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(Note: This one’s been stewing for a couple of weeks, so all of the pop culture and current events references have expired – I considered trashing it and starting over, but then I reread it and realized that transience was the whole point of it. So, here you are. Moldy, yet topical – kind of like Penicillin.) 1/27/06
Well, there it goes: took the tree out to the curb this week. We chose it, chopped it down, dressed it up, and and now it sadly has left with the garbagemen to do whatever it is that they do with these things in my town. I think to the ignominiously named “Green Waste” section of the municipal dump. Perhaps they take it to the “Post Yuletide Dance,” where Ivedy-Avedy does whimsical things with it? That would be sweet, but not with my tax dollars. If only we lived in Arizona, it could literally be sleeping with the fishes. But the taking of the tree is the official sign that the holidays are over. Not that I care much. I didn’t get anything worth noting, this year. Once you’re past a certain age, you don’t get the cool shit anymore. And I’m enough of a man to grin and bear it, but still – when I was ten years old, my mom got me the Mattel Hot Wheels Thunderbird 500 Racetrack (“Hours of redundant fun!”) and in 2005, she got me a sweater and an eight pack of “Irish Spring.” Even our cat did better than me – a fine lobster dinner and a big pack of catnip. A really, really big bag of catnip.
Click on that picture for the most nightmarish thing ever, and don’t say I didn’t warn you. Other people (and other cats) probably had cooler holiday booty than I did. But then, there are the people for whom it is impossible to find a gift. I wonder, do I fall into that sad category? Is that why I got the aforementioned pack of bath soap? Or was my mother trying to tell me that I’m a stinky guy that doesn’t know how to dress himself? Real subtle, mom. Let’s examine. These “Impossible Recipients” come in three basic flavors: 1) Those whose tastes are too refined (or not nearly broad enough), leaving you as a last resort the gift certificate from Barnes & Noble and the blind hope that they haven’t given up reading altogether. 2) People who insist on treating the exchanging of gifts as if it were an Olympic event in one-upmanship. Might as well cut to the chase and buy yourselves matching medals – you’d get the bronze. 3) And then, there are the people for whom anything they want, they buy for themselves.. My friend Jim is one of these – over the years, I’ve given up on getting him something I think he wants, and either get him something I want but don’t think I should spend money on for myself, or just an out-and-out joke. Like the CD collection of Vanilla Fudge ‘hits’ – which might not seem that funny, until you realize that his hated cousin was the bass player. This gentleman is probably a combination of all three (link courtesy Karl). I say ‘gentleman’ because you know it’s not a lady that put that home theater together. But still – aren’t you kind of thankful that you don’t have to buy a gift for this motherfucker? It makes my teeth hurt just thinking about it. How about calling up the Star Registry and giving him a piece of the sky? How gauche. That limited edition “Robotech” DVD & Rock Tumbler? He just picked it up on eBay. And guess who was the winning bidder on William Shatner’s kidney stone? I think the best gift for him would be for all his friends and family to get together and burn down his home theater so that he can have the pleasure of building it all over again. Doesn’t that sound nice? --------------------- No link, just a silly picture: MY concept of the ideal home theater.
2005: 2004: |
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