Xmas Epiphany

I get the idea for most of these Klogs while I am out walking the dog, believe it or not. For some reason, ideas hit me as I walk Bauer in his mission to poop on every lawn in a 20 block radius. I put the iPod on, leash up the iPup and out we go. As we walk, I find I get lots of ideas. Not only that, but also their general form, flow, jokes and the occasional ‘point of the whole thing’. Lately, as we go out we walk by lots of houses that have lights up. It’s kinda cool, as I’ve always been attracted to shiny objects. So tonight this just hit me. And even though I’d much rather be chilling out on the couch, catching up on my (non-porn) magazines and just generally chilling, I thought this just might be more important.

I had an epiphany while I was out walking. As a general practice, epiphanies don’t strike when you’re carrying around a bag of poop, but this time it did. I realized a few things of my hatred of this time of the year. Follow me here.

There actually are some parts of the Xmas season I do enjoy. I know that is a shock to many of you, but there are times when the ‘holidays’ are fun and good for you. But it is a bit of a mirage. I do enjoy the times I get to spend with my friends and family. I am still not a fan of the hustle and bustle, though. You know what I am talking about. As the concept of family changes to include more and more units of the family unit (with divorces, etc) there can be many places to go. My family unit is extremely lucky as we really don't have any of that business. We’ve all managed to stay married to the same people, which is a victory in itself sometimes. But as family units grow, with in-laws, kids, nieces, etc., there can be a strain on your time.

In years past, Xmas Eves have been a lot of hustle and bustle for us. It might mean hitting 3-4 houses to squeeze everyone in and honor every tradition. There’s been a few Xmas Eves where we haven’t gotten home before 3 AM. Sleep for a few hours, then lather, rinse, repeat on Xmas Day. But I have realized that the time you do get to spend can be pretty fun and special. It’s catching up with people you may only see during the holiday season. It might be opening presents with friends on Xmas Eve and rehashing old times. It might be getting embarrassingly drunk and acting like a total ass all Xmas Eve. Boy, there’s a lesson I learned the hard way.

The point of most of this time is generally just to have a good time and laugh as much as possible. At least that’s what I try to do. I’ve fought it over the years, but I think I have gotten better over the last few. The food also helps, too. What a great time to just fucking pig out. Cookies, chocolate, egg nog. My stomach takes a beating over the sudden and gluttonous consumption of junk during this week. Dinner can be awesome, as my sister gets this tender steak fillets and seafood mix. Yummy! I try to rationalize that I am eating good stuff, as I wash all that down with cookie dough cheesecake.

Houses look cool with lights up. I enjoy big, colored lights that blink. Me and Bauer will just walk up and down blocks based on how well lit up they are. Some people still have those old plastic figures that look 30 years old, but you don’t see too often these days. I am not a big fan of the continued Wal-Mart-ization of lawns, where every house has up the same 2 lawn ornaments and inflatables. I am not a big fan of inflatables in general. When they are not inflated, they look like shit on your lawn. Yea, it’s cool how some light up and move and all, but I am sure science can find better uses.

To a degree people seem to at least try to be in a better mood, although the stress can still get to them. Also key here is having a few days off. That plays into my theory big. Just to get those few free days off. Sure, there are deadlines of where to be on Xmas Eve, Xmas day, etc. But just to get the few odd days “off” where you can do what ever the fuck you want to are huge. Play with all your new toys, catch up on a book or spend time with friends. The ability to sleep late (if that is an option for you) is just so huge during these times. Going to bed late rocks, sleeping in late rocks. The goddamned dog waking me up at 5 (Am or PM) to pee does not rock.

It’s all a nice little trip away from reality. See friends and family, give and get cool gifts, have some ‘whatever’ time, it’s all just a healthy dose. It would seem. Until that one night. It may be a different night for different people, but regardless, it comes. It’s that night as things wind down, you feel something creeping in. It’s reality beckoning.

What a cold fucking slap in the face. Those brief, fleeting, vibrant few days are suddenly way back in the rear view mirror. Reality has come back, like it always does. And when you would describe this reality as ‘deadening” and “soul crushing”, this is devastating. Maybe you could make it if it was just “deadening” or “soul crushing”, but not both, mister.

And that’s why I hate this time of year. It’s just that sudden , and it’s all compartmentalized and gone. Back to the cruel, harsh world. Lights slowly come off the houses, although there’s always that one house in your neighborhood that never takes them down. Decorations return to their dingy boxes for another 11 month hibernation. It’s almost like it never happened at all, except for the ugly sweater from Aunt Phyllis.

