Christmas Conversation

It’s difficult this time of year not to talk about Christmas. I was telling someone a highly entertaining story about this morning’s commute when I noticed the glaze in their eyes and the fidget in their stance. I decided to wrap up my story, and then ask a holiday question, “So, what are you going to be for Christmas this year?”

It’s not like there isn’t other stuff going on either. I mean, the winter solstice just occurred on the same night as a lunar eclipse – druids everywhere are rejoicing. I thought about staying up to see it, but I was tired and it was cold. This morning I searched the vastness of the internet for some of the best pictures of this global phenomenon. One of the first I found was from Manassas , VA … my neighboring town.

I can’t help but feel like I missed out on something big. Unless I am too tired and cold come Christmas morning, however, I don’t think I’ll miss anything too important.

Truthfully, this morning, even I was getting tired of my drive-to-work story. It lacked a certain holiday magic that all good stories need this time of year. If I had decided to rein up the old reindeer and take the sleigh into work, that would be different. Or if I had encountered a stranger who gave me the one thing I needed, but I didn’t know I needed, that would work too.

As it is the guy in front of me was just changing lanes a lot, always taking the inside corner. Maybe I’m just not a very good storyteller.

All that being said, I also overheard someone on their cellphone today who was clearly not talking about Christmas.  He was a large man with a big belly and he said with a hardy laugh "... well, I guess that's what you get for working in the coal mines!  Har! Har! Har!"  Wait a second... big belly... hardy laugh... talking about coal!  Did I just see the big man himself in Target?

It's A Wonderful Story

I’m not sure how to say what it is that I want to say. If I were writing a paper in high school I would be sure to include in my opening line that this weekend I saw a wonderful play. As a high school graduate, I’ll start off with: Christmas is almost here… it’s less than a week away! (An ellipsis!?! In the opening line!?!) While the big day is quickly approaching, Christmastime started a couple of months ago.

If anything, Thanksgiving is the traditional start of the holiday season, but now-a-days, I believe you’re expected to be at a full holiday spirit sprint by Thanksgiving just to keep up. The season starts warming up in stores as early as October 9th. Then themed commercials start popping up in early November. This year, November 19 was the day that the listen-while-you-work radio station switched over to all-Christmas, all-the-time. Then after Thanksgiving, anything goes!

The exuberance level is at a sustained month-long fever-pitch. Stores go crazy trying to win your business! Neighbors turn their yards into something between a flea market and a light-show extravaganza!  And of course, several television stations turn into holiday movie marathons, featuring a solid month of non-stop holiday movies to remind us of the true meaning of Christmas… although this year Back to the Future is somehow included in that repetitive marathon.

For years, the only movie that was aired more than once was It’s A Wonderful Life. It is the holiday classic of holiday classics (mainly because of its awesome special effects! Wait, no…). I’ve seen the movie a few times but all I remember is a scene here and there – for some reason a construction scene is the first thing I think of – and it has a happy ending.

This weekend I got to see the story played out at the community theater. Oh my god! What a great story! I am not joking; it has to be one of the Greatest Stories Ever Told! Once I realized what was going to happen at the end with all the people helping him out… well, it got pretty emotional. Granted, I was probably one of the few people over the age of 8 who did not know how the story ended, but I’m glad I didn’t. And I’m glad I do now.

Hot Dog, that George Bailey is one swell guy. He’s always doing the right thing and in return, the world takes care of him. I wish I could be more like George Bailey, as it is I’ve just been running around shouting Merry Christmas at fever-pitch for the past six weeks.

Merry Christmas, you old George Bailey!

'Tis The Season

‘Tis the only time of year when you can use the term “’tis” and not have your masculinity questioned… or is it?

