Time Is On My Side (eh, not so much)...

   Every year, my company gives its salaried employees (of which I am one) a paid holiday break around Christmas time. My last day of work for this year was Wednesday the 21st, and I'm off until January 3. As my last day of work approached, I made big plans for being productive during my time off, and getting caught up on some things I had neglected. I wanted to get some work done around the house, work on some music and try to learn the ins and outs of my new keyboard, get back into a workout routine, break out this yoga DVD I ordered months ago but never watched, and go out a time or two to get some bowling practice, and of course write at least one blog entry a day. The first few days would be filled with last minute shopping, choir rehearsals, and a Christmas Eve concert; then after Christmas dinner, I'd spend a day relaxing with my three girlfriends (that would be my laptop, my cell phone and my remote control) on Monday, and then get to work  on all of my plans for the rest of the week.

   So how's that worked out for me? Well, the Monday after Christmas went about as expected, as I spent the day in bed with the three aforementioned girlfriends watching television and movies, getting up only to eat, go to the bathroom, or put another DVD in the player. Then came Tuesday...and Wednesday...and Thursday -- and now Friday -- and it was like "Groundhog Day", just replaying the same inactivity from Monday all over again. Well, now wait, that's not entirely true: I played around on the keyboard for about 15-20 minutes on Tuesday, took a shower and went out to buy a few groceries on Wednesday, did some pushups and crunches yesterday morning and this morning (I even looked for the yoga DVD yesterday, but gave up after 10 minutes and got back in bed). Aside from that, however, it's been a week spent in bed, lollygagging with my three electronic girlfriends.

   I'm still off until Tuesday, so I have a few days yet to try to accomplish something. In the meantime, I've got my Friday night bowling league, so that will mark my second time leaving the house this week. I guess I should take another shower before I go...

Angry Nerd Family Christmas Dinners

   Christmas dinner in the Angry Nerd family is, like with many families, a time-honored tradition. Growing up, we used to have dinner at Grandma's, with plenty of down-home meals, music, and occasionally a lively spat as entertainment. After I got married and had kids, my new family would rotate where we ate Christmas dinners; the plan was always to eat dinner with one family, and then just stop by to see the other. The invariable annual consequence to this plan, however, was tension over how much time we spent at each place. At some point, we solved this problem by hosting both sides of our family at our house for dinner - which freed us up to have other things to argue about...

   Nowadays, Christmas dinner is much more harmonious. For the last several years we have gathered at my sister and brother-in-law's place, and without my babymama's combative, slightly crazy family dynamic in the mix, things go much more smoothly (not that we don't have some of our elements of craziness and combativeness in our midst, but, for those folks in was an in-bred thing, kind of like with Native Americans and the alcoholism gene).

   Actually, for us, Christmas begins at Thanksgiving. Several years ago, we decided that the adults in the family would do a Secret Santa-thingy so that we would only need buy a gift for one other adult in the family. My mother is in charge of this whole operation, and with her, it is a matter a national importance that those names get drawn out of the hat post-Thanksgiving meal. Remember Rev. Harold Camping, the nut that predicted not one, but two incorrect dates for the end of the world this year? Well, I knew he had it wrong all along; the end of the world will come the day after someone in the family leaves Thanksgiving dinner without picking a name for Secret Santa...now that doesn't mean that we won't try to leave without picking a name - or at least pretend to, mainly since getting my mother annoyed and flustered is a favorite pasttime for my siblings and I (and to be honest, it's kind of a cheap thrill, since she's so easy to fluster and so prone to falling for the same stuff no matter how many times we try it).

   Back to Christmas dinner - it's always a fun affair when the Angry Nerd clan gets together, especially at Christmas time. Plenty of laughter, teasing, eating, drinking (mostly non-alcoholic stuff), sports watching (with plenty of debates and trash-talking about the action), and the like. My brother, the camera buff, takes plenty of pictures - the more embarassing the better. At some point after dinner, someone will let out a rip-roaring, mouth-uncovered belch. Half of the other people will be grossed out by this; the other half will express their admiration, and hand out grades for the belch, prompting both indignation from the grossed-out crew, and attempts (on the sly) from the admiring crew to try to work up their own monster belches in an effort to beat the original monster belch (note: this activity does NOT apply to farting. You gotta fart, take it to the bathroom or an unoccupied room - or in the case of my brother - all the way outside the house).
  
