This year, I'm going to take part in a time-honored American holiday tradition that I've always wanted to try: I'm going to mail it in for the holidays.
I plan to enjoy every second of it. I'm going to slide by while doing as little as possible. Anything I can put off until January will get shoved to the side. Anything that isn't urgent won't get done at all. I'm coming in late, leaving early, and taking two-hour lunches.
It's going to be wonderful.
The only problem with my otherwise-foolproof plan is that I can't actually do any of this at my real job. I actually have stuff to do there--stuff that seems beyond my capacity even when I'm operating at 100 percent.
And right now I'm most certainly not. No American really is this time of year. We don't get as much vacation time as the rest of the industrial world, so we're left going through the motions for the month of December to compensate. And since I can't do it at my real job, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be doing it right here. Heck, I might not even finish this column.
The blog is going to redefine laziness over the next month. I could post crappy stuff that I don't put any thought into, but even that sounds like too much effort. I might occasionally log in to check my page views, but I'm going to at least save my info so I don't have to re-type my login every time.
Why am I doing this, you ask?
First, because it's the American way. For all my loyal readers in Denmark, consider this a cultural education.
Beyond that, I'm way behind in writing for my other websites, and people don't take much time to read blogs during a busy Christmas season anyway, so it seems like a good time to recharge for a renewed blogging push in January. More importantly, posting old stuff makes it look like I'm still doing something when I'm actually not.
So what can you expect over the next month?
Not very much! I'll still post a blog every week in December, but rather than produce something mindless (even more mindless than usual, that is), I'm going to re-post some of my favorite stuff from the blog's earlier days.
More of you are reading now (for reasons I'm happy about but have yet to entirely understand), so this seems like a good chance to re-introduce some old columns that never hit it big because they posted before their time.
I'll be back with an original post shortly before Christmas, but until then, enjoy a collection of my overlooked favorites, as well as a classic or two from this year. I won't call it a "best-of" because, let's face it, all my stuff is crap. After all, my best-read column of all-time, the only one that's ever truly gone viral, is about bugs gone wild.
So, I realize that my stuff might be crap, but some it is crap that I'd like to share.
And isn't that what the holidays are really all about?
Other than a chance to be lazy, that is.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Why I'm Thankful for Thanksgiving, and 18 Other Things, Too
Thankfully, Thanksgiving is almost here.
It’s the time of year when we eat, watch football, eat, visit with family, and, most importantly, eat. And then we go back for leftovers.
Thanksgiving is an underrated holiday. People who study these kinds of things say that nothing elevates one’s general level of happiness more than persistent thankfulness. Clearly the researchers involved in this study didn’t have to deal with a drunken Uncle Jimmy who overstays his welcome and belches loudly during dessert, but if the research is true, then Thanksgiving should be the happiest day of the year.
Aside from the Uncle Jimmy (or the relevant obnoxious dinner guest at your table), though, there's a pretty good argument that Turkey Day is the best day of the year.
It offers all the togetherness and joy of Christmas, but there are no presents to buy, nothing to wrap and nothing to think about beforehand other than a holiday menu, which doesn’t change much on annual basis anyway.
Plus, unlike with every other holiday under the sun, we celebrate this one at the beginning of its holiday weekend instead of the end.
Suffice to say, I’m thankful for Thanksgiving.
That isn’t all I’m thankful for, though. Later on, I’m going to sit down (or possibly just crouch) and write out 101 things for which I’m grateful. I think is important to do this because 101 is an indisputably festive number.
Here, however, I’m only going to mention 19. This will take significantly less effort to both write and read, and we can both be thankful for that because you probably have a turkey to baste anyway.
Here goes:
1. Thanksgiving.
2. Turkey.
3. Thanksgiving Turkey.
4. My cats. At least when they aren’t engaging in a flying leap onto one of my sensitive body parts in the small hours of the morning.
5. Coffee on a rainy day.
6. Or any other day.
7. That we live in a world where grapes magically become wine when they sit in a barrel long enough.
8. Answered prayers, and the lessons learned from the ones that aren’t answered as I would have liked.
9. Close friends. The real ones. The people who you not only see all the time, but whose presence reminds you why you love them every time you do.