‘Tis also the season for year-end lists. This round of year-end lists all has one common element. They all make me feel old and lame. Maybe that’s two, but who’s counting? In fact, I think I could list the Top Ten Top Ten Lists of 2010 That Make Me Feel Old & Lame, with hypothetical comments:

10.  Songs of 2010. I know six of them and like none of them.
9.   Albums of 2010. I feel like there was a time in my life when I could have told you the difference between these two categories.
8.  Movies of 2010, by highest grossing.  I've seen one of them... on DVD.
7.  Movies of 2010, critics choice.  I've never heard of any of these... which may actually make me cool.
6.  Celebrities of 2010.  I don't see my name on this list.  I do see Justin Bieber!?!  Must be a typo.
5.  Sports Moments of 2010.  How is the pinnacle sports moment of my adult life only #7?
4.  Gadgets of 2010.  None of these interest me.
3.  Television Shows of 2010.  Wait... they have actual shows not on ABC, NBC, or CBS?
2.  Viral Videos of 2010.  Those are hilarious... I haven't seen any of them!
1.  Massively Multiplayer On-line Role Playing Games of 2010.  What?

Maybe next year I'll take the time to make this a real list.  On the flip-side I would be interested in a "Best Medical Advice of 2010."

‘Tis the season to get older by the year.

‘Tis also the season to slow down my blog. For whatever reason, that seems to be the annual pattern anyways. I’ll crank up the creative juices sometime in the summer, become almost … by September, embark upon some grand blogging scheme in October and begin to fizzle in November and sputter into hibernation in December or January.

This year, I had the ties going for October and then tried to give thanks for a while, but abandoned that with little mention of it. I still owe the good people in the blog world some two dozen thank you letters at some point… don’t think I’ve lost track. Anyhoo, in an effort to prolong my writing this season, I’ve written a couple of others this week that I just posted. One's actually about something that 'tis the season for; the other is of the utmost importance.  'T'are enjoyable!

I feel like 'tis the season for something else, but I just can't think of it... but first let me check that list I just made... I should check it twice.

The Great White North

Winter appeared today with the first snowfall of the season. There’s something akin to “dreamy” about the season’s first snowfall. As I see it, there is a fine line for snow between wonderful and miserable that the first snow almost always gets a pass on regardless of other events. It is inevitably wonderful, especially if it comes before the holidays and you can warm up with a bowl of tomato soup sitting beside a decorated Christmas tree with gifts gathering underneath.

I got to leave work early, happily driving through the thick of the storm, with speeds cut in half by the very real threat of icy conditions. When I got home, in the midst of the snowfall, I pulled out the old snow shovel to shovel the few inches of snow that lined our driveway and front stoop. I was oddly delighted to do so – cheerfully remembering the hours upon back-breaking hours spent performing this chore in last year’s Snow-pocalypse.

Post-snow-pocolyptic

The snow last year was miserable, in every sense of the word. It was wonderful as it fell on a Friday night and all day Saturday, but even as it continued to fall on Saturday night, the misery sank in as you were forced to consider getting to work on Monday. By Sunday, the blanket of white made way to a landscape marked by dirty sloshes of snow, and the impending work was in full swing. 

This is the only picture we took of the snow on the cars.  You can kind of see them under the snow.

It was a neighborhood effort and led to piles of snow taller than me. Soon we ran out of places to put the snow and we called it a day. I haven’t spoken to some of those people since.

Going to work wasn’t even considered the first day or two for most, but I believe soon everyone grew snow-weary and work beckoned so the roads filled and accidents happened and people got angry.

That snow was miserable. Today’s was beautifully wonderful.

Something in My Shoe

Yes, there is something in my shoe. It has been there all day long. It is neither sharp nor painful, but it is there, in my shoe. I can feel it with every step I take, hiding beneath my toe. It can only be so big, as it provides just enough discomfort – demands just enough attention – that I seem to forget about it when I sit down, so it remains in my shoe, under my big toe.

No, I have not removed the unwanted object in my shoe. I have not bent to its demands. I have not given any interest to this dull, hard thing that is worrying my toe. The existence of the thing that is in my shoe is of no consequence to me as I am above it and it is below me, digging into my big toe.