   Video games are a must, especially now that there are the dance games are popular. They're a particularly effective tool for working up a sweat and for making fools of oneself! Then there's also the annual "Battle of the Sexes" game of spades featuring my sister-in-law and cousin versus my nephew and myself. Most years it works out pretty much according to script: a lot of woofing initiated by my nephew, responded to with some caterwauling from the ladies (I, of course, maintain a modicum of restraint and good sportsmanship). Then, once the game begins, the ladies employ their tortoise and hare strategy, where they place safe, wussy bids throughout, while the two of us knuckleheads inevitably do ourselves in with a series of testosterone-induced overbidding, leading to such spectacular self-destruction that the ladies barely have to break a sweat...sigh...getting trash-talked by a couple of persistent women is a hurtful thing...

   But spades humiliation aside, there's nothing quite like the Angry Nerd family Christmas dinners. They are truly what makes Christmas for me. Well, time to go; I hear my nephew woofing about spades. Hope you all are having a great Christmas!



Two Days Before Christmas

'Twas two days before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring (well...maybe a mouse)

The 23rd of December, and I hadn't done a thing,

Had put up no tree, had done no shop-ping. 

The Christmas decor was still packed out of sight;

The wreath and the tinsel, every bulb, every light.

The garlands, the ornaments, the Santa Claus clock;

The fake tree was still all apart in a box.

I just didn't feel like unpacking that mess;
Putting that stuff up was just extra stress.
What did it matter? There's no one but me.
And I couldn't care less about watching some tree.

(For my grandson the tree would be a nice surprise;

When he came for a visit, it would light up his eyes.

No doubt, the decorations would warm his little heart;

But no doubt, his little hands would take them apart.)

That morning I dragged myself out of bed,

Tried to summon up courage for that thing that I dread:

The malls at the holiday season, I hate.

But I had to go, dammit, it was almost too late!

I thought that Christmas time was about joy, peace, and love,

But the malls are about where push comes to shove.

Rudeness and selfishness replace peace and joy,

The warmth comes from snatching a coveted toy.

Rampant consumerism is the order of the day,

Crass materialism is what really holds sway.

There are gift lists to tend to, there’s stuff to be bought,

Someone grabs what you want, then there’s a fight to be fought.

So go spend, spend, spend, spend; gotta have only the best stuff.

It’s Christmastime; too much is never enough.

And you better be careful in the parking lot;

‘Cause you just never know if your ass might get shot.

I wandered around in this chaos, this display of pure lust.

I felt a mixture of sadness, depression, and disgust.

(While the ladies in tight outfits were a welcome distraction,

Even the booties and boobies could not bring satisfaction.)

So back home I went, with not that much stuff.

My Christmas funk deepened; had I really done enough?

Christmas seemed to have lost some meaning for me;

There’s got to be more than some presents and a tree.

But then I thought, Christmas is in two days.

Tomorrow I will be in church to sing and to praise

To direct my choirs as we sing of Christ’s birth,

Of how he came down from heaven to save mankind on earth.

Then on Christmas my family will all come together,

A tradition I wouldn’t miss, no matter what the weather.

I’ll live, laugh, love, eat, maybe get slightly drunk;

And by then there’s no doubt, I’ll be rid of this funk.

For in the end, God and Family are what make Christmas Day;

All the material gifts, well, they’re only for play.

