Santa Clause

This one is written in the American Constitution, but not that old weathered document from 1787, the one that declares Christmas is a shopping holiday and not the celebration of the birth of the Jesus Christ character. Religion studies are not my strong point, but then neither is Santa Claus lore. Thanks to the internet, though, you can check out all of his evolution on the linkety-link back there. It's really rather fascinating stuff to poke around in. A lot of us take for granted a whole lot these days, like for instance this internet I am using right here. I believe it is proper grammatical technique to capitalize the word "internet" but I am not down with that because I don't think it's as properly proper as has been proffered by the Merriam's, Websters, and the like. But yeah, for granted, I don't know about you fools but I never really considered where in the heck Old St. Nick came from. I have my doubts as to whether he was a tubbledy man from the North Pole who dressed in red velvet with white trim. The idea of someone sitting down and concocting such a character then seems to line up pretty well with advertising. If I had to do my college thesis over, I might very well analyze the origins of Santa Claus.


This is how I best like to picture Santa.

Of course, there is the possibility that Santa was not always as rotund as he has become. After all he is consuming, milk, eggnog, and lots and lots of cookies. If you believe that he has a fantastic metabolism even at hundreds or thousands of years old, then he may very well be lactose intolerant and horrendously bloated as a result of these alleged dairy gifts. That, and he should be a diabetic. But with my half-Jew faith and half-celebration of Christmas, I never was one of the kids headed to the department store to take a stint on Santa's lap.

This year, though, I had the pleasure, and while Christmas has helped perpetuate, if not spawn, some terribly spoiled individuals, it has also helped foster some simple joys and cheer. Kids look happy as shit to meet Santa, and let's not forget the tree. I mean that and the snow, and the way department stores decorate shit, it looks pretty. And without doing any research as to why The Nutcracker has become a Christmas tradition, I will say that it is one I love. I guess a good reason for it to be performed at Christmas is that the play is set during Christmas. It's really all about the score from my boy Tchaikovsky. It's more than just good music to play Tetris to.

There really is a whole hell of a lot to go over when it comes to Christmas: the love/hate relationship with the music, the showing of Gone With the Wind (which I have still never seen), stockings...So what I'm getting at is that this post is far from complete, and there is surely more to come in inane Christmas commentary. But should I not get to it before the holiday comes upon us, consider this the Happy Christmas post. And there I've gone and forgotten all about Chanukah, my primary holiday, which has come and gone.

Anyway, I hear next year for Chanukah they will offer a Womenorah, in addition to the traditional Menorah, in the name of gender equality.

I'm Not a Blogger...

I just post a lot. That's got to be one of my all-time favorite go-tos on the quick parody front. Sometimes my brain is so tuned into pop culture it frightens me but then I will read an excerpt of someone like Chuck Klosterman or any of the many accomplished blogger/journalists that write for popular sites these days and realize I keep it at a much safer distance than some. Whenever I read them I have to wonder how many people get all of the included references. Sometimes it makes me feel a little bit uninformed (a cover word for dumb) and others I could care less.

It's a pretty cold bastard lately and the shortening of days isn't helping. That and a bum foot have made me quite lazy indeed, the irony being that lack of activity seems to make my achey old man's body feel worse. Standard writing rules tell you not to use "being that." Moving a sentence back, I suppose this isn't as by the numbers as irony goes, but it's better than a lot of the things people seem to offer up for irony, where the only true irony is their suggesiont that it is irony at all. This is where I am supposed to provide an example.

Many say that to err is human, and I do not disagree, but to complain seems to be even more human. I wonder if this is an original component of the human condition or if it is resulting and somewhat predicated upon what our lives have become. I am not the first to entertain the idea, as I find it implicit in the concept that money cannot buy happiness as well as in the consistent theme that has emerged in much modern writing, fiction and non, that so many of us are so privileged and yet unsatisfied and ADD. This goes beyond simple cash flow.