My toe belongs in my shoe. This hard object does not. I am confident that any irritation experienced on the part of my big toe pails in comparison to the distress put upon the unwelcome object in my shoe. Therefore, the shoe remains on my foot with this foreign entity in it. Be sure however, that upon its removal from my shoe, the blunt item lodged under my large toe will stay out of my shoe, forevermore.

It is only with the intention of providing you, dear reader, a complete picture of this misplaced monstrosity pitted against my ample toe in the confines of my inner sole that I am now removing said shoe from said foot. Ah, yes! I should have expected nothing less! This exploratory exercise has revealed a small piece of plastic that I believe once held a price tag on a recently purchased item.

In fact, if my limitless memory serves me correctly, I believe I placed this item in my shoe in order to keep it off of the floor, thinking at the time, “If this ends up on the floor, it will never be thrown away.”

Now I am returning this knotted plastic to the interior of my shoe, where it will unsuccessfully try to find an unobtrusive home. Ah, yes, there it is, pressing into the outside of my foot.

Email! Dang!

I haven’t written in a while because life’s gotten in the way. While I’ve been too busy to write anything much, I’ve definitely been thinking a lot. One thing that I’ve thought is about email.

People who know more than I do are starting to wonder how long email will last, as Facebook and Twitter look to take over the world. I’ve begun wondering the same thing… I mean my spam folder isn’t filling up like it once did. Call me old-fashioned, but I have a hard time getting into the world of Facebook and Twitter as I’m never sure what is worthy of mention (although I did have one immaculate – albeit chilled – Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich for lunch today at the lake… dang, it was good!)

Are Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches old-fashioned, too? In this world of healthy eats and peanut allergies, the answer is “probably so,” but that’s okay, I’m an old-fashion kind of guy. Anyways, my email idea is equally old-fashioned.

In this world of Facebook updates and Facebook comments and comments on comments and Tweets of comments on comments and Facebook updates of tweets of comments on comments, it is all just too much. The problem is not that of Facebook or Twitter though. It goes way back to email times and has taken many forms.

My idea is that my email should come once a day, all at the same time. This way, by the time I read my email, I can see what everybody thinks about an idea all at the same time. Then if I feel compelled, I can add my comment and the next day, when I check my email again, I can see what people said about my comment. It could probably work for Facebook too.

Now, I can see your furrowed brow, and I can hear exhale of arrogance. And I agree there is an easy way to make that happen. And maybe I will start checking my email but once a day, but what if I wasn’t the only one that had to live like that? What if it applied to everyone? Sure people might wait anxiously by their computer for their email to arrive, but how great would it be when it did? With the way people check their Facebook, it would be like Christmas morning each and every day! Then you could read it, respond, and go about your day until the next day. Dang, it would be good!

By the way, how did the post office miss out on creating an email service? Maybe they couldn’t offer all the bells and whistles of the email players, just a thought. My email has already become more like my actual mailbox than anything else… most days it’s just bills and ads. Dang, I'm brilliant.

Differing Thought

It’s strange what your mind gets caught on. You find yourself thinking about this weird saying or event at strange times for days and even weeks to come, and, if you’re like me, every time the thought springs up in your head, it’s quickly followed by the thought, why am I thinking about this.

This week, I’ve thought a lot about a 30-second conversation I had over Thanksgiving about shoes. I bought new shoes a few months ago. I’ve needed new shoes for much longer and I actively shopped for shoes for at least two weeks before hand.

The shoes that I was replacing were the best shoes I’ve ever owned, hands down. They were my first pair of Rockports, and they more than lived up to their name. I bought them in February 2007, so for the better part of four years they were my primary shoes. Early on, their stitching got a little ruffled and the toe got a little scuffled, but they felt great, even towards the end. Alas though, for shoes and creatures alike, the end is near when there is a hole in its soul that just can’t be fixed… or sole.