But the love of Jesus, and of family, will make your minds and heart light,

So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

You Might Be an Asshole...1st Edition

• If you are ordering a sub at a very busy Subway, and the sandwich maker has to say everything to you 2 or 3 times because you refuse to take out your earbuds or turn down your iPod -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're standing at crowded bus stop bitching loudly to anyone within earshot about how long the bus is taking, then when it comes you rush and push your way to the head of the line to board first, and only when you board does it occur to you to start scrounging around in your purse to come up with $3.50 worth of change for a day pass while everyone else wanting to board the bus stands there waiting for you -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're in Wal-Mart paying for an $800 television by counting from a stack of 5 and 10 dollar bills -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're a grown ass, able-bodied man sitting in your car at a gas station while your girl is pumping the gas -- you might be an asshole...
• If you are a grown ass woman with a toddler, and you are fast-walking down the street and leaving the poor kid behind, then every so often stopping to backtrack to where the child is so you can yell and cuss at her for not keeping up -- you might be an asshole...

TO BE CONTINUED...

Some People, episode 2

To read episode 1, click here

   So I'm standing on a corner at a busy intersection in downtown Baltimore, and I see a panhandler staggering up the street making his rounds. Oh boy, here we go...

He comes up to me and asks if I have any change. I reach in my pockets, jungle the change around, say, "Yup", and re-focus my attention towards trying to get across the street.

After several seconds, he says, "Well?"
  "Well what?"

"I thought you were going to spare me some change?"

"You asked me if I had any change," I replied. "You didn't say anything about giving you any..."

"Well, can I get some?"
"Nope," I replied as the light changed and I started across the street.

And he had the nerve to call me a dirty name. I tell you, some people...

Diva? Please...

A diva (English pronunciation: /ˈdiːvə/, Italian: [ˈdiːva]) is a celebrated female singer. The term is used to describe a woman of outstanding talent in the world of opera, and, by extension, in theatre, cinema and popular music. The meaning of diva is closely related to that of "prima donna".

There seems to be a lot of women running around these days wanting to call themselves divas. Really? Why?
Divas, by definition, possess some outstanding, widely recognized, talents and performance capabilities - almost always oversized personalities to go with that talent - and have large, popular followings and critical acclaim.

The Queen of Soul

Whitney

"Lady Day"

Lena

Patti

Leontyne Price

Mariah

Chaka

Celine Dion

Madonna

Now THOSE are some examples of divas.

As much as so many of you want to proclaim yourselves as divas, the truth is, not everyone can be one. If every woman were a diva, then no one would be.  There'd be no distinctions, and divas, quite frankly, are those that been recognized and acclaimed as artists at the top of their professions. Those pictures above are all of ladies that are true divas. They all have three things in common: one, they are all immensely talented, have huge followings, and know how to treat their fans to a show. Two, they have strong, demanding, difficult personalities befitting their status and fame. And three, I'm pretty sure none of them ever had to label themselves as divas; their talent, popularity, cultural significance, and personalities led others to identify them as such. If you have to go around calling yourself a diva...then, really, you aren't one...

And if all you have to show for being a so-called diva is a pain-in-the-ass personna, or as the Urban Dictionary defines it, "a bitchy woman that must have her way exactly, or no way at all. often rude and belittles people, believes that everyone is beneath her and thinks that she is so much more loved than what she really is. selfish, spoiled, and overly dramatic.", then there are other terms which might suit just as well...

You Know You're Getting Older When...

Episode 2: "What Did I Come Here to Buy?"

(To read episode 1, click here )

  So I'm wandering around the neighborhood CVS trying to remember what I came to get, just a few minutes after coming to the store specifically to get one thing. During the course of my wandering (in hopes that something would rouse my short-term memory), I pick up some laundry detergent, dishwashing liquid, deodorant, lotion, milk (my grandson was coming over later), ice cream (my grandson was coming over later; I'll guess I'll let him have a little of it), a couple 2-Liter bottles of Diet Pepsi that were on sale (you know, to go along with the ice cream), and a few other odds and ends that brought the bill up to around 25 bucks or so.
   A few hours later I'm in the bathroom, doing my business, and then when I'm done, I reach for the...

aaaaargh, I was supposed to be buying TOILET PAPER!!!