Kiss Your Cousins

  Geneticists say we're all related. That guy eating roast marmot in Mongolia is at least my and your 50th cousin. "Hey Guyuk! How ya doin'?" It would be a friendlier world if we kept in mind that everyone we meet is a cousin. We tend to be extra nice to cousins, though I do have a cousin, Crazy Louie, who disappeared 30 years ago. No one in the family wants or expects him to show up again, though if he reads this blog he may call home.
  I have a trip to Chicago coming up and plan to meet my cousin Michael Jordan at his downtown steakhouse. I imagine the maître de will ask me if I have a reservation. I'll just ask him to let Michael know his cousin Joe is here. I intend to start wearing one of those "Hi, My Name Is..." tags to save embarrassment. Michael meets lots of new cousins everyday. I don't expect him to remember us all.
"Hey, Joe. how ya doin'," Michael will say. After some getting to know you chat, Michael will ask if I want to meet some of his teammates. Great guy that he is, Mike has offered jobs to any of his teammates who have fallen on hard times which is surprisingly quite a few. "I thought you guys got a great pension," I say. "We do," Mike says, "but it can be turned into ready cash which can disappear pretty quick." The only other Bull besides Mike I can think of is Dennis Rodman. "Is Cousin Dennis available?" Mike hangs his head. "Unfortunately, Dennis made use of the new live video feature on Facebook. Why don't you check back in a few months. Call first."
Mike said they were featuring a Chicago style New York Strip Steak today. "Do you want the 32 or the 48 oz. dinner?"
  I should have asked him for a souvenir before he went back to the kitchen. I'm sure he won't mind if I take a fork. What else are cousins for?