"The 12 Days of Christmas" was always a nice enough song, at least for the first 20 minutes. I love how little kids get excited to scream "FIIIIIVE GOLDEN RINGS" loud enough to wake Jesus for his birthday. But those gifts...honestly. Anyone who was "my true love" would know better than to give any of these gifts. First of all, where are you going to put all those people and animals? There are 50 people involved in these gifts, plus 13 waterfowl and ten other assorted birds. Yes, I counted. So to assist modern day gift givers, I've decided to adapt the gifts in "The 12 Days of Christmas" to more contemporary tastes.
12 DRUMMERS DRUMMING
Really, this has to be a hippie drum circle. My aversion to patchouli and people telling me to take it easy means this gift isn't for me, but someone on your list might like it.
11 PIPERS PIPING
Maybe it's the baker in me, but the first thing I think of is people piping icing onto cakes. So the 2008 version of this gift should just be 11 big cakes studded with icing flowers. I would be happy to receive this, especially if it comes with the scooter I'll soon need to get around.
10 LORDS A LEAPING
Ten guys leaping can only mean one thing: Basketball tickets. Syracuse/UConn, please. And as long as you're being so generous, throw in my travel costs as well.
9 LADIES DANCING
Today's equivalent has to be strippers, right? Strip clubs really aren't my thing, but if all the girls were dressed in skimpy Mrs. Claus outfits, I might change my mind. Gives a whole new meaning to "Ho! Ho! Ho!", doesn't it?
8 MAIDS A MILKING
First of all, get your minds out of the gutter. Yes, I'm talking to YOU. I think eight maids coming to clean up around my place ain't a half bad gift. I hate cleaning the bathroom and the oven.
7 SWANS A SWIMMING
I think I might take this one literally, because it means I might get a pond or a pool. They have to swim in something, right? I don't think seven swans are really going to fit in my bathtub. As soon as I get my pool I'll just release the swans into the woods or something.
6 GEESE A LAYING
If they're the geese that laid the golden egg, that would really help with the next gift. If not, it's still cool. I love eggs.
5 GOLDEN RINGS
I'm not one for jewelry, and I also don't have a wife hounding me for any. So I'm going to interpret this as championship rings for the Eagles, Flyers, Sixers and Phillies, plus for Syracuse men's basketball. And if all that really happens, I hope one of these gifts is a defibrillator.
4 CALLING BIRDS
If the birds that are calling are the Eagles, then after last week's game I am not answering.
3 FRENCH HENS
How about Audrey Tatou, Eva Green and Juliette Binoche? Joyeux Noel!
2 TURTLE DOVES
You know what? I'm skipping this one. I'm up to here with fucking birds. Seriously.
1 PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE
I don't have a yard, so a tree is out. But I do love pears. So how about Shirley Jones serving me pear vodka martinis? Yeah, I said Mrs. Partridge instead of Laurie. She was way hotter. Wanna make something of it?
I sincerely hope that this update of "The 12 Days of Christmas" has helped you with your holiday shopping. I'm going to go console myself with the socks and useless kitchen gadgets I actually received.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Football Is A Hideous Bitch-Goddess
Why? Why do I watch football when it brings such pain?
Today began with such promise. I was in the championship game of my fantasy football league for the third time in four years, and my beloved Eagles needed only win the last two games of the season to advance to the playoffs.
As the afternoon progressed, the sweet turned to sour. I lost a thrilling fantasy football championship by the slimmest of margins, 100-96. It was not decided until the last minute of the last NFL game, when one of my receivers still had a chance to win it for me inside the 10-yard line. As that was happening, the Eagles were trailing 10-3 and driving for the tying touchdown. I was frantically watching TV and keeping an eye on the internet following the real game and the geek game. In the space of a minute, the fantasy football game was lost and an Eagles player was tackled six inches short of the goal line as time expired. To use the parlance of the dear departed "Wide World of Sports", I vacillated the entire day between the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, and at the end I was that ski jumper that took an Evel Knievel-style header and broke his ass in half.
Football, like love, is pain. I don't know why I come back for more in either case. This time, I think I've had it. Finally, I'm done with football.
Until next week.
The box score that will haunt me until next year
The six-inches too short catch that I will see in my nightmares
Today began with such promise. I was in the championship game of my fantasy football league for the third time in four years, and my beloved Eagles needed only win the last two games of the season to advance to the playoffs.
As the afternoon progressed, the sweet turned to sour. I lost a thrilling fantasy football championship by the slimmest of margins, 100-96. It was not decided until the last minute of the last NFL game, when one of my receivers still had a chance to win it for me inside the 10-yard line. As that was happening, the Eagles were trailing 10-3 and driving for the tying touchdown. I was frantically watching TV and keeping an eye on the internet following the real game and the geek game. In the space of a minute, the fantasy football game was lost and an Eagles player was tackled six inches short of the goal line as time expired. To use the parlance of the dear departed "Wide World of Sports", I vacillated the entire day between the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, and at the end I was that ski jumper that took an Evel Knievel-style header and broke his ass in half.