10. Political ads featuring sheep with glowing red eyes.
Google it.
If you don’t yet know what I’m talking about, you’ll thank me later.
11. The chance for an Alabama/LSU rematch in the college football national title game. Even if it risks even further damage to my marriage.
12. Long weekends.
13. Patios on warm days.
14. Noon hotel check-out times.
15. That it has been more than 18 months since either my city or my house has been underwater.
16. My chiropractor, my wife and family, the employees at my local Jack-in-the-Box, the renter who occupies the house I can’t sell, and everyone else without whom my life would come to immediate and irreparable ruin.
17. That my memories are still outnumbered by my dreams. Even if, currently, those dreams primarily involve eating a lot of turkey.
18. People who read blogs.
19. Especially mine.
God bless, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
It’s the time of year when we eat, watch football, eat, visit with family, and, most importantly, eat. And then we go back for leftovers.
Thanksgiving is an underrated holiday. People who study these kinds of things say that nothing elevates one’s general level of happiness more than persistent thankfulness. Clearly the researchers involved in this study didn’t have to deal with a drunken Uncle Jimmy who overstays his welcome and belches loudly during dessert, but if the research is true, then Thanksgiving should be the happiest day of the year.
Aside from the Uncle Jimmy (or the relevant obnoxious dinner guest at your table), though, there's a pretty good argument that Turkey Day is the best day of the year.
It offers all the togetherness and joy of Christmas, but there are no presents to buy, nothing to wrap and nothing to think about beforehand other than a holiday menu, which doesn’t change much on annual basis anyway.
Plus, unlike with every other holiday under the sun, we celebrate this one at the beginning of its holiday weekend instead of the end.
Suffice to say, I’m thankful for Thanksgiving.
That isn’t all I’m thankful for, though. Later on, I’m going to sit down (or possibly just crouch) and write out 101 things for which I’m grateful. I think is important to do this because 101 is an indisputably festive number.
Here, however, I’m only going to mention 19. This will take significantly less effort to both write and read, and we can both be thankful for that because you probably have a turkey to baste anyway.
Here goes:
1. Thanksgiving.
2. Turkey.
3. Thanksgiving Turkey.
4. My cats. At least when they aren’t engaging in a flying leap onto one of my sensitive body parts in the small hours of the morning.
5. Coffee on a rainy day.
6. Or any other day.
7. That we live in a world where grapes magically become wine when they sit in a barrel long enough.
8. Answered prayers, and the lessons learned from the ones that aren’t answered as I would have liked.
9. Close friends. The real ones. The people who you not only see all the time, but whose presence reminds you why you love them every time you do.
10. Political ads featuring sheep with glowing red eyes.
Google it.
If you don’t yet know what I’m talking about, you’ll thank me later.
11. The chance for an Alabama/LSU rematch in the college football national title game. Even if it risks even further damage to my marriage.
12. Long weekends.
13. Patios on warm days.
14. Noon hotel check-out times.
15. That it has been more than 18 months since either my city or my house has been underwater.
16. My chiropractor, my wife and family, the employees at my local Jack-in-the-Box, the renter who occupies the house I can’t sell, and everyone else without whom my life would come to immediate and irreparable ruin.
17. That my memories are still outnumbered by my dreams. Even if, currently, those dreams primarily involve eating a lot of turkey.
18. People who read blogs.
19. Especially mine.
God bless, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Dear Retail Store: It's Not Christmas Season Yet
This is madness, and it has to stop.
Christmas season starts the day after Thanksgiving.
That's not now.
I've had it. When I walked into the store after a workout on November 16th, I shouldn't be unable to find a power bar because that whole aisle has already been replaced with seasonal holiday items. When I go to the mall on Veteran's Day, I shouldn't see Christmas trees. When I turn on my radio on November 2nd, I shouldn't hear a merry voice telling me that it's the most wonderful time of the year.
Because it isn't.
Every year the retail world's Christmas Season seems to creep a little earlier onto the calendar. I understand stores' temptation to do it: they hope that the earlier people see Christmas items, the earlier they will start shopping. But it's gotten out of hand.
