My grandfather was Ross Woodman. I got my ability to memorize thousands of songs from him, he was an English prof who never published anything of any use, but could recite entire books of stuff. He had two kids with my grandma, and then abandoned her, because the domestic life of a working intellectual with a wife and kids did not suit him. Put her and my uncle on the train back to Winnipeg, to live with my creepy great grandpa. Creepy great grandpa. He married Marion Boa, who came to be known as Marion Woodman, and is a popular muckymuch among the weird cult of #Jungian intellectuals. Lived affluently. Hung out once with him in my 30s cause I went to visit my mom and she did not warn me he would be there. Would not shut up about hanging out with Barbara Streisand. Seriously. Reappeared when my uncle reached University age, and promised to support him through Architect school. Then Monty flunked out, and Woodman thusly refused to pay his owed tuition, as he had promised. Marion's brother Bruce - yes, that Bruce Boa - had to call up Ross and shame him, because he was a fucking Picasso collecting motherfucker by that point and he re-abandoned his son. If not for General Reikan himself, well, tuition wasn't even that much back then, it's not like Monty was facing USA student debt of our time. But it was sure cool of Ross to abandon him twice. I went to visit him at age 3 and the experience was bad enough that I actually blocked out the details, I only remembered crying while he yelled at my mom and pointed at me. I talked to him when he was almost dead and it turns out there was a haircut involved, cause I had real sensory issues about my hair back then, and he basically took me, a three year old, away from my mother in a strange town and I had no idea what was going on, it was clearly terrifying cause I had nothing to do with him for decades after. Even being told I'd have the opportunity to hang out with an actor who was in a Star Wars movie. Back when how many times you'd seen a given Star Wars movie was a part of your personal mythology. But that generational trauma, boys, it's a motherfucker. Monty was a terror presence in my life. Held a knife to my gramma's throat once. Grew up fearing that I would wake up with him over me holding a bat or some other such. Anyways he was just a mad dog who died years ago, but somehow I was the recovery email on his google account so this week, google reminded me about him. As did the parent. And then, for good measure, so did some old money scum lady that I have never exchanged a single word with, contacts me thinking it's my parents, friend of the woodman shit. Cause he loved hanging out with rich people. This one was involved in the will that it took them several months to produce, on his death. The only time we have communicated, and undoubtedly how she got my email into her computer, was when I sent an angry email about the stonewalling, when he had been calling daily asking for information. My supposition is they composed it after he died. Anyways for some reason every wasted bit of life in my lineage seems to be insisting on itself right now and basically now I'm... I dunno, not getting shit done, anyways. Fuck Ross Woodman. He was a real piece of shit.