I Hate Tuesdays

Tuesday is now my least favorite day of the week, for all time, officially.

Why? Let me count the ways:

1. Black Tuesday, November 2, 2004, the day you-know-who was reelected by a country full of apparent masochists who care nothing for civil rights, the environment, or their children's financial future.

2. This Tuesday, that is, today, December 7, 2004, the day the vote count became "official" in the Big Swing State. Bush apparently won here, and therefore the whole election, by about 119,000 votes, a number just slightly larger than the number of people who attend an Ohio State football game on any given Saturday in the fall. Let me repeat that, and please allow it to sink in. THE WHOLE ELECTION OUTCOME HINGED ON THE NUMBER OF VOTES EQUIVALENT TO ONE FOOTBALL STADIUM OF PEOPLE. Out of millions of votes. Folks should remember that little fact when they think about the phrases "decisive victory" or "political capital."

3. Did anyone else notice that today is also Pearl Harbor Day? Anyone? Coincidence?

4. "Tuesdays With Morrie." I hate that book.

5. The original "Black Tuesday" (that is, the stock-market crash, for the historically-challenged reader), in case you hadn't noticed, also took place on a Tuesday. Although it didn't affect me personally, I'm one of those empathetic liberals who feel everyone's pain, so I must hate that day as well.

6. Tuesday is also the day that we have our weekly status meetings for my project at work. I don't hate our status meetings, but it's very popular to bitch about them, so I'm kind of jumping on the bandwagon here.

7. I had a really bad hair day last Tuesday, which is reason enough in itself.

So, it's a shitty day all around. Good enough reason to have another beer, so I think I will. I'll say goodnight now, to my dedicated audience and, once again, to my social security fund. You were a good idea while you lasted.

Tricks, tips, and clarifications

Having survived THE MALL yesterday, I have a few tips on how to make your shopping experience more enjoyable:

1. Start off with lunch and a margarita.
2. Go to ONE store and buy a whole bunch of stuff.
3. Go to a movie.
4. Go home.

It really wasn’t too bad!

I also have a few comments on my previous comments on the whole holiday-buying thing. I have rediscovered the simple fact that buying stuff for kids is fun! Now that Jackspatula and I have so many children in our lives (niece, nephews, second cousins, godchildren, etc.), we get to buy tons of kids’ stuff, which is what we did yesterday. Frankly, I wish we could make the holidays all about the kids again, and buy even more stuff for them! Especially if it’s stuff we get to play with when we visit them! So, I would like to start a movement to limit holiday buying to those under 18. WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN??!!

Of course, some people might argue that many children in this country, including the ones nearest and dearest to Jackspatula and me, are spoiled rotten and already have way more stuff than they will ever need or use before reaching adulthood. To those people I say, “Screw you, Ebenezer!”

Also, I was wrong before—we do need candle holders, and candles. You can never have enough. I don’t know what I was thinking.

This may be illegal . . .

I was able to find on the Web a copy of one of my favorite holiday stories, by the brilliant David Sedaris. It gets a bit morbid at the end, but it's sure to cheer up all you weary holiday shoppers. I doubt it was published with permission the first time, so why not carry on the tradition? You can read it here. (It's a bit long, but worth it.)

Must be brave, like prawn

We can put it off no longer. Well, we could, but that would only be prolonging the agony.

This weekend Jackspatula and I decided we need to face up to the fact that the "holidays" are coming, like it or not. And while some parts of the whole ordeal are undeniably fun and heartwarming (like seeing one's tiny nephew dressed up in red fur), the bulk of it--let's be honest--is a real pain in the ass. This is not news. The weird thing for me is, almost everyone admits that Chrismahannakwanzakah (get used to it!) has become too commercial. We all spend a bunch of money we don't have, to buy people stuff they probably don't need, and in return get a bunch of stuff ourselves that we likewise don't need. (If anyone is taking note, we do not need the following: candle holders, towels, serving bowls/plates, anything with Christmasy-type pictures or patterns on it, seasonal decorations.) Everyone admits that materialism is spiraling out of control, the true spirit of the season is lost, etc. etc. And yet, everyone continues to BUY BUY BUY, SPEND SPEND SPEND! And in doing so, they continue to guilt others (like us) into buying buying buying spending spending spending. It's like the tax code--everyone agrees it's completely messed up, but we're all powerless to do anything about it. The only hope you might have is if your family happens to be somewhat sane (a rare enough phenomenon), and everyone agrees to exchange names and get one really good gift for one other person and be done with the whole thing. (It's even better if the one good gift is something the person really wants, like an iPod or a Sirius satellite radio subscription--hint hint.) Anyone who know's Jackspatula's mom knows that that is not going to happen in my family. And so, today we are going to suck it up and venture out to . . .

THE MALL.

I can almost feel the collective shudder of my dedicated reading audience. If I weren't agnostic (which kind of calls into serious question the whole point of the holiday thing in general--but that's another issue), I would ask you to pray for me. Just send good thoughts and hope I don't get knocked unconscious by a frantic woman trying to grab the last on-sale sweater at The Gap.

Paul Harvey . . . dead or alive?

I know I've been very negligent. Must do better. Moving on.

First, pardon the digression (???), but I have to say, LOST was awesome tonight. Awesome.

I also have to say--and this was inspired by LOST, but applicable in other situations--that there's something that I love. I love it when a very pregnant woman suddenly grabs her stomach, eyes wide and mouth open, and starts breathing heavily and rocking back and forth on her heels, and then someone standing near her grabs her arm and asks, "What is it? What is it?!"

What do you think it is, Nostradamus?!

Really, sometimes it's a chore to block out the utter absurdity of this show (as well as many others) and just enjoy.

FOR LOSTIES: I loved the thing with the pens not working. Charlie and Claire are the most adorable couple ever. I love them.

O.K., on to the matter of the day . . . can anyone tell me if Paul Harvey is dead or alive? The reason I ask is, something weird is going on. They have his syndicated show that's been running for about 100 years on this local a.m. station, and I sometimes tune in. I don't really dig Harvey, but my grandparents used to listen to him, and there's this whole nostagia thing about him for me. Anyway, I'm listening to his show for the past couple of days ("The Rest of the Story," it's called), and I start to notice that the guy speaking doesn't sound like Paul Harvey at all. The rest of the show is exactly the same, with "Paul" giving his little intro, relating an anecdote, and then summarizing the whole thing in an "I'm not really trying to teach you a moral but I really am" tone. But "Paul" doesn't sound like Paul anymore. He sounds . . . younger and . . . different, more enthusiastic, or plastic, or something. It's like the real Paul Harvey kicked it, and instead of acknowledging that and . . . acting normally about it, the producers just found a fill-in immediately and carried on as if nothing had happened, and people are just listening and not noticing. Well, I'm noticing!! Something is definitely wrong with Paul Harvey. If anyone has info, please pass it on. (Also feel free to pass on James Carville info.)

P.S. to Dad: There are few things I enjoy more than talking on the phone to you. I hope you know that.