This year, on Halloween night, I went into my local CVS to grab a prescription and a diet coke. At 6:30 that night, they had already removed all of their Halloween stuff and stocked their aisles for Christmas.
This means two things. First, it means that it's a really bad idea to wait until Halloween night to shop for a Halloween costume. But beyond that, it means that Christmas has now not only overwhelmed Thanksgiving, but skipped in front of Halloween as well.
Pardon me, but doesn't it seem like the holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus, he of all those teachings about humility and showing consideration for others, should wait it's turn?
It's not that I don't love Christmas. I really do, as do most of the other out there, who like me, want to help preserve the sanctity of the holiday season by not stretching it into October. I complain because I care.
The problem with starting Christmas season too early isn't just that it takes the emphasis off of other important days like Thanksgiving and Veteran's Day that deserve attention on their own merit. It isn't just that stretching the holiday season from one month to two months makes it feel less special. And it isn't just that the practice is yet another example of our materialistic society emphasizing mindless consumerism over the holiday's deeper meaning.
All of those annoyances are valid, but they aren't the whole story.
The worst part of Christmas creep is this: The holiday season is the one time a year when most working adults are allowed to eschew their obligations for two weeks and relax with their loved ones. Getting to that point generally requires one final burst of adrenaline in mid-December to finish all of life's final non-holiday obligations for the year, and make one last mad dash to fulfill those new year's resolutions for the year before everything shuts down.
So when Christmas carols play this time of year, a time when getting to the end of our year's to-do list is not even remotely in sight, it just reminds us of everything that's left to be done before we can relax and enjoy the music.
That's not festive. It just adds a whole new layer of stress.
And it needs to stop, before Christmas takes over July 4th as well.
Christmas season starts the day after Thanksgiving.
That's not now.
I've had it. When I walked into the store after a workout on November 16th, I shouldn't be unable to find a power bar because that whole aisle has already been replaced with seasonal holiday items. When I go to the mall on Veteran's Day, I shouldn't see Christmas trees. When I turn on my radio on November 2nd, I shouldn't hear a merry voice telling me that it's the most wonderful time of the year.
Because it isn't.
Every year the retail world's Christmas Season seems to creep a little earlier onto the calendar. I understand stores' temptation to do it: they hope that the earlier people see Christmas items, the earlier they will start shopping. But it's gotten out of hand.
This year, on Halloween night, I went into my local CVS to grab a prescription and a diet coke. At 6:30 that night, they had already removed all of their Halloween stuff and stocked their aisles for Christmas.
This means two things. First, it means that it's a really bad idea to wait until Halloween night to shop for a Halloween costume. But beyond that, it means that Christmas has now not only overwhelmed Thanksgiving, but skipped in front of Halloween as well.
Pardon me, but doesn't it seem like the holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus, he of all those teachings about humility and showing consideration for others, should wait it's turn?
It's not that I don't love Christmas. I really do, as do most of the other out there, who like me, want to help preserve the sanctity of the holiday season by not stretching it into October. I complain because I care.
The problem with starting Christmas season too early isn't just that it takes the emphasis off of other important days like Thanksgiving and Veteran's Day that deserve attention on their own merit. It isn't just that stretching the holiday season from one month to two months makes it feel less special. And it isn't just that the practice is yet another example of our materialistic society emphasizing mindless consumerism over the holiday's deeper meaning.
All of those annoyances are valid, but they aren't the whole story.
The worst part of Christmas creep is this: The holiday season is the one time a year when most working adults are allowed to eschew their obligations for two weeks and relax with their loved ones. Getting to that point generally requires one final burst of adrenaline in mid-December to finish all of life's final non-holiday obligations for the year, and make one last mad dash to fulfill those new year's resolutions for the year before everything shuts down.
So when Christmas carols play this time of year, a time when getting to the end of our year's to-do list is not even remotely in sight, it just reminds us of everything that's left to be done before we can relax and enjoy the music.
That's not festive. It just adds a whole new layer of stress.
