The Cruelest Season
Let’s be honest — February isn’t anybody’s favorite month. Not even people who were born in February like it.
Because February is the crap month. Why do you think it has 28 days? If it was super-awesome, they’d take a day out of July and two from October and make February a real month.
And this year, it’s worse than ever. We’ve had blizzards for two months now and February is stuck with the gray sludge/ice/snow leftovers. Politics are back in full swing, which nobody enjoys, least of all politicians. And next week we get the perennial kick to the groin that is Valentine’s Day.
Not to pile on, but I’ve got bad news for you: I’m taken. I know that’s got to sting, as I was your back-up, but my wife liked it so she put a ring on it six years ago.
So what are you going to do? My advice — ignore it. Valentine’s Day is mostly an excuse for price gouging by greeting card companies and chocolatiers. Save your cash. Will a picture of a teddy bear on a folded piece of cardstock really make your life any better? If so, then you’re the first.
And if you wait until, oh, say February 16th or so, you’ll find that all that expensive chocolate is priced to move. Sure, it’s a couple of days late, but eat enough of the stuff and you’ll get the same chemical feeling as being in love.
(Breaking up with a box of chocolates is also easier. Once you get down to the ones filled with nasty cream, you say, “It’s me, not you” and dump it in the trash.)
Blizzard Preparations
If the Weather Channel is to be believed, the temperature today (Wednesday) will reach the 60s. And yet, if those same meteorologists are correct, the Norse frost giant Ymir will descend from Asgard on Thursday, bringing with him snow, ice and helmets with horns on them.
Which is why I’m stocking up this time. Christmas Eve caught me off guard, but I’ll be ready like Freddy for this round of weather. If you’re confused about what to get in advance of Snowpocalypse 2010, here’s the list I’m using.
- Ground beef, chicken breasts. These two meats can go into almost any dish, including cereal. Honey Bunches of Steak? Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.
- Carrots, onions, celery, bell peppers, garlic. Perfect for making chili or just getting a breath-stink so bad that your annoying relatives will leave the room to get away from you.
- Mad-libs. Uh, kind of self-explanatory. They’re HILARIOUS.
- “Lost” DVDs. People won’t shut up about this show, but you have too much of a life to watch. What better time to catch up with a show you don’t care about than when you’re buried under a mountain of ice?
- Bandages, Neosporin, aspirin. When boredom turns to fight club, you’ll be glad you have these.
I’m sure there’s something I’m missing, but that’s all part of the fun of being trapped inside — hating yourself for forgetting an important item, then forcing yourself to drive in hazardous conditions, endangering your life and others, because you cannot live without Flintstone’s chewable vitamins.
Oh, Joss
I didn’t watch “Firefly” until it was too late. My friend dragged me to see “Serenity,” which was the feature film follow-up to the TV series. And it blew me away.
I went back and watched and re-watched “Firefly,” which is now one of my favorite shows. It’s got that perfect mix of action and comedy and it all takes place in a fully realized world.
And so, I find myself already lamenting the death of “Dollhouse,” which might be Joss Whedon’s last TV series. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Angel” only survived because the (now-defunct) WB had such low ratings that they looked like hits.
When Fox got its mitts on “Firefly,” they immediately switched episode order and meddled and failed to publicize the show — they might as well have fed the cast poison. They didn’t even air all the episodes.
“Dollhouse” got a second season because Fox felt guilty about “Firefly,” but there was never any real hope of a third season. But since Joss Whedon knows the end is near, he’s rolling it all up in the last few episodes and we’ll get a real ending (I hope).
The worst part of this is, Joss might be done with TV for good after his shabby treatment. And I’m sad for all the great shows — the amazing twists and turns — that we’ll all miss.
If you haven’t been watching “Dollhouse,” then I suggest you get the first season on DVD and wait patiently for season 2 to arrive. For my fellow Dolls, however, let’s raise a glass to one of the craziest little pieces of filmed drama on the air…and say good-bye.
Let’s Make This Happen
OK, I’d like to start off by saying that I am in no way encouraging you to pull a truck heist or knock over a trophy store. Got it? Good.
Boy, I sure wish one of you would pull a truck heist or knock over a trophy store, because I would like just a crazy amount of trophies.
Not for me. Well, not all for me. But I do think it’d be cool to have just a mountain of trophies — and an engraving machine — so you could randomly give people awards. How awesome would that be? Only people who are really good at their jobs get awards, which leaves me and everybody I know staring at the second place little league trophy we won in the 5th grade, when nobody was very good anyway.
Sure, every waiter wants a tip, but wouldn’t they also love a plaque that says, “Most Valuable Player – Refilling Water”?
Who cares if it’s shaped like a bowler? Give your neighbor the “Best Use of a Budweiser Bikini Top as a Shirt” award. She deserves it!
