Thursday, December 2, 2010

Someone Owes Me a Million Dollars (and it Might Be Sylvester Stallone)


First of all, apologies to the blogosphere for my overwhelming lameness as of late. I have become very busy and important, and therefore unable to blog with pathological frequency. I will try my best to get back on the bandwagon.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I am wildly unhelpful if you have real life problems. This is mostly because my family taught me that if you are experiencing serious issues, you should probably just shut up about it and quietly plot your revenge. Which means, really, that I am never going to give you sympathetic or useful advice during the terrible, dark periods of your life.

Take today for example. The Graphic Designer, a former squeeze of mine, has been experiencing some unemployment-related issues since the economy up and died. I could offer some nice, supportive banter. Or I could offer something semi-logical that is based on my actual life experiences:

Me: Don’t worry. It's impossible that you won't get a job for the rest of forever - unless, of course, you're one of my insane relations. In that case, you’ve blown millions of dollars on a koi pond, an assortment of rare cacti, and a home theater system and now you live in someone's basement in Chicago. But that's totally different.

The Graphic Designer: Oi vey, how is it I know that YOU KNOW somebody exotic like that?!

Me: Dude, you have no idea. Last week I traced my family back to a guy who came to the New World in 1640. He has an apple named after him.

And so forth.

Now, it may surprise you, but everything I said in this excerpt from my ill-fated gchat with The Graphic Designer is quite true. I am related to an eccentric former millionaire who spent all his money hand-building a koi grotto next to his swimming pool and installing a custom recliner in his living room that doubled as a huge remote for his theater screen. (He very kindly offered to let me “party at his place” whenever. Shortly thereafter, he filed for bankruptcy. Oh the devastation.)

I am also the descendant of a Swedish immigrant who ventured to New Sweden (now known as Delaware) in 1640 and consequently witnessed William Penn’s treaty with the Lenape Indians for the acreage that now constitutes the city of Philadelphia.

Peter Gunnarsson Rambo traveled across the seas onboard the Kalmar Nyckel, quite inexplicably, with a sack of apple seeds. He subsequently planted them all over New England, and the resulting variety of apples was dubbed “The Rambo Apple.”

Now here’s the important part.

If you’re thinking The fuck, the dude’s name was Rambo?!, you might be onto something.

Back in the day (circa 1970), a writer named David Morrell was trying to come up with a name for the protagonist of his latest novel. His wife came home with a bag of apples that she claimed were particularly delicious; he asked what they were called.

If you guessed “Rambo apples,” you are now displaying signs of average intelligence. Congratulations!

Morrell’s book was called First Blood and it inspired the infamous Rambo film franchise starring Sylvester Stallone.




Bitch, where are my royalties?!

I mean, hell, Sylvester Stallone’s character was indirectly named after my ancestor. Are there no benefits in that?! You mean my poor great great grandfather Ezekiel Rambo Young (I couldn’t even make this shit up) had to live his whole life with that ludicrous moniker and it means nothing?! (Unfortunately, Peter’s descendants were really into naming their sons Ezekiel. And my poor great great grandfather was named way before they knew our family name was going to become an 80s cinematic sensation.)

(Thousands of angels are playing their tiny violins as we speak.)

So, basically?

The estate of David Morrell can send me a check (or money order!) for a million bucks and we’ll call it even.


  1. love it! but most importantly where can I find a Rambo apple??

  2. i may slightly have reeled in the shock of you writing a new post. appreciahating is not dead! yays.

    p.s. when you have a million bucks from sylvester sallone or David Morrell or whatever, i expect that you will buy me a pitcher of mango margaritas at the riviera. k?