sucked the moisture from me and soaked my clothes. Every where I went I was sweating, hot, fidgety, miserable, angry, frustrated, uncomfortable, thirsty, short tempered, and typically pissed off. Cruising the byways of Fishkill NY with my brother and my SiL (sister in law) we all decided that the heat would make anyone a little nutty. It was sure working its mojo on me and the main reason I tried to not talk, answer everyone politely and not shift in my clothes too quickly (or my scrotum would rip apart and the day would be complete). It was past Africa hot. It was east coast, people dying in their house, soaked shirt, soaked shorts, shiny face, matted hair, wheezing, huffing, puffing, lip sweat, pitted out, without a doubt - hell for us out of towners. The heat was exhausting. At the end of our first day there a Friday I told myself if I can get past this heat and be cordial, enjoy, take it in, make ‘em smile "I will be okay." I had no idea I was this heavily into affirmations, but I held this conversation over and over with myself as I went from hotel to car - soaked with sweat. Car to Culinary Institute - my shorts had a moisture band at the waist. Culinary Institute to car - my flip flops kept slipping as the foot sweat pooled in them. Car to to hotel - a sad, stooped, shuffling figure devoid of moisture as it schleps into the hotel, hit by air conditioning and partially reborn. Air conditioning would stop the conversation in my mind. And the last thing I said to myself each time the AC saved me from a literal melt down was: There is no way this could get worse. Yeah I know. Hell everyone knows not to say that phrase. Because Mel Brooks and Marty Feldman proved it out in Young Frankenstein. It could be worse it could be raining. Guess what Mr and Ms cliche-patrol, I was counting on it getting worse because rain would be rebirth at best and a reprieve at a minimum. And that my friends is why I hoped it got worse, In fact I had speculated it could worse by getting hotter and then we could not safely go outside for any length of time. Worse yes, better - definitely - air conditioning. Also it could be worse as I could be in the hospital - you follow me here? Could be worse I could be dead, six feet under the cool hard earth. Could be worse we could be stranded and die of thirst, that would suck but I know it is not my time (another post, another time). What I did not know is in the air conditioned comfort of a local Farm to Mouth restaurant it got worse and the heat was the least of my worries. You see I was attending a family reunion. First time in twenty-four years. Last time I drank so much vodka I ended up insulting so many dear family members, horrifying my wife, scaring the kids, peeing in the yard, and upchucking for so long I had a reverse prolapsed colon. I really had never been that sick from Vodka consumption ever - and I was a total, complete, world class douche bag twenty - four years ago. But I was back and I was going to fly straight and true and let everyone know that was an anomaly. That, I found out, was the easy part. JFK airport is busy and the red eye sounded like a good idea at the time. My flight plan was to pop a Percocet just prior to boarding so I could sit for six hours and not fidget. That worked and I managed to sleep a few hours. I arrived no worse for wear and met my Mom at another gate. Shuffled off to the baggage claim with her, caught a cab to NYC, met my bro and SiL for breakfast, took a cab to Penn Station and a train to Poughkeepsie. From the Poughkeepsie train station it was a brief cab ride to the Hertz rental car and a black 2012 Impala awaited to transport us to our hotel. 
Along the way we stopped at a Dairy Queen had Peanut Buster Parfaits and noticed that a number of locals had cornered the market on men’s wife beater t-shirts, steroids and cargo pants that are neither shorts nor pants but somewhere in between. I made a mental note to never dress like that. The rest of the day was spent catching up with family, sweating profusely and going through water, like it was water. Dinner was at the Fishkill Yacht Club where the food was good, the family was there and everyone knew everyone. So far so good. Our group hit the wall just before 9PM and we crashed getting ready for a Friday of more adventures. 
I slept like I was dead. Friday morning I put on a dry clothes, tossed my sweat soaked travel clothes into a pile and headed to the lobby for a complimentary continental breakfast of a slice of toast, juice and a yoghurt. When we had had enough free carbs we fired up the Impala which at this hour was not quite a Detroit Dutch Oven but hot enough and ventured to my Aunt’s house to get my Mom to visit the Culinary Institute of America (impressive) had a quick lunch (two of four dishes where not good), pick up some memorabilia at the gift shop and exited into a blast furnace of heat to drop my Mom off at her sister's house and get to the AC hotel for a nap and to prepare for a dinner at the Farm to Mouth restaurant. We arrived at the Farm to Mouth restaurant an hour early as my Uncle was playing Jazz with his trio. My cousin was going to sing. It is apparent there is musical talent in the family but I have a small dose and my cousins are professionals. This was going to be exciting and as it turns out life changing. During the dinner while my Uncle tickled the ivories covering Stevie Wonder, the Beatles, Gershwin and others my Aunt told me a story of my Great Uncle Fonzie (short for Alfonzo). Great Uncle Fonzi (GUF) came up in conversation when my Mom innocently enough asked about his whereabouts. The start of the story is the title of this post. Great Uncle Fonzi is in the Hudson River Sanitarium. Are you siting down? Great Uncle Fonzi had a proclivity toward uncomfortable and overt sexual deviancy. According to lore he was, ahem, is, a world class masturbator. It started back in the day when my Mom and my aunts were kids and GUF would be seen lurking in windows around the house and other peoples’ houses. He cooked the sheet meat everywhere and anywhere he could. Say what you want about the internet taking the one to one, face time, real time connection away for people. If GUF had the internet he might still be at home in upstate NY punching the clown and catching every computer virus known as he wanked his way all over cyber space. However in simpler times he had to go public with his knobby hobby and it eventually landed him in the happy house. The story wound through uncomfortable roads lined with small kids, adults, and neighbors all growing increasingly uncomfortable with GUF’s public display of liking something so much he had to relieve himself - anywhere at anytime with a blind eye toward stealth. After several public instances he was corralled and sent away. Turns out GUF liked trains. I mean really liked trains. Trains thrilled GUF. Had enough? Okay, GUF was placed in the Hudson River Sanitarium because he liked to wait by the tracks and when the train passed by he would - yeah that. Thank you GUF for putting a north east heat wave in perspective. Yes we took the train back to NYC from Poughkeepsie after the reunion. I did not drink at all, had a fantastic time. On the return train ride from Poughkeepsie to NYC I did not look out the window once.