I have to step back to Klosterman quickly because I think that if you read that sentence it comes across as a dig. It's not. I haven't read much of Klosterman, but some of the snippets I have are, well, really good. If there is something I don't like about Klosterman, it's mostly myself. See, he's clever and well-written (I'd say spoken, but I've never heard him speak), and on some level, though it's less now than it might have been at one time, I'm a little jealous of that. It's this little inherent rivalry thing that a lot of human beings feel that I wish I didn't. I've seen people do it to me and the reason I can recognize it is because I know I've entertained if not acted upon it myself. The good thing is that when other people attack others out of simple jealousy it reminds me not to do that. Of course, if they point out their knowledge of such jealousy and cite it as the reason for their dislike, it can end up endearing me to them. Because, I don't know about you, but I like when people have flaws. It makes them human. Remember that bit about to err? As a rule, you kind of wait for those perfect people to trip up. Maybe you are not in that universal you. If so, good for you. I have a tendency to say "maybe" a lot. The counter, to an extent, of those perfect folks you loathe are the ones who, for some other inexplicable reason, you completely love the shit out of and perhaps aspire to attain the sort of effortless perfection they project. Speaking of, I may be doing just that here, projecting, exhibiting a small segment of human condition that applies to me and a minority, rather than the human condition. Do you ever get it all in one?

So then it is that I like the analysis I have seen tiny parts of from Klosterman, and yet sad how much popular culture shapes us, and simultaneously intrigued by the way it unites us and uh, this is also simultaneous, separates us from those who do not have those same memories. It's inter-generational. And I envy the people who have led these pure, or what I consider pure, existences away from television and dumb shit (by some arbitrary definition for "dumb shit"). Sometimes I can see why David Foster Wallace had trouble sticking around, you know? And I'm not a quarter as smart. Anyway, if you read this far, congratulations? Next time, less seriousness, more jokes or joke attempts.

I am glad I am listening to music because, based on body language, I hate the people sitting near me. Thankfully two of them just got up and have been replaced by two girls eating macarons. And you know what they say, "two macarons make it right." I think this positions me well to go home and watch last night's Gossip Girl.

Cheers bitches.

The Blog Days Are Over

Back-to-back bloggin' days is rather uncharted territory for my ass these days, but it's happening. And even though I can't be sure my titles ever make any semblance of sense, this one certainly doesn't as the blog days are continuing as I type along here. So why am I back? So I can shout out the east coast, my place of birth and much of my life development. It's been largely good to me but the more I think of it the more I think I'll be making a long-ish goodbye. Not permanent, but certainly for a lengthy period. I was happy to see folks in Jersey, New York, and in Mass (also en masse), but the bulk of the humanoids with whom I did not have a pre-existing relationship ended up leaving me largely cold. No, it was not just the temperatures, because it's nut-bitingly cold here back in the Chi which means I am speaking in one of those what you might call metaphors. It is not as if the temperature of my body actually dropped upon interacting with these folks.

In other metaphors, my legs and feet are motherfuckers. I reference this a little too frequently I feel, and the fact is I've no idea what the legs of others are like, so I am in many ways unqualified for commentary. I will just say that I hope this is not what other peoples' legs and feet feel like. While it's been a hell of a long time, I can still remember when my shit was normal, and by shit I mean feet and legs. I am clarifying as I have quite the penchant for discussion of poo. It used to be if those bastards hurt, not how much. I will direct the rest of this rant to my yet-to-be-purchased web domain: www.quitchabitchin.com.

In non-metaphors I just ate two really unsatisfying big cookies. I wish they had been soft, or I had had some milk for dunking. This, I am sure, would have taken care of much of the hardness issue. I am thinking I am going to engage in devoid-of-sweets-December. Yeah, I love the shit out of sweets, but I'd like to keep my type two diabetes jokes as jokes. Really though I just want a glass of milk. The rat-tail, much to the disappointment of my loved ones, is likely to remain.

And this right here, folks, is a perfect reminder of why I do not blog daily: it gets to getting an awful lot like a dear diary and, well, there are diaries for that. Between that and concluding this post, I did take in the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. It didn't quite have the magic of 2009, but it was still damn good. I want to say it will improve your life, man, woman, and child, but it may give all unrealistic expectations on what humans look like.

And lest I go an entire entry without including an outside link I exit on an exposé of the wonderfully corrupt world of higher education or, I should say hire education. L-ooooooooooh-feckin'-elle.