Football, like love, is pain. I don't know why I come back for more in either case. This time, I think I've had it. Finally, I'm done with football.
Until next week.
The box score that will haunt me until next year
The six-inches too short catch that I will see in my nightmaresWednesday, December 17, 2008
I Don't Know What This Means, But It's Not Good
I'm beginning to think that NyQuil inspires strange dreams. As if I didn't need more reasons to love this product. Last night I had one of the strangest dreams in recent memory.
I was at a hotel bar somewhere and out of the blue, Tom, an old classmate from high school, came up to talk to me. In high school Tom was neither a friend nor a foe; we rarely spoke. Why he would choose to appear in my dream is a mystery to me. We did the usual catching up thing, and he asked me if I was attending our class reunion, which coincidentally was taking place in that very hotel that evening. (At this point, I should probably interject that my actual high school reunion took place over Thanksgiving and I did not attend for two reasons. First, I now live 3,000 miles away from where I went to high school; and second, I have not spoken to a single member of my class since graduation day. That's absolutely true.) Back in the dream, I had been unaware of the reunion but I told Tom that maybe I would drop by.
I did drop by, alone. Even stranger was my outfit for the evening. I wore a white shirt, black pants, a tie and a vest. Not so strange so far, especially if I'm a waiter. But on top of these clothes, I wore a strapless violet dress. No one seemed to notice my bizarre attire, least of all me. I didn't actually realize what I was wearing until the dream was almost over. I fared pretty well at the reunion. I think most people liked me and I made a good impression, which would be a tremendous improvement over my actual high school experience. Towards the end of the dream, I think there was a sexy confrontation with and maybe a desperate pursuit on foot of some crush I had, but the details are lost to the fog that clouds dream memory as soon as you wake up.
I'm not sure I really learned anything from this dream except that I need to start taking more NyQuil and that violet is not really my color.
I was at a hotel bar somewhere and out of the blue, Tom, an old classmate from high school, came up to talk to me. In high school Tom was neither a friend nor a foe; we rarely spoke. Why he would choose to appear in my dream is a mystery to me. We did the usual catching up thing, and he asked me if I was attending our class reunion, which coincidentally was taking place in that very hotel that evening. (At this point, I should probably interject that my actual high school reunion took place over Thanksgiving and I did not attend for two reasons. First, I now live 3,000 miles away from where I went to high school; and second, I have not spoken to a single member of my class since graduation day. That's absolutely true.) Back in the dream, I had been unaware of the reunion but I told Tom that maybe I would drop by.
I did drop by, alone. Even stranger was my outfit for the evening. I wore a white shirt, black pants, a tie and a vest. Not so strange so far, especially if I'm a waiter. But on top of these clothes, I wore a strapless violet dress. No one seemed to notice my bizarre attire, least of all me. I didn't actually realize what I was wearing until the dream was almost over. I fared pretty well at the reunion. I think most people liked me and I made a good impression, which would be a tremendous improvement over my actual high school experience. Towards the end of the dream, I think there was a sexy confrontation with and maybe a desperate pursuit on foot of some crush I had, but the details are lost to the fog that clouds dream memory as soon as you wake up.
I'm not sure I really learned anything from this dream except that I need to start taking more NyQuil and that violet is not really my color.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Candy Caned
I am a sucker.
I spent 13 hours baking today, and when I was finished and covered in the Christmas-y smells and stains of cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla and orange zest I just wanted to get off my feet, have some dinner and watch some Christmas-themed television.
Not unreasonable. However, the only Christmas-themed show on offer was a movie called Surviving Christmas. This is the kind of movie that will make you beg to accept coal in your stocking every year from now until the end of time if only this movie would agree to go away. "How bad could it be," I thought. "It has James Gandolfini, Christina Applegate and Catherine O'Hara in it." I didn't realize that I had dared the movie to be terrible. It delivered. If you like movies where the basic idea is completely implausible and then the complicating events are more implausible as the film progresses, then this is totally the movie for you.
I watched this movie until its entirely predictable conclusion. I'm a complete sucker for Christmas. Throw a tree and some lights into a movie and I will watch it. No questions asked. I just need my fix. The first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. I admit it.
I spent 13 hours baking today, and when I was finished and covered in the Christmas-y smells and stains of cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla and orange zest I just wanted to get off my feet, have some dinner and watch some Christmas-themed television.
