With two days before Christmas, I thought this quote attributed to our first president about his actions with an axe and the cherry tree, was apropos of the season. After, this is the season of giving, love, family and by the way, the greatest hoax ever perpetrated by such a large group against a similarly large group. I am of course talking about Christmas, and the lie of Santa Claus told by millions of parents to their children and to their friend's children and frankly to any child who will listen.
Now I am not saying I am against Christmas - I love it. It ranks #2 to Halloween (Halloween is much shorter in duration and frankly the Monster Mash may only be heard once or twice per year, whereas the Waitresses' Christmas Stockings, or Springsteen's Merry Christmas Baby will be played exponentially more.) However, I spent some of Saturday observing the behavior of the parents in line to get their children onto the lap of Santa in hopes of snapping the perfect picture. During the 45 minutes I stood with my own child, I had the opportunity to really see who Christmas is for.
First, we see that Christmas is for the vendors. 30 bucks for the picture of my son on a man's lap who cannot hold a real job. Another 10 bucks for the CD. Oh and by the way, you cannot use your own cameras - They can't charge you for that and we won't have that. In the meantime, the store place their Christmas sweaters front and center in the windows. (This will become important later. Pay attention.)
Second, it is for the parents. Everything leading up to the morning of Christmas is for the parent. The child gets the benefit of presents, and may actually get a lesson in giving and receiving along the way (I hope we got that right at least), but otherwise, this holiday has become about getting parents some level of assurance that they are good parents. They must be good parents as their children are happy when they see Santa. They are good parents, because they have a snappy photo with Billy in a staged pose, with his list. They are good parents, because for the 30 days leading up to Christmas, the child is sooo well behaved.
Seriously folks, I am no longer fooled. Billy is good because you told him you would march up there and tell Santa what a turd he is. Billy looks good in the picture, because while your spouse waited in line, you walked over to Children's Place and bought him a sweater for 50 bucks (Which I believe you will be returning after the photo, based on the way you tucked the tag back in, and stuck the label gingerly to the bag. Billy smiles so nicely because you asked him to rehearse it 30 times while in line behind me, his grimace hiding the hatred he feels for you.
So here we are two days until Christmas. I have heard We Wish You a Merry Christmas 4,302 times. I have actually only had to threaten Fletch 6 times that I would call the Elf. The gifts are wrapped with care and gingerly hidden in the closet upstairs, in hopes that Saint Nicholas will soon be here. And I count the minutes until the first wrapping paper is torn from the boxes they camouflage. And when it happens, I will admit to myself that I am no better than the sweater borrower, but until then, I am holier than she, and looking forward to seeing that train wrap around the tree.
Political side note - We are now approaching our 7th christmas since we invaded Afghanistan, and 5 Christmases since I spent mine away in a crappy little country no one cares about. The election of a new president is complete, and we look like our troops abroad will get another lobster tail dinner served as only the military can. I am grateful for everything they do, and I pray that this holiday, we will all think remember them sometime between the unwrapping and the taste of foul egg nog.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
The Media's Abuse of Corpse
In many states, there is actually a law which prohibits the mutilation of a corpse. It seems to have two purposes - to show respect for the decedent, but also to prohibit the destruction of evidence which could be collected to prove criminal acts. You might see this charge in cases involving the burning of a dead body to hide a murder, or in the dramatic alternative, in cases involving necrophilia (ed. note: I am thrilled now that Google will find this post when creepy guys search for necrophila. . .ugh.)
However in recent months, the media has taken on their own attempts to abuse a corpse. The Caylee Anthony murder, while heinous, has received so much media attention, I am numb now to the cute childhood images of a toddler playing at home. The murderess, who now sits in jail pending trial, is clearly involved, if not guilty. The discovery of the child's body will likely bring no serious new evidence, other than the fact the child is in fact dead.