I blame TV for part of this. It seems every Xmas movie you see (especially if it’s on Lifetime. Not that I ever watch Lifetime, nor that Xmas movie with Nicole Eggert in it.) involves some sort of Xmas miracle. Whereby the main characters life is irrevocably changed for the better. I think we all secretly hope for that Xmas miracle to happen to us; that one thing that leads us to happiness, fulfillment, satisfactions or at least a fucking decent job. And it never quite happens that way, right? I hate when TV lies to me.

BAM! That first morning back. The mind played a dirty trick on us and erased all the BS we suffer through daily. But it’s there, lying in wait. Waiting for the right moment to slap you back to reality. Job (or lack thereof), money, economy, drama, deadlines, pressure, relationships and what you think is a squirrel trapped in your vents. BAM! Uppercut.

So yea, I hate that aspect of this time of year. All the decorations that were full price in the stores suddenly get marked down 75%, like they’re some cheap whore. Wait a minute, did I just compare Xmas decorations to whores? Well, there’s another literary goal accomplished. But I think you get my point.

I just have a hard time making the adjustment. Which is exactly what I will be doing tonight and tomorrow. No fun, no fun at all. I try not to end these Klogs on downers, so I will leave you with my favorite dirty joke.
How do you get a nun pregnant?
You fuck her.

Thank you and good night. Thanks for reading, and I hope your slide back into reality is a pleasurable one.

Echoes of High School

High school wasn’t a great time for me. I think that period is traumatic for any kid, but I hated high school. Now that I am looking back, I don’t have many fond memories. I just had that constant feeling like I never quite fit in with anybody. I was a tall, geeky, un-confident, socially retarded loser that never got any dates.

Shit, I guess not much has changed…..

Anyway, I was your typical bus-hopper. I didn’t play any sports. I didn’t belong to any clubs. I wasn’t too high on the extra-circular stuff. I showed up, did my time and got the hell out. The ‘friends’ I did hang out with were primarily the ones I went to elementary school with. I guess I hung with a few of the ‘cool’ kids, but most of my circle were music nerds. They always tried to get me into Yes and shit. After HS was over, I really never saw them again. I’d run into one at a local bar, or the music nerds would be at a show.

So my HS career was rather unremarkable. I was a wallflower. I was unsure of myself, and was never quite comfortable in my own skin. (It wasn’t until after college that I bloomed into this version of coolness.) I don’t think I could name you 10 people I knew I went to school with. And I still get the occasional nightmarish-like dream about being in HS. The dreams are always meeting getting lost in school or not doing homework. Suffice it to say, I have changed a lot since then. My look, my attitude, my confidence (to a degree) and am a lot more sure of the skin I’m in (to a degree) now. I’ve compartmentalized that whole period of my life. It’s almost like it never happened. So it came as quite a shock when T left a message for me.

She is a teacher, and this week was parent conferences. So she meets with the parents of her kids. One mom comes in, and after the meeting, asks her if she has a brother named Kevin. She says no, but her husband’s name is Kevin. “I went to high school with him,” the mother replies. Now this totally boggles my little mind. That someone remembers me from high school 19 fucking years ago. Like I said, I wasn’t very popular. In fact, in a class of almost 400 kids, I was voted 417th most popular. Yea, I was that forgettable.

So T shows this mom a picture of me now. She tells the mom’s face was shock. “Yea, I can kinda see his face…” she says. Yea, that nerdy, acne covered face now has long hair and a perma-scruff and is like 6’2. “Wow, the mom says, “he is a fox! A stone cold hunk of prime A beef. I would give him a blow job every night just for the privilege of watching TV with him. He is devastatingly handsome.”

OK, so maybe that part is a bit embellished, but I am sure she was as least thinking that. I do find it funny that on the odd occasion I do run into people I went to HS with, they don’t recognize me now. I actually take that as a compliment. Well, either that, or I’ve gotten more hideous. Nope, no, it’s because I am far more ‘me’ now then I ever was then. Yea, that’s it. I went to HS with one of T’s teacher friends, and I don’t think the teacher friend even knows that.

Wow, that’s pretty cool, I tell T. What is this chick’s name I ask her. “Umm…..I don’t know,” she tells me. WTF! You give me a great story like that, and you don’t even get me a name? So now I have to wonder who this girl that remembers me is. Again, I find it hard to believe anyone would remember me, but I am intrigued that it does happen to be a girl.

Just please don’t let it be the girl I had a crush on the entire 4 years I was there. She was a good looking girl. Total 80’s high hair, nice eyes, etc. I was so intimidated and deathly shy that I never even spoke to her. I don’t think we maybe had 2 classes together the whole time, but we were often in the same homeroom. And I would look at her all the time, but I could never even bring myself to even just say “hi”. Just please don’t tell me it’s her. I wouldn’t want to think of her as being a married mom. I’d prefer to think of her spending her days, pining over my picture in the yearbook and constantly yearning for me.

