For the first time in recent memory, I have no papers to write, no pile of reading to do, and not even any client deadlines looming.
What exactly was it that I used to do in this situation?
Some thoughts after a little road trip surrounded by lots of Christmas music on the radio:
First, I could listed to the hippopotamus song all day long. Really.
Second, if I ever again have to sit through the goddamned song about the kid who wants to buy his dying mama some new shoes “in case she meets Jesus tonight”, OR the monologue where Santa breaks down and cries upon finding himself in some soldier’s depressing, dingy apartment, I will probably end up ripping my ears from my head while simultaneously vomiting all over everything in sight. Which probably won’t be pleasant for me nor for anyone else in the vicinity.
That said, this one’s still the best.
More about the actual road trip soon, but the picture above is where I had dinner Wednesday night. Any guesses where I was?
More on the new trend toward “socially-conscious” and otherwise whiny and dreary Christmas songs:
I think the reason they irritate me so much is because the implication is that if you actually have the audacity to enjoy Christmas — rather than, say, spending the entire day being depressed because of the war, or all the dying, poor people in the world, or “overcommercialization”, or the baby whales, or whatever — then you’re some sort of sub-human wretch who doesn’t understand the “true” meaning of Christmas, which is, of course, complete and utter misery for all (and for all a good cry).
If I’m going to spend my holidays being miserable, I want it to be from overeating.
How’s this for creepy? I was awakened this morning by a police officer repeatedly banging on the door and ringing the doorbell. When I finally got my wits about me and opened the door, she told me there had been a 911 call from my number. I told her I’d been asleep, and confirmed the phone number (it was definitely mine) and then she left, saying that it wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurence.
All the same, I’d prefer no repeats.
Me. Christmas morning. Thirty years ago. I’m not sure which item would be more valuable now: the stereo with 8-track player/recorder, the groovy alarm clock, the Trans Am model, or the Cheryl Ladd poster. In case you’re wondering, I’m wearing Miami Dolphins pajamas. I have no idea why.
By the way, I’m still using that dresser in the top left corner.
I made my annual trek to the mall today. Better the Friday before Christmas than the Saturday before Christmas, I figured. I hate malls. They’re full overpriced crap that I don’t want to own, and overdressed people I don’t want to know. But there is the occasional item that is best purchased there, and those items are usually the kinds of things one purchases at Christmas. So today, I drove the five minutes to the mall that’s a quarter mile from my house, but is still almost impossible to walk to.
And then I got the hell out as quickly as I could.
So is this the most disturbing Chritsmas doodad you’ve ever seen? The picture’s not great, but it’s two rednecks in a pickup truck with a reindeer strapped to the hood. If I were a kid, I’d probably burst out bawling if I saw something like that.
This, on the other hand, was way cool, and for six bucks, I had to have it. It’s an auto bajo de Santa Claus con sistema hidráulico y luces debajo, and it plays “Low Rider”. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to make the sistema hidráulico work.
In two days, I will be reunited with my husband after almost a month. I can’t think of a better Christmas present than that, even if I do have to fly to San Francisco to claim it.
I’m off to Fresno in the morning so I can have Christmas with the in-laws, and so I can bring my boy back home where he belongs.
Happy holidays. Or perhaps “Feliz Navidad”, as those evil offenders of Baby Jesus say.
There’s this crazy lady at work. I’ll call her “Agnes” even though that’s not her real name. Agnes is about sixty years old, and is a recent migrant from upstate New York.
Agnes is all about gloom and doom, and can convince you that the most benign ailment or medication will undoubtedly be fatal. She also has an (ill-informed) opinion on nearly everything, and loves to rant, on subjects ranging from the natural superiority of northerners over southerners to the way that lazy immigrants or assorted minorities all try to get something for nothing. Of course, she uses cloaked terminology to show that she’s no racist. Interestingly, she also never hesitates to pad her own time card when the opportunity arises, but that’s another story, I guess.
Yesterday, Agnes was in a political mood. Somehow, we got on the subject of the national drinking age. Agnes, interestingly enough, believed that 18-year-olds should be allowed to buy alcohol, and I agree. However, Agnes doesn’t think they should be allowed to vote. Her rationale? They haven’t had time to learn how hard their parents had to work to earn money and they “don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground”. They need, she asserts, to experience the “real world”.
No, I didn’t really get the connection, either.