The 200

Yes, it's just like that movie 300, only a hundred less. So 200, right, it is the number of entries I have reached in this here blog. I like to think it's been a good ride, but as I only got cranking here in the middle of 2007, it's hardly worth reminiscing about all of the good times we've had. I mean, I had to use "good" twice in that last sentence, so while I might like to think things have come a long way, that is not the case. Plus, it's my own damn blog so I will tend to be biased. There are things in here I think are absolute doo-doo, and things I think are sort of worth reading and viewing — so long as you have a lot of free time and nothing better to do.

As I write this I am taking a break from a fiendish writing spree that, hours earlier, resulted in something I was working on taking a calamitous turn for the inconsistent. This is how my brain goes when I try to adopt different voices. That's why having this blog is fun — for me — it's a catalog of how I did write, how I do write, how I might write. And we write differently (at least I do) depending on all manner of context I really won't get into right now. Part of the reason for that is that I cannot possibly hope to cover all of the variables and, it may prove fiendishly boring. It appears I have fiends on the mind.

Another thing I have on the mind is tonight's Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (yes, I am aware it received heavy billing in my last post). I'm not actually going to watch it tonight, but my DVR is really excited. If it is half as good as last year's, I expect about a dozen viewings.

To truly celebrate 200, I should probably go and include a little more of my classically annoying wordplay and non-sequitur references. Editor's note: I was never much of one for that comic strip but still I remember it being in the Sunday comics before I even knew what a non-sequitur was. I still wonder if I have a full understanding of it, right along with dialectic (the most over-used term in my Sophomore seminar that I took, fittingly, as Junior), and well I can't think of another word that I know the meaning of but still feel a little nervous using like someone will know I used it wrong. That's why I don't like to force words. I did once confuse prolific and profound, going so far as to caption a photo I judged profound as "prolific." A girl then asked me if I meant "profound," when she embarrassingly found the photo on my computer. I should change that sentence because the modifier makes it seem she was embarrassed to find it, when it was I who was embarrassed she found it. It's ironic of me to have made an error like that when pointing out a past error except that since I am aware and now noting it, I suppose the irony has been stripped. I still think that photo produced plenty of...whatever. But I'm glad I eff up like that, it keeps you humble. And by you, I of course mean me.

And on that relatively lackluster note, I would like to thank myself for continuing to write in this blog despite no readers and no real topics or subject matter. If loving and thanking yourself isn't the definition of humble well, I just don't know what is! Happy end of November you s-and-d-o-b's. In honor of a band I used to listen to and a neighborhood I used to live near, I welcome my December.

Cranksgiving

Something wicked is afoot, and it might very well be my own, foot that is. If that darn thing decided to break again I would be rather bummed. But enough about me, I think I got a little ranty/preachy a post or two ago, and everything's really rather peachy. Okay, and now for some more about me. I was on the internet just now, seeing what all had happened at the state cross country meet in the state I grew up in because I'm nerdly like that, and gosh, those kids are awfully good at running. It has been a decade, but to say they would kick my ass seems an understatement. But nearly as intriguing to me, was one of the photos I noted in the sidebar to the newspaper article I was leafing through (technically, I was scrolling). Said photo is featured below:



Now, is that girl pinching the jaw of the other? Yes, it's like a minor skull-crusher, how absurd. Actually, the touch has a delicate look to it, as if she might be trying to get an eyelash off her cheek. I'm sure that was it. Her teammate on the left is carrying out a rather self-explanatory easily riffed upon mock sexual act. We're tough in Jersey. I'm not, but I threw my share of elbows and pushed and shoved when necessary. I sometimes forget the rage of competition. It's kind of raw and exciting.

What I really came here to do is rattle off a bit on my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. Cranksgiving, not so much, as I'm anything but cranky this time of year. Actually, that is not entirely true, given the state of my foot. But I will be excited to visit the east coast and this region we call New England. Even though I grew up there it retains a sort of mystical quality. Perhaps it is because I grew up there. At any rate it will be good to return and briefly live the fantasy of my own quaint New England home, teaching writing to undergrads and such, sipping bourbon and whiskey when the weather gets the chill it has now. Maybe a fireplace or something. These are good as fantasies because, as much as I don't know whether I shall attain them, I am not sure either that I would really want to. The allure of a simple life is alluring many times until we have it.