Guys are such cads. We all prefer that our exes or the girls that never gave us the time of day are now all regretting not being with us. It’s a guy thing to think that all of them are trolling MySpace and Facebook, desperately looking to track us down and reveal their real feelings for us. That is a big life regret that they never got with us. I know that’s what all of my exes are doing these days. Yea, just shut up and let me believe, OK?

T goes into work today, and even gets a note from said mom-with said mom’s name on it. The note was about why her kid didn’t do its homework or some such. (What did you think I was gonna say the note was about?) T comes home, and I ask her what the mom’s name is. I have to find out who my new stalker is. “Um, I forget. Shit, I even got a note from her and I meant to save it. I know her first name, but not her (maiden) last name.” She tells me the name, and I can honestly tell you I don’t know who she is talking about. So now I will hang in limbo until the mystery woman reveals herself.

Or maybe I will just see her at the reunion next year.

The Cup

Most of you know, I am a diehard hockey fan. I can watch any hockey game, yes, even the dreaded Flyers. I will stay away from the “either you get it or you don’t” argument. But I will say most of the hockey fans I know tend to be fairly knowledgable, even if it’s only about the hometeam. They do seem to have some sort of passion, more so than the typical baseball or football fan. I see a lot of dedication with the rec players in our Monday night league. A lot of them rush from work, or travel a fair distance, eat on the way, etc. If you don’t know much about hockey, though, I am willing to bet you are familiar with the Stanley Cup. It’s the oldest professional sports trophy in the world I believe. I suppose I could Google that, but I am far too lazy to do that. It’s not like baseball of football that just make up another trophy for the winner every year. No, Lord Stanley has been around since 1892. Whenever a team wins the cup, all the names on the roster get engraved on the Cup. The names ring around the bottom of the Cup.

Being a true fan, I have seen this thing hoisted by the greatest players to ever play the game; Gretzky, Lemieux, Messier, Roy, Stevens, Bourque, Sakic, etc. Every June, I see it awarded to the winning team. Needless to say, the Cup is esteemed, admired, revered among hockey fans. It’s every hockey fans’ dream to get your picture taken with The Cup. I never thought I would have that opportunity. Until last Saturday.

Imagine my surprise on Friday when I found out that The Cup would be mere minutes away from Missile Command the very next day. How did I not know about this sooner? Doesn’t matter, either way, I was thrilled. Former Flyer Bill Clement, who’s probably better known for being a hockey broadcaster than Stanley Cup winner, wanted to raise some money for some local charities, so he was able to corral The Cup and a bunch of former Flyers to do an appearance at a technical school. Since I found out about this so late, I had it in my mind that not a lot of people knew about it. Hell, how many hockey fans will know about this? Besides, I am sure most Flyers fans do their community service on Saturdays. ZING!

So imagine my surprise when we rolled up, and saw a full parking lot; we had to park on the grass. We got there pretty early on. The line outside the building seemed fairly manageable. Until some guy said this was a “Disney Line”. In other words, while it seems like there’s a small line outside, the real line is hidden inside. Sure enough, there are seemingly 50,000 people in line. D’oh! Fuck, I really thought we could breeze through this in like 40 minutes. Guess this wasn’t so low key.

I am not a good waiter. I grow impatient easy. I am totally id driven; I want what I want and I want it now! So seeing all these puckheads in my way really cheeses me off. Actually, it’s not that bad. I mean this is my chance to get my grubby little hands on a piece of true sports history. This is a big deal in my otherwise shallow and pathetic life. So waiting for what will turn out to be 2+ hours seems like a pretty small price to pay. There are bigger fans who never get this opportunity. Everything will be OK.

It’s easy to hold on to something like that. The reality is that I am being driven bonkers by a line that is crawling along. It’s just a major victory to make it inside the building. Fuck, this is going to take forever. Poor T is not doing well. I know she’s focused on Hallowmas, and waiting in line is something that will drive her nuts, too. There’s not much to do, except people watch.

And sometimes the hockey stereo type is a reality. I see no less than 3 legit mullets. At least they weren’t wearing old Triumph shirts. It’s a pretty wide array of people. Young kids in oversized hockey jerseys. Dads who are coaches. Older women wearing shirts that were from the Cryers last Cup year; i.e. 30 year old yellowed t-shirts. I see a few brave souls like myself who are not wearing Flyers jerseys. I am proudly sporting my Avs jersey. I see a guy with a Red Wing jersey, so I go hip check him through the grass of the trophy case. Eat shit, Detroit! I see Penguins & Coyotes jerseys as well. But it’s a black and orange crowd for sure. I feel kinda bad, as there was a young couple in front of us that hung in for like 40 minutes, but then had to leave. What a buzzkill.