And don’t overlook the shaming possibilities. I would love to have a car full of plaques so every time I go to the movies I can award the jackass on his cell phone the “Busy Thumbs Award for Texting Douchenozzles.”
The only downside is if somebody else gets ahold of the trophies first. I don’t know how my wife would feel if she came home to find me building a stand to hold all the “Useless Opinion” cups I would receive.
The Worldwide Conspiracy to Keep Me Fat
We can, as a people, blame a lot of our problems on secretive groups who control the world around us as easily as changing the channels on their TV.
Which is to say, secretive groups have had a lot more trouble over the years, because now you’ve got your DVR and your surround sound and maybe a satellite dish and is that DVD player also a CD player? Is it hooked up to the Internet for Netflix streaming?
Do you see what I mean? It’s really hard to change the channel these days.
But that doesn’t mean conspiracies don’t exist. Look at Scientology or the people who program TLC — twists upon twists, people.
The most recent conspiracy has been perpetrated right under my nose! It involves my wife, my parents, the CEOs of multi-national chocolate producers and, locally, Fat Daddy Sweets! Or, if it’s not a conspiracy, it’s at least a coincidence that, in the last two weeks, every different kind of delicious chocolate has found its way into my house.
I’ve got toffee, nut clusters, mini candy bars, truffles, chocolates filled with creme, boxed chocolates, M&Ms, a Toblerone bar and a Baker’s Edge pan that was immediately used to make a batch of brownies.
Dec. 31 – I say I want to lose weight in 2010.
Jan. 1 – Everybody on Earth gives me chocolate.
I’m onto you and your delicious and malicious plans, planet-wide conspiracy, and I have just one thing to ask:
Can I get more of those graham crackers dipped in dark chocolate? Greg the Hutt will eat many more of those, thank you.
It’s 2010: Where my thing that comes after jetpacks?
So, last decade was all about what a letdown the future was, right? I mean, sure, we got hybrid cars and our music players shrunk from enormous with low capacity to tiny with enormous capacity and, you know, boner pills, but that wasn’t the future we wanted.
“Where’s my jetpack?” asked people older than me, who were looking forward to the year 2000 way longer than me.
Well, now it’s 2010, and I think I can see what the true failing of the Aughts was: I have no idea what imaginary future stuff I’m supposed to expect.
Flying cars never materialized and if we have buildings that eat pollution, we haven’t built enough of them yet. People are still dying of cancer and AIDS and heart attacks. And since we haven’t solved those problems yet, I’m not sure what new problems I should expect this decade to fail to provide me.
I guess it’s time for some bright minds to imagine new things that science absolutely cannot bring us. Here’s what I’m hoping they come up with:
1. Weight-loss bacon. Bacon that’s totally delicious, but somehow burns calories. You eat a BLT and the bacon burns off all the carbs from the bread.
2. Robot politicians. We’ve dreamed of robot soldiers for too long. Now I want a robot president. Still, nobody will vote for him unless he believes in Robot Jesus.
3. Alternate reality vacations. Find a reality where you’re a king or a famous musician or something and spend a week on that Earth. The only problem is, those would probably be very expensive vacations, so people who are able to afford those trips are already living in the reality they want to be in.
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas…
…and everybody was trapped in a snowdrift, praying for death’s sweet release.
Well, Merry Christmas, everybody. While the weather has stranded 3/4ths of the state’s population on closed-down turnpikes and city streets masquerading as parking lots, I’m stuck inside my palatial estate, lamenting my miserable luck.
My wife isn’t on the road, thank goodness, but she’ll be spending the night in the Oklahoman’s dark tower, with only Sauron’s all-seeing eye to keep her warm. And while it doesn’t compare to her situation, I’m pretty down at home, where the icy winds have frozen the moats, almost certainly killing the barracudas that keep me safe at night.
And I cannot help but chuckle. I’ve been getting “blizzard” alerts on my phone and computer for days now and I’ve laughed them all off. Because the storms that really get us are the ones we don’t see coming. The last couple of years, every time the local meteorologists start hyping the “Storm of the Century,” it always ends up two clouds, 10 minutes of light mist and wind that would make an asthmatic blowing out a birthday cake feel powerful.
So I assumed — as did most everybody — that this “blizzard” would keep the beer in the garage chilly and not much else. Whoops. Uh, our bad.
Well, I hope your stockings are hung by the chimney with care, but if you’re out on the road or stuck in a shelter somewhere, you still have options. You’ll need to take one of your socks and either drape it over a space heater if you’re at the office or tack it above the vent blowing hot air in your car. Fill it with however many Skittles you can find — if you’re in a car, they’re all under your seat — and voila! It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting or something.