Ignorance is most definitely not limited to the young. And most 18-year-olds spend those essential years between 18 and 20 in college — not exactly the “real world” by Agnes’ standards nor anyone else’s. I’m also unaware of any Constitutional requirement that voters exhibit any particular level of financial maturity. There’s certainly no similar requirement that the candidates exhibit such maturity.
When I pressed, Agnes went into a tirade about all the problems Clinton caused when he “allowed all the 18-year-olds to vote back in the 1990s”. I calmly informed her that (a) an American President does not have the power to “allow” anyone to vote or not vote, (b) that a Constitutional amendment was required to change the voting age, and (c) that this amendment had been passed in 1971, two decades prior to the Clinton administration. Apparently, I knew more about the Constitution at age 18 than she knows at age 60. Sort of throws her argument out the window, doesn’t it?
I mention this not because Agnes is a blowhard and a bit of an idiot, which she is. I mention it because her lack of knowledge about how government works and her complete absence of critical thinking skills are, alas, not particularly uncommon. Like so many people who don’t want to engage in intellectual exercise, she believes what she believes no matter how faulty her premises. Facts are not going to change her mind. Clinton is the antichrist. Immigrants are evil drains on our economy, language, and culture. No one is “allowed” any fundamental liberty she finds distasteful — but no one better deny her right to do anything, since all her personal pursuits are completely pure and moral. Agnes prides herself on being patriotic, but she doesn’t know a damned thing about the Constitution, and probably has never even read it. Flag-waving nationalism and a little bit of dogma with a Bill O’Reilly chaser is apparently enough for her.
Unfortunately, Agnes is America: intellectually lazy, uninformed, and too willing to be told what to think. I don’t say this because her views are “conservative.” There are just as many, if not more, left-leaning lemmings about (witness San Francisco). In fact, I’d argue that a majority of the most vocally opinionated folks in the country have absolutely no intellectual basis for most of their very closely-held opinions. It’s a lot easier, after all, not having to do the work of thinking for yourself, and never stopping to ponder why you believe something.
Most people take the easy way out. Give them an “Obama is a Muslim terrorist” email message, or a “Proctor and Gamble is owned by devil worshippers” form letter and most will either not care or just be too fucking stupid or ignorant to evaluate the source and context. And most politicians are quite aware of this. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?
All in all, it was a good Christmas. Mark was gone pretty much the entire month of December, a victim of year-end accounting at work. That sort of sucked, but we had our romantic rendezvous on the 23rd when I flew into San Francisco. Despite all my dread over flying at the holidays, the whole process was much more tolerable than I’d expected, thanks to a series of happy coincidences that resulted in very favorable seat assignments.
A few hours after I arrived in SF, we were on the way to Fresno to spend the holidays with his family. It wasn’t really any warmer in Fresno than it had been in Winston-Salem when I left, but it was quite a bit foggier. That made me happy.
There was Christmas Eve breakfast at the Chicken Pie Shop and random Christmas shopping before dinner at the home of the sister-in-law and family. I’m not showing pictures of our niece here, just because I think it might (understandably) creep out her mom a bit, but she’s adorable — trust me on this — and she also shared her crayons with me.
There was more food and family on Christmas day, and then we departed on the 26th for a quick one-night stand in San Mateo, where we had dinner with Dan, Jamie, and Eugene at Pancho Villa and then wandered around downtown and made the staff at Draeger’s nervous before bedding down in preparation for my really early flight the next day. The return flight, alas, was not nearly so pleasant as the westbound one had been.
The cool thing, of course, is that we got to have Christmas again when we got home: twice. The first was the traditional “fire in the basement” Christmas at home, where we gave each other our loot. For the record, I got a turntable (we’re now a two-turntable household), and lots of cool books and videos, among other things. We also got a quite wonderful vintage phone from Sister Betty and the happenin’ tiki lamp from Jamie.
And then, we got to go to Greensboro and do it all over again with my parents. Despite the picture, my mom really did have her eyes open through most of it, which we all appreciated.
Mark left this morning, and I have to take down all the decorations this afternoon. So I guess it’s over now, and it’s time for me to get back to the daily grind.
Maybe some day soon, I’ll even post pictures from the last two road trips. Right now, though, there’s a whole slew of exciting new shows on The CW and My Network TV that are just dying to be promoted online. And there’s a certain university bureaucracy that needs a cattle prod jammed up its ass. But that’s another story…