Not unreasonable. However, the only Christmas-themed show on offer was a movie called Surviving Christmas. This is the kind of movie that will make you beg to accept coal in your stocking every year from now until the end of time if only this movie would agree to go away. "How bad could it be," I thought. "It has James Gandolfini, Christina Applegate and Catherine O'Hara in it." I didn't realize that I had dared the movie to be terrible. It delivered. If you like movies where the basic idea is completely implausible and then the complicating events are more implausible as the film progresses, then this is totally the movie for you.
I watched this movie until its entirely predictable conclusion. I'm a complete sucker for Christmas. Throw a tree and some lights into a movie and I will watch it. No questions asked. I just need my fix. The first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. I admit it.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I Have Been Unproductive This Week
Click for a more detailed urban cityscape.This is the view from my office. I have no idea why I have been hired to start this week, because there is very little work to be done until after Christmas. This has given me the opportunity to look out the window all day and observe human behavior.
Top 10 Things You Learn By Watching A Few Blocks Of Sunset Boulevard
10. There are really a lot of fucking palm trees here.
9. Two-thirds of people that enter Starbucks have black nerd glasses. Especially when I go.
8. No matter how much I ponder it, I will never figure out what that billboard with the Statue of Liberty is advertising.
7. It's probably not an accident that there is a free AIDS test clinic right next to a used clothing store called Out Of The Closet.
6. White is a very popular color for cars, which is stupid because they constantly look dirty.
5. I can now tell simply by appearance who will go into Rite Aid, who will go into Starbucks, and who will go into Denny's.
4. There are an awful lot of people driving around in the middle of the day who either don't have jobs or work as strippers at night.
3. 0.0001% of all squealing car alarms indicate that a crime is in progress. Unless being stupid is a crime, in which case that jumps to 99.9999%.
2. Either laptops have now become de rigeur for the homeless man on the go, or "vagrant chic" is the new bleeding edge of fashion.
1. I need binoculars.
10. There are really a lot of fucking palm trees here.
9. Two-thirds of people that enter Starbucks have black nerd glasses. Especially when I go.
8. No matter how much I ponder it, I will never figure out what that billboard with the Statue of Liberty is advertising.
7. It's probably not an accident that there is a free AIDS test clinic right next to a used clothing store called Out Of The Closet.
6. White is a very popular color for cars, which is stupid because they constantly look dirty.
5. I can now tell simply by appearance who will go into Rite Aid, who will go into Starbucks, and who will go into Denny's.
4. There are an awful lot of people driving around in the middle of the day who either don't have jobs or work as strippers at night.
3. 0.0001% of all squealing car alarms indicate that a crime is in progress. Unless being stupid is a crime, in which case that jumps to 99.9999%.
2. Either laptops have now become de rigeur for the homeless man on the go, or "vagrant chic" is the new bleeding edge of fashion.
1. I need binoculars.
Friday, December 5, 2008
The G-Chat Diaries, Vol. 2
This is the kind of witty banter that those of you who don't G-chat with me miss out on ALL THE TIME.
Okay, fine. I'm not really buying that either. But I haven't posted in a week, so this is what you get!
____________________________________________________________________
Chatter X: By the way, you're not getting your weight loss incentive this week.
me: That's okay, I've only lost 50 lbs this week.
Chatter X: Look, there's no way you're going to break me. I'm not going to ever say you're a dick.
me: No, really. I lost my legs in a tragic chocolate factory accident.
Chatter X: hah. Your idea of tragedy involves diet chocolate. Did you eat your own legs?
me: Wouldn't you if they were suddenly covered in chocolate?
Chatter X: Somehow, that seems sexual. Not actually sexual. Just kind of like, there ought to be something sexual about that. And yet...no.
me: Vaguely reminiscent of sexual. Yet not.
Chatter X: That's how I'm going to write wine reviews.
me: Like something that sounds sort of dirty but upon examination just makes no sense.
Chatter X: Well, in all seriousness, if there ever were to be really something between you and me, then it would spontaneously happen when and if we ever met. Thousands would die in the subsequent explosion. implosion?
me: Now I'm onto wine reviews. They should be like "At first this vintage was reminiscent of Welch's grape juice with a splash of turpentine. But by the time I was halfway through the second bottle, I began to appreciate its piquant insouciance."
Chatter X: "Then I groped my cousin."
me: Explosion, not implosion. And you're right. It would be like that scene in Body Heat.
me: That's it, we are starting a wine review website.
Chatter X: I have not seen Body Heat, but I know it involves Kathleen Turner, so, yes.
me: Well, at that point in the movie she and William Hurt are dying for it, but they have resisted. Then he comes over and throws a chair through her sliding glass patio door and bends her over the easy chair.
Chatter X: "I enjoyed this wine. I consumed 3/4 of the bottle while eating a Lean Cuisine. Afterward, my cats seemed really amusing."