I decided on a pair of swanky Clarks as the new Rockports didn’t look right. My new shoes are great, and I love them, but they appear to scuff up pretty easily. So my mother, hi Mom!, asked me what caused that, and I didn’t know. My dad, hi Dad!, apparently believes the stairs are to blame. At the time, I said something like, Oh that makes sense, because it makes sense and I didn’t have a better reason. The conversation shifted and was quickly forgotten about. Until…

I got home and, much to my wife’s dismay, marched upstairs with my shoes on. I was about halfway up the stairs when I remembered my Dad’s Theory of Shoe Toe Scuff: blame the stairs. I slowed down and watched my steps. I proved his theory false. And then I continued my march up the stairs with other things on my mind.

Throughout the week, the thought returned frequently and without cause.  I'd be singing to a song on the radio and just as I get to a point where I don't know the words, the question would visit me for a while.    What scuffs my shoes?  I'd be pouring a glass of water and suddenly there it was.  Shaving.  Showering.  Busy at work.  The question would come and go, and I'd go mindlessly on my way.

By the end of the week, the question had lingered long enough that I decided I needed shoe polish, stat.  Last night, I put it on my official Christmas list to Santa,  Brown Shoe Polish.  Then this morning at work, in the middle of a conversation, the thought filled my head just as I was getting out of my car... so it was that awkward time when the conversation is put on hold for both people to get out of the car. 

Accompanying the question this time, however, was the answer.  So with no further ado, John Duffy's Shoe Toe Scuff Theory is... getting in and out of the car.  For me this is when my shoes get scuffed.  This has been further evidence of my brilliance, and I am publicly recommending that there be a law requiring signs posted at all automobile exits urging passengers to heed caution as they exit the vehicle. 

Qatar 2022

Today’s horoscope, from the Washington Post:

Taurus(4/20 – 5/20): Sometimes the one who has a novel take on things or can talk about a little known subject is considered quite interesting – in small doses that is.

With this in mind, all that I will say regarding the 2022 World Cup being awarded to Qatar over the US that I am extremely bummed. 

Here’s the video presentation of five of the twelve NFL-size stadiums to be built in a desert country, roughly the size of Connecticut in 12 years:
It will be quite the spectacle!  Congatulations Qatar!

World Cup Bid

You and I have something in common. We are both anxiously awaiting the results of tomorrow’s World Cup Bid.

The US is a contender for the 2022 Cup. That would put me at a spry 42 years of age, with enough disposable income to buy tickets to a game or two and, if all goes according to plan, kids that will be old enough to remember going.

A World Cup hosted by the US would be hugely successful for soccer in the world, as far as profits go, and in the USA it would further elevate the sport despite its lack of “TV time-outs.” Plus, with the decision being announced tomorrow, I would have 12 years to perfect my patriotic body make-up and face paint that would surely be captured by the television cameras. Oh, to be broadcast for all the world to see!

Yep, it would be something, all right.

But I’ve been forced into using hopeful “would”s and not certain “will”s in my writing as the once ironclad US bid has faltered a bit and has slipped into third after Qatar and Australia . Australia I can understand, although the time difference would suck, but the tiny desert nation of Qatar , hosting a sporting event in the middle of summer? The absurdity of it is mind-boggling.

I, however, will not be too disappointed when the Cup is given to the oil-rich, bribe-happy, Qatari people because of one thing. They can build way-cool stadiums. (I’ve seen the word “stadia” used more than “stadiums,” but I’m not stooping to peer pressure. Plus, stadia looks silly.) If you haven’t seen the list of to-be-built stadiums, they are amazing, and I can’t wait to see them become a reality. Because oil tycoons can do what they want, the stadiums offer things that don’t make any sense, like air-conditioning for an outdoor stadium and the ability to be deconstructed and shipped to third world countries. I can hear ‘em now, “I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

One is built on a man-made island that requires boat taxis to get to.

Another is shaped like a giant seashell.

Anyways, here’s the full list… each one more spectacular than the next.