But like, this holiday is about what we're thankful for right? Because we fabricated a story about how well some settlers got along with some natives as the weather turned brisk 380 or more years ago (I forget the date of the first Thanksgiving and am not going to look it up and let's face it, as I said, it's largely fabricated) and like, that relates to things to be thankful for right? Good thing we slaughtered those natives, there'd be no USA. I know I'm thankful for that. But in all seriousness, if the day is an excuse to bring my family together and eat some delicious food and just kick it and hang out, I can sort of deal with the facetious tales of origin. If it weren't for photos, I might not even believe Abe Lincoln had a beard. And I've never seen any photographic evidence of buckle-hatted rifle-toters dining avec some Native Americans, aka NAs, aka not applicable.

Tangents, I love 'em. I go off on them and I can't tell you why, but again, back to this holiday. I'm just gonna say go and have yourself a great one, whether you're reading or not. I can only wish that each and every one of you has a group of blood family or adoptive family, as friends really can become, to spend the holiday with. It's the hope to be with the humans you value the most on that day. As I get older and cheesier, this is driven home to me more and more. So I'm rambling, and sure it's my blog, but even I can get sick of my own shit, so happy holiday to you and yours, ya turkeys. Leave room for pie.

Strong Enough for a Man

Ah Victoria's Secret (those are two separate links there guys, and gals, hehe). Yes, I just said hehe, but what the Hell? It's true that the image below is more like what I'm really getting at. With filming of the show completed (knowledge I have thanks to intel from my buddy Tom) I am pretty excited for the November 30th launch. Finally, something to look forward to after Thanksgiving, which is quite close to the highlight of my year. Food, family, and fecundity. I don't know why I picked that last word other than it makes for a third "f" and there is a rule of three. It could be vaguely relevant to the holiday. Anyway, back to Vicky's S.

Here's my favorite image from last year's show:


The thing is I'd never actually watched before last year and after reviewing past footage it appears I picked the right moment to decide to engage in viewership.

As the weather is nice I am about to embark on a run before daylight fades. Sometimes it's daylight savings, and sometimes it's daylight spendings. So I'll head out in my short-short shorts, comfortable in the knowledge that Henry Rollins wore shorter while performing. You perhaps get away with more when you have Henry's rep which, of course, is a mixed bag.

Speaking of mixed bags, or at least mixed nuts, I will relay the following. Back from a run and having forgot to hit "publish" I found this entry staring at me when I opened my computer. On my way I walked down the street shoveling bits of steak and lettuce into my mouth, the remnants of a delightful but structurally unsound carne asada torta. As I approached a crosswalk, I was asked by a woman of questionable chemical balance if I "would like to see Communism." Without waiting for a response, this woman directed me to the crosswalk lines which were not straight, but on an angle. I was tempted to respond that it depends what angle you're looking at them from, but I don't like to stir up too much trouble. Besides, she had a point, they'd repainted the line in an oddly-angled manner. Those reds...

Edit: taking this opportunity to drum up early excitement for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11 in a year. It'll even happen twice. Save up those wishes fishes.

Cold November

Not rain, though that is a supremely awesome song, just cold. And actually, it's not that cold. My memory never even seems to go back a year when it comes to weather, so I can't say whether this weather is cooler than last year at this time or not. But when it comes on suddenly like last night and today, it tends to be more of a shock.

There's a time and place for the chilly weather though, at least for me, and that place is the middle of nowhere. No, honestly, I like it to be chilly for a little while. Sweaters, winter jackets, sweatpants, seeing your breath when you step outside...These things are nice. There are also fires and hot cocoa. But add in the short days and it ends up lasting too long. When the clocks fall back this Sunday, good lord, it's going to be dark before 5pm.

I didn't really do any of those things aside from sitting in sweats (I suppose I was wearing a sweater earlier) and was a bit antithetical in eating ice cream, but did at least sit in front of the boob tube as I attempted to remedy the health of my body. Viewing the latest two episodes of Gossip Girl may not have been quite the proper prescription, but they really brought it home in the closing minutes. I wish I could embed this video for you, but trust me that it is worth the click. They may have gone over budget and, as a result, had to use a toddler to do the final editing. Now hey, I am not saying I could do a better job, but it really depends on whether or not you want to induce seizures.

Anyway, I think I shall retire for the moment. Welcome to November, a few days late. Where has the year gone?