My friend, MB, said he's a little tired of my cheerful holiday disposition and just when do I think I will turn back into my dark and twisty self?
It's hard to say, as I'm currently hanging out with my niece in Maryland and while she has the propensity to leave fingerprints all over my glasses and spit up cottage cheese on my favorite hooded sweatshirt - she's still about the sweetest thing on the planet and I pretty much smile all day when she's around.
Having said that - I'm not sure I actually want the pleasure of giving birth to a real live human child. Real live human children don't really get cool til about one year old. (okay, 18-years-old) All those freaks who "ooh" and "ahh" over little tiny wrinkly red babies need to find some good anti-psychotic drugs.
Even my sister, who is just the best mom on the planet, is the first one to admit that the entire reason kids are cute and learn how to smile is so you don't feel justified in drowing them. Natural selection nothing - giggling is the secret to the continuation of the human race.
Okay, with all of that - I'm just not sure I'd be a good mother to an infant. My dry sarcastic humor would be totally lost on a baby. My forgetfulness would surely end in the kid sitting in the ol' car carrier on the curb. And let's be honest - one more spin of Raffi in the cd player might turn me into the type of person they wrote the Safe Haven laws for.
Don't get me wrong - I love kids. Kids are very fun and cool and best enjoyed during the holidays, on short trips and never with my remote control hanging out of their mouths.
Unless they smile and then, well, I guess all is forgiven.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Seasons of Love
It's that time of year isn't it? It's that time of year when the snarky me takes a wee nap and tries, for a moment or two at least, to revel in the season.
I'm a sucker for the Salvation Army Bell Ringers. Man, I just love those people. Outside, bitter cold, ringing a bell in hopes of some spare change for those less fortunate. I never have change on me, except this time of year - for just this purpose. Some jackass told me the other day that an amazingly large number of Bell Ringers actually steal the money for themselves. Oh - cheer the fuck up (sorry, some of my family members may not be aware that I swear...a lot) - but come on! Even if there are cases of Bell Ringers gone wild - that is not the spirit of which I speak. They are outside, in the cold, ringing a bell - I love these people.
The infinite patience of store clerks. I cannot imagine the life of the average store clerk - but I would wish a thousand paper cuts before I would wish to be one during the holidays. For all our gift giving - shoppers are the stingiest bastards on the planet. Damn it if we don't get the extra .002% off because we got in line before 6a.m. Each of these people deserves to be driving a Mercedes for all the crap they put up with.
Christmas sweater-wearers. God bless them. Me, well, I'm a jerk and I only wear holiday sweaters to mocking events like the Sweater and Turtleneck party at a local bar. Where, yes, the point is the find the most disgusting sweater and flaunt it. But the true-of-heart Christmas sweater-wearers - they love the holidays, or they were given one by their 3rd grade class or they know they are going to see the great-aunt who knitted it for them. Either way, they will one day earn a place in heaven for their earnest couture.
Which leads me, naturally, to all those who don the Santa cap. Yes, they are horrible hats. But when worn with the true spirit or after six of Uncle Chet's "special" punches - it is endearing and wholesome. What happens after the seventh glass of punch - not so wholesome.
And finally - I am forever enamored by the purchasers of the Chia Pet and The Clapper. There isn't much to say about these individuals except to say - they believe in the power of unwrapping the most unmitigated pile of crap. Crap, when purchased in the spirit of the season, is beautiful and wonderful and not at all identifiable as crap. God bless these innocents and God bless The Clapper!
I'm a sucker for the Salvation Army Bell Ringers. Man, I just love those people. Outside, bitter cold, ringing a bell in hopes of some spare change for those less fortunate. I never have change on me, except this time of year - for just this purpose. Some jackass told me the other day that an amazingly large number of Bell Ringers actually steal the money for themselves. Oh - cheer the fuck up (sorry, some of my family members may not be aware that I swear...a lot) - but come on! Even if there are cases of Bell Ringers gone wild - that is not the spirit of which I speak. They are outside, in the cold, ringing a bell - I love these people.
The infinite patience of store clerks. I cannot imagine the life of the average store clerk - but I would wish a thousand paper cuts before I would wish to be one during the holidays. For all our gift giving - shoppers are the stingiest bastards on the planet. Damn it if we don't get the extra .002% off because we got in line before 6a.m. Each of these people deserves to be driving a Mercedes for all the crap they put up with.