In the meantime, every news outlet spends a good portion of their airtime (a disproportionate amount, given the recency and relevance of this child's death on the world's stage) showing images of the crime scene. Yesterday, for example, I was enlightened to the fact that medical examiner was none other than the famous, Dr G., Medical Examiner, from TV's hit show Dr. G. Seriously, the ME also has a TV show. So, not only is the news media benefitting from this child's death, Dr. G has been upping her ratings by showing up to the crime scene. (She is listed as running the investigation. Whore.)
In the meantime, this kid is dead and the media pirahna feed on the flesh and tears.
The problem I fundamentally have is dependency. My wife and I are "dependent" on the news to tell us of the world's events. So every morning, we turn on the news to see if the market has crashed (again), if GM is getting a bailout while our business does not, or if gay's have the right to marry in Alaska. (It could happen) Therefore, we must turn it on while we get ready for work. Instead, I see the same three-day old images which they replay in case someone was in a cave, the first half of the week.
So, until I cure my addiction, I will be forced to endure through images of a dead kid, and pray to the God of little children for jailhouse justice, and a silent vengence for Caylee. Oh and a huge power spike which takes the nation's media outlets offline for a few weeks. We won't miss anything.
On a related note, I did learn yesterday that many of the same legal whores from the Simpson miscarriage of justice will be making appearances to show that Caylee's mother is not the murderess we all know her to be. I am sure they won't let the facts interfere with a good story. More to follow as the trial begins.
However in recent months, the media has taken on their own attempts to abuse a corpse. The Caylee Anthony murder, while heinous, has received so much media attention, I am numb now to the cute childhood images of a toddler playing at home. The murderess, who now sits in jail pending trial, is clearly involved, if not guilty. The discovery of the child's body will likely bring no serious new evidence, other than the fact the child is in fact dead.
In the meantime, every news outlet spends a good portion of their airtime (a disproportionate amount, given the recency and relevance of this child's death on the world's stage) showing images of the crime scene. Yesterday, for example, I was enlightened to the fact that medical examiner was none other than the famous, Dr G., Medical Examiner, from TV's hit show Dr. G. Seriously, the ME also has a TV show. So, not only is the news media benefitting from this child's death, Dr. G has been upping her ratings by showing up to the crime scene. (She is listed as running the investigation. Whore.)
In the meantime, this kid is dead and the media pirahna feed on the flesh and tears.
The problem I fundamentally have is dependency. My wife and I are "dependent" on the news to tell us of the world's events. So every morning, we turn on the news to see if the market has crashed (again), if GM is getting a bailout while our business does not, or if gay's have the right to marry in Alaska. (It could happen) Therefore, we must turn it on while we get ready for work. Instead, I see the same three-day old images which they replay in case someone was in a cave, the first half of the week.
So, until I cure my addiction, I will be forced to endure through images of a dead kid, and pray to the God of little children for jailhouse justice, and a silent vengence for Caylee. Oh and a huge power spike which takes the nation's media outlets offline for a few weeks. We won't miss anything.
On a related note, I did learn yesterday that many of the same legal whores from the Simpson miscarriage of justice will be making appearances to show that Caylee's mother is not the murderess we all know her to be. I am sure they won't let the facts interfere with a good story. More to follow as the trial begins.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Return of the Alpha Male.
So, a few weeks ago, a friend sent me a test of sorts. It was a litany of male centric tasks which is designed to separate the men from the boys (and the girls to be sure). While I don't pretend that I could or have accomplished all of the tasks, I did fairly well. The tasks ranged from mechanical, like change your oil, to the home ec tasks we all blew off, like sew a button to a pair of pant, to sports, like throw a spiral (which due to two bad shoulders and poor hand eye coordination, i cannot do, nor will I ever be able to.)