Slowly, the line winds it’s way to a table where you have to pay 2 bucks to get in. Mr. Big Spender over here springs for the wife. It’s the least I can do. I can tell she is bored as when I tell her how my day went. Deep down, I know she digs this, but wasn’t prepared for such a long wait. But I have a growing anxiousness. My mood is upbeat and positive. Soon, enough, The Cup will be mine.

I pay the 4 bucks, and guess what? We wait again, this time in a smaller line. It’s almost like they’re weeding out the weak. We go in, and immediately get in the line for the Stanley Cup. Yes, another line. And there it is. I can see it. The most prestigious trophy in all of sport. I never thought I would get in the same room with it, let alone get a picture with it. First impression is that it is not super bright. I guess that is common sense since it is so old. I just expected angelic light reflecting off of it or something. Again, I think of all the history associated with it. I don’t quite know the proper word to use here, but I am sure you do, so please insert it here. That’ll help, thanks.

Right in front of us is this old couple. The guy is one of those tall, craggy looking guy. His profile is dominated by a huge sloping nose, and he wears one of those old-man dickey hats that they give you when you turn 65. He was with his wife, but as we got in the picture line, he disappears. It’s just the wife in front of us. And she’s getting on my nerves. All she does is pace in small circles and is fucking constantly looking all around. I mean, Broom Hilda ain’t even looking where’s she’s going. Often, the rest of the line is like 10 feet in front of her as she stares off into the distance.

At one point, T was ready to slip by, but she turned back around. Every 2 seconds, she’s pacing around in small circles, looking in all directions. I don’t know if she’s looking for her husband or what, but it’s getting super fucking annoying. She is like a Weeble, just bouncing all around.

The line for The Cup now winds up and down three rows. As you paid, they were giving out these heinous bright orange cardboard helmets. I believe these were the same fay helmets the Cryers hand out during key playoff games. So you turn on the game, and see 18,000 motards wearing fucking cardboard helmets. They look like the SpEds that get the cardboard crowns at Burger King. I am sorry, but no self respecting hockey fan wears a fucking cardboard helmet ever. I don’t care how much Molson or Labatts you drink, it just doesn’t happen. And why the holy fuck would you put that on for your picture with the Cup? There should be a trap door on the stage when this gets through. “OK, sir, you there in the cardboard helmet. Step right up to The Cup.” Then-whoosh-trap door opens, and loser gets whisked down a Christmas Story-like slide out to the back of the line.

People do different things when they get to The Cup. I saw young girls kiss The Cup. I saw old men kiss The Cup. I saw grown men hug the thing. A lot of people have this very revered look on their face as they get to it. I see smiling families get their picture with it. I see numerous Flyers fan drape a Flyers T or jersey at the bottom of The Cup. I am sure there have to be tons of funny pictures of fans with The Cup.

Finally, we wind our way up. I do admit to feeling a twinge of nervousness-I guess that’s the word I am looking for-as it gets to be our turn. I bought 3 pictures-one of just me, one of just T and one of the both of us. That group picture kills me because she’s being disrespectful and wearing a fucking Flyers jersey. Needless to say, I am highly embarrassed that there’s a pic of me with my wife and The Cup, and she’s ruining it by wearing a fucking Cryers jersey. Finally, after over 2 hours in line, it is my chance. They are cool, and you can obviously touch The Cup. I put my hands all over it like it’s T’s ass. They have to readjust the camera or something, so I get a few brief extra seconds with Stanley. I immedialety look for the Avs names on The Cup. The only team I see is the Canadiens from the 50s. So I am not really paying attention when the camera finally does go off. I’m NOT READY! FUCKING D’OH! Fortunately, they are cool, and give me another shot, which is what you see.

Next, T comes up and we take our group shot. I swear, I am smiling ear to fucking ear. I leave and now it’s hoseheads’s shot at The Cup. Since she has a Flyers jersey on, the one guy actually directs her where to point on The Cup to the Flyers roster. Well, fuck me, the hot girl catches another break while uggo over here suffers.

And it was over. Just like that. Woosh.

2 hours all disappears. I vainly look back on my brief time with The Cup, and realize just how vain I can be. All I was really worried about was looking good for the picture. The most important trophy in the world, and I’m worried about my fucking hair. And yes, for the record, I did ask T how my hair looked before I got my picture taken. Luckily, it turned out OK. I got to lay my hands on The Cup. And I got my picture taken with me putting my hands on The Cup. Maybe that isn’t a thrill to you, but I can tell you that is top ten material for me. It easily trumps my Jenkintown Brewfest picture from a while back.

I was like a little kid. I was so damn happy.

As it turns out, this event was a huge success. They had so many people there, they had to turn people away at 1:30 because the line was so long and the parking lot was full. They estimated over 3500 people were there, and over $55,000 was raised for local charities. All the money I spent was well worth it, and I have something I will treasure the rest of my life.

As always, thanks for reading.