Seriously — I hope you all get home safe and soon. I know I’m missing my family something fierce tonight and I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Give me nothing; Apparently it’s just what I want.
My wife can be so unfair sometimes.
All I asked for for Christmas was a very expensive camera that I have no idea how to use. And she said “no”! Can you believe it?
Is it because I bought a film camera online 6 months ago and then forgot about it? Is it because I have yet to even get one roll of film developed from the kooky multi-shot and split-frame plastic cameras she bought me last Christmas?
Is it because we’re still in debt paying for our new car and our old house and all the crap I’ve gotten off Amazon when I really didn’t need to be buying DVD sets I haven’t watched or books I haven’t read?
And suddenly, I have been forced to consider this fact: I should not be given gifts. At least not anything entertainment-related or electronic. A good gift for me? A tie. Or a shirt. Or pants.
Because at least I’ll use those things. Other gifts — even the ones I buy myself — are wasted on me.
And perhaps this is the first step (or at least one of the many steps I’ve already taken) in becoming my parents. They are maddeningly difficult to buy for because they don’t need anything. And they don’t particularly want anything. They have too much stuff and they know it, so if you want to get them something, it better have a Boston terrier on it or be related to OSU sports in some way.
In 30 years, when my kids are grown and either moved out or still living at home, making my life hell, I will impose upon them this awful phrase — the one I’ve heard too often in these last few years.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t really need anything. Maybe get me a shirt, but it’s not a big deal.”
In the interim, I’m taking pictures. And developing film. And reading books and watching DVDs. The only way to avoid my fate is to use all the stuff I have, so I can start legitimately wanting new stuff.
Because I’m an American, and wanting things I don’t need is what Americans do best.
Christmas episodes yes; Christmas specials no
I don’t begrudge you your faith. You believe whatever hokum you want to believe. I, for one, believe in Christmas. Not with the manger and the wise men — I just worship Santa Claus, like the rest of my generation.
But the only deity higher than Kris Kringle in my pantheon of gods, is the Almighty TV, and this time of year ANGERS HIM/HER/IT!
TV, the All-Knowing, All-Seeing, All-Showing does not care that you celebrate your own holidays — TV is caring and sympathetic. He lets Christmas and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa take over as the theme in regularly scheduled programming. But that is not enough, apparently, because the holidays steal away those new episodes of sitcoms and dramas and replace them with stale music specials and tired old cartoons.
Soon, we enter the wasteland. Already some shows have gone on winter hiatus — as if they’ve somehow grown tired of being watched — replaced by crappy singing competitions and Gordon Ramsey teaching us how to cook. As the week wears on, more favorites will disappear, leaving us with Christmas specials that are special to no one.
Sure, the song says this is the most wonderful time of the year, but how can it be when there’s no new “Parks and Recreation” or “Fringe” until next year? Forget new episodes at all — they won’t even allow reruns, instead subjecting us to the umpteenth showing of “Frosty the Snowman” and “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
My life won’t be wonderful until after January 1, when the NFL playoffs dominate Sundays and “Chuck” comes back on the air. Only then will The Omnipotent TV return to bestow the true gifts of the season — new episodes of the shows I love.
Addiction
So, a year or so ago, I got really fed up with my cable company — let’s call them Clocks Clable — because of their customer philosophy: The Customer Always Comes First (In Our List of People To Abuse).
Basically, they offered me a new service and added an incentive. I got the new service and they continued to not give me the incentive. When I called to complain, they didn’t care. When I called to cancel, THEN Clocks Clable jumped to action, but that’s kind of when it’s too late, right? Take care of your customers while they’re willing to keep paying you, not when the guy from — let’s call it BU&U Goo-Verse — is already there installing my stuff.
Anyway, when I switched over to BU&U (which is not a perfect company and I am not endorsing them and for some reason they don’t carry AMC, which is a pretty basic channel), their tier system was such that, well, I kind of ended up with everything. I mean, not the crappy porn channels where all you see are boobs anyway, but all the movie channels and sports channels and everything.
And that is awesome. I mean, I love movies and now I get a lot of them. So many, in fact, that it’s gone the other way — I have too much choice. As such, I have been watching the same things over and over again.
It makes no sense. I can watch dramas and action and award-winners and yet I keep watching “Semi-Pro” and “Tropic Thunder” on a near-endless loop. I watched “The Sting” the other day (which I’d seen before and would gladly watch again), but that was largely because neither Will Ferrel or Robert Downey Jr. were available.
At this point, I’m kind of hoping those movies will fall out of rotation, so I can stop watching them already. But then I’ll just buy the DVDs. It’s a Catch-22 (which is a great book that I should read again, but not really a great movie, at least not in my opinion).
I’d stay and chew this over some more, but I think the scene where Ben Stiller kills a panda bear is almost on.
