I'm not even going to beat around the mistletoe with an intro; you want the most bang for your grouchy buck, here's my {sarcastic} advice.
Payless Shoes: For when you really don't care about how your feet will feel tomorrow.
10. Give everyone on your list blank gift cards: Because nobody actually "needs" a gift card. This is the cop out gift/gift request anyway. The only sad part is, you won't be there to see their face when they get to the register and the cashier says, "Um, sorry, but this gift card was never activated." Other fun variations: load odd numbers like $2.54 (so it looks like change left over from a no-receipt return transaction), or give gift cards from random "unexciting" stores like The Dollar Tree, Hallmark, St. Vincent DePaul, or Macy's (yeah, I said it). 9. Burn an effigy of the Chipmunks in your front yard: Nobody has the guts to say it, but the Chipmunks is/was a stupid cartoon, and Alvin is a horrible character. Even if you have the intestinal fortitude to enjoy the cartoons/live action movies, you have to admit that their Christmas tunes are musical cancer...the 1958 song was a pop-culture idiocy-fest comparable to What the Fox Says, that still gets radio airplay.
8. Send out this card:
7. Demand stores price-match other Door-Busters on Black Friday: Most retail store employees are well-rested, well-paid, well-trained, and have tons of free-time the day after Thanksgiving, and they'd love nothing more to do than follow seldom used store policies like price-matching. My favorite part is that the item has to be in stock at the competitor's store, so a phone call during the busiest shopping day of the year might take 15 or ∞ minutes. Don't worry, the people in line behind you will be considerate and patient (as it IS a store policy). 6. Send out personalized Santa rejection letters to kids to prepare them for future college rejections:
5. When people invite you to their "Ugly Christmas Sweater Party," bring these sweater models with you to make everyone else feel inadequate and self-conscious.
4. Start wearing an eye patch. When the inevitable movie quoting fanboy spouts the famous line from A Christmas Story: "You'll shoot your eye out." You can look them in the eye and say, "I already did, thank you very much. I'd prefer to not talk about it." 3. Instead of gifts, share the holiday card gift of political apathy:
2. When people wish you a Happy Holidays, go on a tirade: "What am I, some kind of heathen! You Marxists are all the same with your Godless holidays! Why don't we just elect Stalin and purge all the people of faith! 1. Boycott the Mall Santa with this sign:
Just missing the cut: Buy an 1880's Charles Dickens outfit. Then find all the local Christmas carolers in your neighborhood and randomly join in their group singing loud, off-key, and completely random/ gibberish lyrics. I prefer to sing the highly optimistic Lennon classic: Happy Christmas (War is Over), repeatedly, regardless of whatever song the group is singing. Everyone loves the Beatles.
I'm turning 34 this week and one thing I've realized leading up to this unimportant milestone, is that my life isn't about me anymore. I keep thinking about what I want for this birthday, and nothing comes to mind. Oh sure, there are things I want: all new furniture, 1000 more square feet in my house, a quad or motorcycle, to legally detonate something large (like my house), liposuction, to get my high school band back together, etc., etc. But those aren't actual birthday things. I guess I'm just in a materialistic rut.
Much of that could be the result of my Disneyland trip which made me realize that stuff is expensive, and usually stupid. After the Star Tours ride which exits into a huge Star Wars merchandising store, my wife asked, "Do you want those R2-D2 Mickey ears?" and at first I was like, yeah, those are sweet...but on closer inspection, they were neither cool, nor affordable. Where would I ever wear them outside Disneyland? Not even Star Wars convention nerds still under heavy orthodontic reconstruction would associate with me if I wore that silly headgear.
Most of my shopping trips start with me looking for something for me, and then end with me buying my daughters some clothing in pink. Seriously. I buy the majority of my girls' wardrobe. The only thing I ever buy for myself anymore is bags of chips.
My wife made me return this?
Why? What's wrong with me?
There was a time when I could spend days in Best Buy finding the best television/stereo combination. I could look through their DVDs/CDs/games for hours. Now I walk by the media bargain bins and say, "Eh...I have this on VHS somewhere in the garage, no need to upgrade because four bucks seems a bit expensive for a Blu-ray."
I know I'm cheap, but currently I'm not finding enjoyment even in the clearance section! My 1/32nd Jewish blood is having an exodus from my body.
I guess I just want an organic experience. No, not a ganga experience (not that we don't have those opportunities in Oregon, with the Oregon Country Fair and Hempfest both just occurring), I want an authentic, non-polyunsaturated, BPA and MSG free, experience.
Here's a partial list of events I'd be okay with:
If this is wrong, I don't want to be right.
* Being invited to dance on stage with Bruce Springsteen. I'm not a big fan of the Boss, but he still sings and performs well. Courteney Cox made a career out of her opportunity, so why not me?
* Going to the woods, finding a deep and crystal clear river/ lake/ pond/ reservoir/ stream/ hot spring and then finding an eight foot high rock and belly flopping into the water. I'm not into sadomasochism, but my body needs this.
* Going into the woods with an old Harley Davidson, a Tommy Gun, and 250 empty beer bottles. I'm not sure what I'd do with the Hog and the gun, but I'd fill those bottles with different amounts of water and play a steel drum-like version of Ariel's Under the Sea song. (Dang Disneyland Ariel ride tune is stuck in my head)
* Wrestle a bear. I'd prefer the animal to be like 80 bear years old, and hopefully it would be declawed and its teeth rotting out...or better yet; a baby cub. Put momma bear in a steel cage just next to me as I DDT its cub. Her roaring rage would give me the endorphins I need to make it through the year.
