10-17-2002 | 1:34 a.m.

My Grandmother called me the other night, trying to get the newest gossip on my brother. "When am I going to meet Heather? After she has the baby? I want to meet the woman who's carrying my great grandson!" Then she asked if I would take the train down to go to "It's great to live in Harrison Day" (held every year on Columbus Day) with her, because my Great Uncle Bob (not that Uncle Bob.) would be performing.

I have to draw a line somewhere with my family. I remember the dread I'd feel as Grandma smiled and said, "Ready to listen to some great music?" I knew what was coming next. Out comes the record, Uncle Bob grinning on the cover holding his banjo. Guess what the title of the record was? Cmon, guess. "I Love a Banjo." Seriously, I'm not kidding. The title track was basically him singing about how much he loves his banjo. Always creeped me out. At family events I nervously looked at the door every few minutes. "Please don't let Uncle Bob show up with that damn banjo." Truly horrible. A guy born and raised in New York, creating a stage name and playing a banjo - hoping for fame.

Yes, I grew up in a weird town with a loony family.

My Mom has Lyme Disease, which I'm sure sucks for her. And yeah, I'm trying to be sympathetic, but she's using the illness as an excuse for everything. So, I've been in charge of my sister and brother constantly. Which is fun for them, but starting to tire me. My Mom is so melodramatic though. "Do I feel warm? Is my face red? It must be the Lyme Disease! I better take a nap." I have to openly laugh at her. Then it is assumed that I will help the sibs with their homework, make sure they take showers and entertain them until 10:00pm, bedtime.

Hmmmm....the Xanax is kicking in and I think I'm rambling and being boring. So, yeah, goodnight.