And it needs to stop, before Christmas takes over July 4th as well.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Older than Jesus
It’s official: I’m now older than Jesus Christ.
I don’t mean that as sacrilege; it's just a fact.
Jesus accomplished his mission on this Earth in 33 years. Whatever mine is hasn’t been fully accomplished yet, and last week I turned 34. That means that Jesus was able to secure the salvation of the world in less time than it’s taken me to learn conversational Spanish.
Ouch.
You might be thinking that it isn’t fair to compare oneself to God incarnate. That’s a fair point.
But it isn’t the whole point.
I don’t think God expects me to heal lepers, raise the dead or walk on water, at least not before I turn at 37. At minimum.
But here's the thing: if the years from 30-33 were the most productive time of HIS life, I can’t help but wonder if I should have done more with mine.
I often struggle with the question of whether I’m accomplishing anything meaningful in life rather than just going through its motions--paying the bills, working 40-hour weeks, and watching my favorite shows on tv.
I think my law enforcement job is beneficial, but I’m not so deluded as to think that hundreds of other attorneys couldn’t step in and do the same thing I do, some of them better than I.
I started this blog to do something unique, but making jokes about attacking insects and complaining about holidays that fall on a Monday only helps society so much.
It’s easy to look around and get discouraged at the realization that one’s post-graduate dreams won’t be realized. In my 20s, I came to grips with the fact I’ll never be President, or even follow in my dad’s cousin’s shoes as a U.S. Senator, and that no history books would be incomplete for lacking my biography.
In my early 30s, it dawned on me that I’m not likely to ever even be fully financially comfortable, at least in the upper-middle class sense of the phrase.
But none of that really matters.
Contrary to what society likes to tell us, God never called us to achieve success. We’re just supposed to find an activity that feels uniquely our own and give it our all.
There’s a peace in that. We aren’t responsible for our life’s results, only our life’s efforts.
I might or might not achieve fame and fortune and enlighten the world by Just Thinking. But the crazy thing is that if I fail, it won’t really bother me. Five years ago, it used to tear me up inside that I never saw how far writing career could have gone—that I had as much ability as some of my old friends who hit it big but never found a way to try.
Now, I’m at least finding out. If the blog plateaus at 500 monthly views and no one ever pays me to write sports columns, at least I’ll know I did my part. I found something important to me and gave it my best shot.
And that’s what's really important.
I may not have figured out how to turn water into wine, but I’m glad I at least figured out that.
I don’t mean that as sacrilege; it's just a fact.
Jesus accomplished his mission on this Earth in 33 years. Whatever mine is hasn’t been fully accomplished yet, and last week I turned 34. That means that Jesus was able to secure the salvation of the world in less time than it’s taken me to learn conversational Spanish.
Ouch.
You might be thinking that it isn’t fair to compare oneself to God incarnate. That’s a fair point.
But it isn’t the whole point.
I don’t think God expects me to heal lepers, raise the dead or walk on water, at least not before I turn at 37. At minimum.
But here's the thing: if the years from 30-33 were the most productive time of HIS life, I can’t help but wonder if I should have done more with mine.
I often struggle with the question of whether I’m accomplishing anything meaningful in life rather than just going through its motions--paying the bills, working 40-hour weeks, and watching my favorite shows on tv.
I think my law enforcement job is beneficial, but I’m not so deluded as to think that hundreds of other attorneys couldn’t step in and do the same thing I do, some of them better than I.
I started this blog to do something unique, but making jokes about attacking insects and complaining about holidays that fall on a Monday only helps society so much.
It’s easy to look around and get discouraged at the realization that one’s post-graduate dreams won’t be realized. In my 20s, I came to grips with the fact I’ll never be President, or even follow in my dad’s cousin’s shoes as a U.S. Senator, and that no history books would be incomplete for lacking my biography.
In my early 30s, it dawned on me that I’m not likely to ever even be fully financially comfortable, at least in the upper-middle class sense of the phrase.
But none of that really matters.
Contrary to what society likes to tell us, God never called us to achieve success. We’re just supposed to find an activity that feels uniquely our own and give it our all.