Christmas sweater-wearers. God bless them. Me, well, I'm a jerk and I only wear holiday sweaters to mocking events like the Sweater and Turtleneck party at a local bar. Where, yes, the point is the find the most disgusting sweater and flaunt it. But the true-of-heart Christmas sweater-wearers - they love the holidays, or they were given one by their 3rd grade class or they know they are going to see the great-aunt who knitted it for them. Either way, they will one day earn a place in heaven for their earnest couture.
Which leads me, naturally, to all those who don the Santa cap. Yes, they are horrible hats. But when worn with the true spirit or after six of Uncle Chet's "special" punches - it is endearing and wholesome. What happens after the seventh glass of punch - not so wholesome.
And finally - I am forever enamored by the purchasers of the Chia Pet and The Clapper. There isn't much to say about these individuals except to say - they believe in the power of unwrapping the most unmitigated pile of crap. Crap, when purchased in the spirit of the season, is beautiful and wonderful and not at all identifiable as crap. God bless these innocents and God bless The Clapper!
Sunday, December 9, 2007
"Santa. This Saturday. Billions and Billions Served"
On my way home from a fantastically refreshing "Non Holiday" party this weekend in the land of RV's, I saw this on the sign below the Golden Arches of a local McDonalds:
Santa. This Saturday. Billions and Billions Served.
Fine, the "Billions and Billions Served" is there year-around, but the pairing of the two declarations gave me pause. Have we lost the meaning of Christmas?
Growing up, my family wasn't big into church, so we lost some of the no-room-at-the-inn connections. We worshiped santa, reindeer and singing snowmen. And while I like the Mary, Joseph (what a saint!) and Jesus bits - I don't think those cheering for Kris Kringle lost the "meaning of Christmas". And to me, that will always be - Magic. Jesus, wisemen, Santa, flying reindeer - now matter how you package it, it is about magic.
It is about family. Be thankful for those who would wander for ages, just so you could find a place to sleep for the night. When you're together there is no difference between a four-poster bed and a manger.
It is about friendship. It is about finding people you can sing and dance with even when you've been a bah-humbug bastard.
It is about acceptance. So what if someone has a nose that lights up, let him play in your stupid reindeer games and get over yourself.
It is about following that part of you that seeks something precious and meaningful. You don't have to be toting frankincense and myrrh to be searching for something and to persevere until it is found.
It is about believing. Even when you're following a star (and probably feeling kinda stupid about it) - it is about believing that at the end of the journey you'll be glad you took the leap.
So maybe I shouldn't get so grumpy about Santa being at McDonalds, because when some kid sits on his lap and whispers his wildest dreams - there will be more magic in his heart than the world ever thought it could hold.
Santa. This Saturday. Billions and Billions Served.
Fine, the "Billions and Billions Served" is there year-around, but the pairing of the two declarations gave me pause. Have we lost the meaning of Christmas?
Growing up, my family wasn't big into church, so we lost some of the no-room-at-the-inn connections. We worshiped santa, reindeer and singing snowmen. And while I like the Mary, Joseph (what a saint!) and Jesus bits - I don't think those cheering for Kris Kringle lost the "meaning of Christmas". And to me, that will always be - Magic. Jesus, wisemen, Santa, flying reindeer - now matter how you package it, it is about magic.
It is about family. Be thankful for those who would wander for ages, just so you could find a place to sleep for the night. When you're together there is no difference between a four-poster bed and a manger.
It is about friendship. It is about finding people you can sing and dance with even when you've been a bah-humbug bastard.
It is about acceptance. So what if someone has a nose that lights up, let him play in your stupid reindeer games and get over yourself.
It is about following that part of you that seeks something precious and meaningful. You don't have to be toting frankincense and myrrh to be searching for something and to persevere until it is found.
It is about believing. Even when you're following a star (and probably feeling kinda stupid about it) - it is about believing that at the end of the journey you'll be glad you took the leap.
So maybe I shouldn't get so grumpy about Santa being at McDonalds, because when some kid sits on his lap and whispers his wildest dreams - there will be more magic in his heart than the world ever thought it could hold.
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