This past weekend, however, I was able to come closer to achieving woodsy greatness. We went to the mountains of North Carolina to show my son a train which resembled the Polar Express (if you don't have kids, you will need to borrow some to understand - it is the story of a train which evidently steals children from their homes, takes them to tha fat man's house, gives them trinkets, and then returns the kids without doing any real long term mental damage. Probably.) We rented a cabin in the woods atop of a small hill, and at the end of a dirt goat trail. For more on goat trails, you can read my excerpts from my European vacation, but suffices it to say, they are narrow, winding strips of deforested earth, with a combination surface of mud and pebble (mud on the right and pebbles on the left). This makes for a slick surface, and made worse, by the fact we drove my wife's volvo sedan.
During this three day journey, I discovered a little about myself, and my pursuit for the alpha male status. OK, to be fair, I never really considered this a life quest, but I think it just sort of happens. At one point, I found myself taking a small burning ember, and turning into a blaze Les Stroud (see Survivorman) would be proud of. Just because.
I added a few small items to the man test, and passed a few along the way -
Wilderness Driving - So while this was not on the test, men need the ability to traverse obstacles while in a vehicle. I am not suggesting that they need a HMMWV and a straight uphill climb (which I have also done) but that they should be able to get a car (any car with decent tires) up a mud and pebble hill. Even shale trails would be fine.
Home Maintenance The rental home has a bad deadbolt lock. Within 10 minutes, I had disassembled it with a dinner knife, and had diagnosed the problem. While I lacked the requisite tools to repair it, I at least understood what was wrong and could have fixed it with the right tools. (Needlenose pliers and a cold beer)
Cooking a Steak So for the record, the label said "Roast" which is not a steak. However, with enough marinade and spices, and an hour on the grill, a roast can closely resemble a steak, and feed 7 people.
Home Decor Repair Give three kids a cabin in the woods and something will break. Within 2 hours, the kids had torn the buttons off of a pillow, and tried to hide the damage. Using a travel sewing kit and several punctures to the fingertips later, I was able to reattach the buttons and make it look like new. While the thread is a little fragile, our deposit is intact.
Building a Fire Our traveling companions, another family, thought it would be a great idea to make smores. I mean, we were in the woods, and that's what suburbanites do. So the man takes his daughter out to the firepit and they spend a few hours watching the wet wood smother the flames. More matches, more wet wood, more smoke, more nothing. And so it goes. They drive to the store to buy firewood, which is typical and sold large chunks. Until they finally surrender. Little secret - Wet kindling, and big logs will never catch fire. . .unless. . . Literally two hours later, the fire catches something. Something in the fire blazes up and the wife sees this. We pack all the smores stuff outside, to watch as the fire dies again. And now, this has become my challenge. Because I love smores. Mushy golden brown marshmallows, melty chocolate and graham crackers kick ass.
So I hunker down over the fire and start trying. I find the wet wood in the pit and pull it out. I blow on the few embers and cover them in leaves, getting some flame back. I walk into the darker woods and find any fallen branches propped off of the wet earth, and I go back to build the same teepee style fire that's worked since Sacajawea. And ten minutes later, and lots of blowing, the flames abound and I am knee deep in carmelized sugar, and cocoa goodness.
Fatherly bonding At 60 bucks for the adult seats, 40 bucks for the kid's seat, it was not a cheap train ride. I have gone round trip from Philadelphia to New York City for less. However, watching my son, when he saw Santa was worth the 9 hours of driving and the price of admission. Watching him see the train cars torn from the pages of the book and pulled from the screens of the movie, my boy was in the true meaning of Christmas. I don't mean the religious aspect. He was in the spirit of dreams and beliefs. He was deep in the childhood innocence that we lose as we age. He is fully engulfed in the world's most incredible and long standing hoax that we as parents indulge in, for 30 days a year to take ourselves back to our childhood.
So, now that I am achieving the alpha male status in my own domain, I am enjoying watching over my cub, and hoping that he enjoys every aspect of his youth, and takes his time in taking this status from his father who took so damn long to get there.