There’s a peace in that. We aren’t responsible for our life’s results, only our life’s efforts.
I might or might not achieve fame and fortune and enlighten the world by Just Thinking. But the crazy thing is that if I fail, it won’t really bother me. Five years ago, it used to tear me up inside that I never saw how far writing career could have gone—that I had as much ability as some of my old friends who hit it big but never found a way to try.
Now, I’m at least finding out. If the blog plateaus at 500 monthly views and no one ever pays me to write sports columns, at least I’ll know I did my part. I found something important to me and gave it my best shot.
And that’s what's really important.
I may not have figured out how to turn water into wine, but I’m glad I at least figured out that.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Alabama Or LSU Will Survive Saturday's Game, But My Marriage May Not
While most of the college football world has been counting down until the Alabama/LSU game, my wife and I can’t wait until it ends.
That is the price of being in a mixed marriage between an Alabama and an LSU fan.
My wife and I agree on a lot of things. We love each other, college football, a good bowl of gumbo and the New Orleans Saints, though not necessarily in that order.
This arrangement works well for us 364 days a year. But this Saturday, no matter who wins Alabama’s game against LSU on Saturday, we’re both going to end up feeling like losers.
The collateral damage this game brings our household on annual basis far outpaces the joy of victory either of us experiences for a win. Every year when our teams play, we sit silently on opposite sides of our couch, with competing sets of team-branded merchandise before us, rooting under our breath for our own team’s success and, by implication, the other’s demise.
It’s a miserable experience.
The joy of every on-filed success is dulled by the realization that every positive emotion a good play brings is balanced by an equally negative emotion from the other half of my household.
We cheer in muted breaths for fear that if one of us oversteps into what could be construed as taunting, our marital acrimony will last beyond the end of the game. As it often does.
Watching this game is torture on an average year. This season, when the winner of this game becomes the presumptive national champion and the loser is reduced to playing out the string while hoping for a miracle, there may be more tension on our couch Saturday night than in the entirety of Bryant-Denny Stadium.
I can’t imagine how the loser will manage to survive.
Not to mention our marriage.
Born in Mobile, I’ve been an Alabama fan since I was old enough to watch football. I went to college there largely for the purpose of getting discount student tickets.
Saturday isn’t just a game to me. Alabama may have won a National Title two years ago, but the bitterness from heavy-handed NCAA sanctions and our programs struggles still lingers among Alabama fans, especially in light of Auburn’s NCAA-loophole-fueled title run that we Alabama fans know the NCAA would have never let us to get away with.
We need one more national title to clear the bad taste out of our mouths, and our window might close after this year. Nick Saban, in his fifth year at Alabama, turned 60 Monday, and only one coach (Mack Brown) has ever won a BCS title more than five years into a tenure as head coach at the winning school. We need this game.
Of course, none of this matters to my wife. She just wants another national title and readily points out that she’s due because my team has won one since hers has.
My wife is from New Orleans, and one of the reasons I married her was her intense football devotion. I’m the envy of all my friends most weekends, when they spend their Saturdays completing honey-do lists while my wife is perfectly happy to schedule our lives around important games.
But this weekend, her passion turns against me.
Once the game starts, we will take turns arguing as to which one of us has the more depressing daily life, and is thus more deserving of a Karmic victory from the Cosmic football forces. We will accuse the other of cheering too loudly, and then feel guilty that they don’t feel free to cheer with a full heart. We will make lame rationalizations about how a loss in this game won’t hurt the other’s team irrevocably, even if it clearly will.
Our friends think our situation is funny. To them, whether a marriage can survive this Saturday’s College Football Armageddon is as interesting of a question as who will win the game itself.
People we haven’t seen in months keep emailing us, asking if they can come over and watch the game at our house for the novelty value, observing our reactions as though we were an elephant and tiger at the zoo.
We have, of course, turned down these offers. I am not sure life will go on for the loser of this game, and we can’t allow anyone we care about to witness the scene.
When the game ends, one of us will initially be on Cloud Nine, but that feeling will immediately dissolve upon seeing the other moping around, with dreams dashed until next season.