Chatter X: Man, that description just made me gasp.
me: I'm already imagining my review of Two Buck Chuck.
Chatter X: Like, totally not expecting it, "Oh, my," gasp. I'll never have adequate sex. Now I'm ruined. For movies and for life.
me: Don't worry, I think we're all capable of over-the-chair sex.
Chatter X: But breaking the sliding glass door first then chair sex?
me: Sure, why not? I mean, provided you have a sliding glass door.
Chatter X: I bet the lighting is hard to get right. There has to be adequate patio lighting.
me: No, because then you'd see him coming.
Chatter X: Plus metal chairs.
me: The sex was in the house, not on the patio furniture.
Chatter X: Um, metal furniture needed to break glass.
me: ohhh.
me: I think a well-constructed wooden chaise would do the job.
Chatter X: OK, I just laughed heartily, yet again.
me: Every conversation I ever have about sex winds up being about shoddily constructed patio furniture.
Chatter X: bahahahhah. IKEA is like your arch nemesis.
me: Do you mind if I post this conversation in my blog with your name missing? We're kind of funny, and I post like once every leap year.
Chatter X: Now I'm all flattered. NO
me: How about with your phone number?
Chatter X: Depends on if any of the men who comment are single and have the capability of hurling things. Not lunch. Chairs.
me: They're largely married dorks.
Chatter X: I know. We're not.
me: No, I'm a single dork.
Chatter X: Erase everything I just wrote after the IKEA comment.
Sorry, Chatter X.
Okay, fine. I'm not really buying that either. But I haven't posted in a week, so this is what you get!
____________________________________________________________________
Chatter X: By the way, you're not getting your weight loss incentive this week.
me: That's okay, I've only lost 50 lbs this week.
Chatter X: Look, there's no way you're going to break me. I'm not going to ever say you're a dick.
me: No, really. I lost my legs in a tragic chocolate factory accident.
Chatter X: hah. Your idea of tragedy involves diet chocolate. Did you eat your own legs?
me: Wouldn't you if they were suddenly covered in chocolate?
Chatter X: Somehow, that seems sexual. Not actually sexual. Just kind of like, there ought to be something sexual about that. And yet...no.
me: Vaguely reminiscent of sexual. Yet not.
Chatter X: That's how I'm going to write wine reviews.
me: Like something that sounds sort of dirty but upon examination just makes no sense.
Chatter X: Well, in all seriousness, if there ever were to be really something between you and me, then it would spontaneously happen when and if we ever met. Thousands would die in the subsequent explosion. implosion?
me: Now I'm onto wine reviews. They should be like "At first this vintage was reminiscent of Welch's grape juice with a splash of turpentine. But by the time I was halfway through the second bottle, I began to appreciate its piquant insouciance."
Chatter X: "Then I groped my cousin."
me: Explosion, not implosion. And you're right. It would be like that scene in Body Heat.
me: That's it, we are starting a wine review website.
Chatter X: I have not seen Body Heat, but I know it involves Kathleen Turner, so, yes.
me: Well, at that point in the movie she and William Hurt are dying for it, but they have resisted. Then he comes over and throws a chair through her sliding glass patio door and bends her over the easy chair.
Chatter X: "I enjoyed this wine. I consumed 3/4 of the bottle while eating a Lean Cuisine. Afterward, my cats seemed really amusing."
Chatter X: Man, that description just made me gasp.
me: I'm already imagining my review of Two Buck Chuck.
Chatter X: Like, totally not expecting it, "Oh, my," gasp. I'll never have adequate sex. Now I'm ruined. For movies and for life.
me: Don't worry, I think we're all capable of over-the-chair sex.
Chatter X: But breaking the sliding glass door first then chair sex?
me: Sure, why not? I mean, provided you have a sliding glass door.
Chatter X: I bet the lighting is hard to get right. There has to be adequate patio lighting.
me: No, because then you'd see him coming.
Chatter X: Plus metal chairs.
me: The sex was in the house, not on the patio furniture.
Chatter X: Um, metal furniture needed to break glass.
me: ohhh.
me: I think a well-constructed wooden chaise would do the job.
Chatter X: OK, I just laughed heartily, yet again.
me: Every conversation I ever have about sex winds up being about shoddily constructed patio furniture.
Chatter X: bahahahhah. IKEA is like your arch nemesis.
me: Do you mind if I post this conversation in my blog with your name missing? We're kind of funny, and I post like once every leap year.
Chatter X: Now I'm all flattered. NO
me: How about with your phone number?
Chatter X: Depends on if any of the men who comment are single and have the capability of hurling things. Not lunch. Chairs.
me: They're largely married dorks.
Chatter X: I know. We're not.
me: No, I'm a single dork.
Chatter X: Erase everything I just wrote after the IKEA comment.
Sorry, Chatter X.
- FIN -
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