This past weekend, however, I was able to come closer to achieving woodsy greatness. We went to the mountains of North Carolina to show my son a train which resembled the Polar Express (if you don't have kids, you will need to borrow some to understand - it is the story of a train which evidently steals children from their homes, takes them to tha fat man's house, gives them trinkets, and then returns the kids without doing any real long term mental damage. Probably.) We rented a cabin in the woods atop of a small hill, and at the end of a dirt goat trail. For more on goat trails, you can read my excerpts from my European vacation, but suffices it to say, they are narrow, winding strips of deforested earth, with a combination surface of mud and pebble (mud on the right and pebbles on the left). This makes for a slick surface, and made worse, by the fact we drove my wife's volvo sedan.
During this three day journey, I discovered a little about myself, and my pursuit for the alpha male status. OK, to be fair, I never really considered this a life quest, but I think it just sort of happens. At one point, I found myself taking a small burning ember, and turning into a blaze Les Stroud (see Survivorman) would be proud of. Just because.
I added a few small items to the man test, and passed a few along the way -
Wilderness Driving - So while this was not on the test, men need the ability to traverse obstacles while in a vehicle. I am not suggesting that they need a HMMWV and a straight uphill climb (which I have also done) but that they should be able to get a car (any car with decent tires) up a mud and pebble hill. Even shale trails would be fine.
Home Maintenance The rental home has a bad deadbolt lock. Within 10 minutes, I had disassembled it with a dinner knife, and had diagnosed the problem. While I lacked the requisite tools to repair it, I at least understood what was wrong and could have fixed it with the right tools. (Needlenose pliers and a cold beer)
Cooking a Steak So for the record, the label said "Roast" which is not a steak. However, with enough marinade and spices, and an hour on the grill, a roast can closely resemble a steak, and feed 7 people.
Home Decor Repair Give three kids a cabin in the woods and something will break. Within 2 hours, the kids had torn the buttons off of a pillow, and tried to hide the damage. Using a travel sewing kit and several punctures to the fingertips later, I was able to reattach the buttons and make it look like new. While the thread is a little fragile, our deposit is intact.
Building a Fire Our traveling companions, another family, thought it would be a great idea to make smores. I mean, we were in the woods, and that's what suburbanites do. So the man takes his daughter out to the firepit and they spend a few hours watching the wet wood smother the flames. More matches, more wet wood, more smoke, more nothing. And so it goes. They drive to the store to buy firewood, which is typical and sold large chunks. Until they finally surrender. Little secret - Wet kindling, and big logs will never catch fire. . .unless. . . Literally two hours later, the fire catches something. Something in the fire blazes up and the wife sees this. We pack all the smores stuff outside, to watch as the fire dies again. And now, this has become my challenge. Because I love smores. Mushy golden brown marshmallows, melty chocolate and graham crackers kick ass.
So I hunker down over the fire and start trying. I find the wet wood in the pit and pull it out. I blow on the few embers and cover them in leaves, getting some flame back. I walk into the darker woods and find any fallen branches propped off of the wet earth, and I go back to build the same teepee style fire that's worked since Sacajawea. And ten minutes later, and lots of blowing, the flames abound and I am knee deep in carmelized sugar, and cocoa goodness.
Fatherly bonding At 60 bucks for the adult seats, 40 bucks for the kid's seat, it was not a cheap train ride. I have gone round trip from Philadelphia to New York City for less. However, watching my son, when he saw Santa was worth the 9 hours of driving and the price of admission. Watching him see the train cars torn from the pages of the book and pulled from the screens of the movie, my boy was in the true meaning of Christmas. I don't mean the religious aspect. He was in the spirit of dreams and beliefs. He was deep in the childhood innocence that we lose as we age. He is fully engulfed in the world's most incredible and long standing hoax that we as parents indulge in, for 30 days a year to take ourselves back to our childhood.
So, now that I am achieving the alpha male status in my own domain, I am enjoying watching over my cub, and hoping that he enjoys every aspect of his youth, and takes his time in taking this status from his father who took so damn long to get there.
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