The friends and family of the winner will call to celebrate and my wife or I will have to walk the delicate balance of showing appropriate enthusiasm while not yelling so loudly as to rub the loser’s nose in defeat. It’s hell for the loser, and, frankly not very much fun for the winner either.
The game’s only solace is that it is scheduled at night, so the loser can go directly to bed Saturday night when it ends.
And then we can wake up Sunday and look to the Saints to bridge our differences.
That is the price of being in a mixed marriage between an Alabama and an LSU fan.
My wife and I agree on a lot of things. We love each other, college football, a good bowl of gumbo and the New Orleans Saints, though not necessarily in that order.
This arrangement works well for us 364 days a year. But this Saturday, no matter who wins Alabama’s game against LSU on Saturday, we’re both going to end up feeling like losers.
The collateral damage this game brings our household on annual basis far outpaces the joy of victory either of us experiences for a win. Every year when our teams play, we sit silently on opposite sides of our couch, with competing sets of team-branded merchandise before us, rooting under our breath for our own team’s success and, by implication, the other’s demise.
It’s a miserable experience.
The joy of every on-filed success is dulled by the realization that every positive emotion a good play brings is balanced by an equally negative emotion from the other half of my household.
We cheer in muted breaths for fear that if one of us oversteps into what could be construed as taunting, our marital acrimony will last beyond the end of the game. As it often does.
Watching this game is torture on an average year. This season, when the winner of this game becomes the presumptive national champion and the loser is reduced to playing out the string while hoping for a miracle, there may be more tension on our couch Saturday night than in the entirety of Bryant-Denny Stadium.
I can’t imagine how the loser will manage to survive.
Not to mention our marriage.
Born in Mobile, I’ve been an Alabama fan since I was old enough to watch football. I went to college there largely for the purpose of getting discount student tickets.
Saturday isn’t just a game to me. Alabama may have won a National Title two years ago, but the bitterness from heavy-handed NCAA sanctions and our programs struggles still lingers among Alabama fans, especially in light of Auburn’s NCAA-loophole-fueled title run that we Alabama fans know the NCAA would have never let us to get away with.
We need one more national title to clear the bad taste out of our mouths, and our window might close after this year. Nick Saban, in his fifth year at Alabama, turned 60 Monday, and only one coach (Mack Brown) has ever won a BCS title more than five years into a tenure as head coach at the winning school. We need this game.
Of course, none of this matters to my wife. She just wants another national title and readily points out that she’s due because my team has won one since hers has.
My wife is from New Orleans, and one of the reasons I married her was her intense football devotion. I’m the envy of all my friends most weekends, when they spend their Saturdays completing honey-do lists while my wife is perfectly happy to schedule our lives around important games.
But this weekend, her passion turns against me.
Once the game starts, we will take turns arguing as to which one of us has the more depressing daily life, and is thus more deserving of a Karmic victory from the Cosmic football forces. We will accuse the other of cheering too loudly, and then feel guilty that they don’t feel free to cheer with a full heart. We will make lame rationalizations about how a loss in this game won’t hurt the other’s team irrevocably, even if it clearly will.
Our friends think our situation is funny. To them, whether a marriage can survive this Saturday’s College Football Armageddon is as interesting of a question as who will win the game itself.
People we haven’t seen in months keep emailing us, asking if they can come over and watch the game at our house for the novelty value, observing our reactions as though we were an elephant and tiger at the zoo.
We have, of course, turned down these offers. I am not sure life will go on for the loser of this game, and we can’t allow anyone we care about to witness the scene.
When the game ends, one of us will initially be on Cloud Nine, but that feeling will immediately dissolve upon seeing the other moping around, with dreams dashed until next season.
The friends and family of the winner will call to celebrate and my wife or I will have to walk the delicate balance of showing appropriate enthusiasm while not yelling so loudly as to rub the loser’s nose in defeat. It’s hell for the loser, and, frankly not very much fun for the winner either.
The game’s only solace is that it is scheduled at night, so the loser can go directly to bed Saturday night when it ends.
And then we can wake up Sunday and look to the Saints to bridge our differences.
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