You're going down, bear!
* Start a bar fight after my karaoke version of Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline. I'm not saying I want to be involved in the ruckus, I just want my rendition to be either so emotionally touching or so offensive that it causes violence in the audience.
* Say fifty really inflammatory words to six people I know, then take a time machine back to the time right before I said them. We passive aggressive people need this opportunity to let our emotions out while still maintaining a grip on reality. Plus I want to see their face (just briefly) when they hear the truth.
* I want to start a charity like Habitat For Humanity that goes around the United States building mental institutions for internet trolls and conspiracy theorists.
* I want a bona fide spiritual experience. Seriously, no jokes. It's been a long time. I'm tired of being a doubting Thomas about other's "experiences."
* I want to have ten literary agents and six publishers send me an example of their writing so I can hack it up with red pen marks, and hurt their creative feelings. Then I want to hug them and tell them no hard feelings, it's just business.
* I want to go to Costa Rica, destroy all my personal technology, grow organic coffee beans, and start a news outlet that actually does investigative journalism and reports the news impartially.
* I want to lose 50 lbs., then record ten people saying, "he actually looked better before, I think he looks unhealthy now," then play it back to my rude doctor.
Option #4 is our squash surprise. It
is slowly roasted in the acidic abdomen
of a free range ape then regurgitated
into a grassy knoll where it is collected
by our team of unemployable hippies.
* I want to have my taste buds removed so that I can enjoy vegan crap like everyone else in Eugene.
* I want my daughters to marry boys who are so in love with them, that they agree to take my daughter's last name. That way the Plumb name can live on and I don't have to have any more children.
* I want to join those paintball reenactment groups that redo famous battles. I've a hankering to act out the Battle of Ball's Bluff.
* I want the energy to do the third round of manuscript proposals, rejections, queries, inquiries, summaries, etc. Or just pay a small sum and have someone else self publish it for me. (PS vanity presses, a small sum is not in the thousands).
* I want to get tackled in center field of a Mariners game at Safeco Field by overzealous security guards.
This list could go on forever with my silly fantasies. Reality is, I just want an experience and not an item for my birthday. I'm tired of items, and I need to live a little.
Walt Disney's cryrogenically frozen head would thaw in its sleep chamber if he knew what his company was up to. Charging over $130 dollars a day to attend his theme parks? The man who once said "the backbone of his business {was to} cater to families," well, sorry, Mr. Disney, I think your vision has been utterly corrupted by Scrooge McDucks.
Don't get me wrong. The Disney company is still one of the most innovative, imaginative, and all-around fun companies in the world. Their recent cartoon movies have exemplified Mr. Disney's ideals of creativity, excellence and quality. I'm never disappointed after leaving the theatre. Likewise, his parks are clean, well presented, well-crafted, and transformative to whatever theme its creators intended. The newest Cars ride, despite it's multi-hour wait, represents the genius of the Disney company. When one buys a ticket to Disney, one is not buying a pass to a thrill park, one is paying for a theatrical experience with local fair quality rides.
My princesses, gotta love 'em. I just wish our time at the park was this happy.
But that's what one does most at Disneyland. Pays. And waits.
Disneyland sure can create some
ambiance and setting.
I'm not trying to sound like a grumpy old man. I had some fun. The three minutes of each ride are locked into my visual cortex. Unlike Six Flags or Knott's Berry Farm, the idea of Disneyland is not to make your heart race and your stomach lurch into your esophagus, but to stimulate your eyes and capture your heart.
It works. The antiquated animatronics, and the newer (more believable) robotics have children and parents alike saying, "how'd they do that?"
Well, for starters, they have billions of dollars from those over-priced tickets. There are almost no discounts available for Disneyland. For years, my family on both sides has talked about making the trek to L.A. and enjoying its sunny disposition (with Disneyland being the ultimate goal). Somehow, I, the guy who "winged" his honeymoon, was challenged with the task of coordinating this vacation. Probably because I'm the guy who always gets a good deal.
In a crummy economy, the only way for lower middle class families to make it is by getting deals. I haven't had a true vacation in five years. My parents and my wife's parents are both retired and living on Social Security. My dad gets a tiny sum from being permanently disabled. We all lumped in our money and had enough for one of those "Costco Disneyland Packages." Well, enough for one person. We had ten people going. With no money for airfare or luxury themed hotels, I worked my magic.
The view looking up from the pool.
After 15 hours of internet searching (my wife, actually) found a guy who gave us a vacation home not quite ready for inhabitants. He was hesitant to rent the place because it was still a few months from being "resort" ready. He and his wife were still staging the house with cheap metal Ross decorations and cleaning up minor construction mess when we showed up at the front door.
We forgave the fact that the place smelled like new carpet; that the linoleum floors were both dirty and from the 1970s; that the hot water was scalding (then later shut off); that the old kitchen exhaust fan burned out and made the place smell like melted plastic; that ants infested the house on the third day and cockroaches ran around the pool and patio. All this was forgivable because we are Oregonians, the pool was wonderful, and well, we were given ample discounts for accepting a home not quite ready for vacationing.
To people used to camping, this was luxury enough.
Disneyland, however, was a whole different experience. With ten people, and three different families, I figured we could buy multi-day passes and go when we pleased. It was much more economical to buy the multi-day passes, as a five-day pass is 300 dollars, (or $60 a day) as opposed to $137 for one day.
None of us was ready to go five days. My dad is disabled, my father-in-law has stage four cancer, my mother-in-law has had four knee surgeries, my children are 7 and 5, and I get peevish easily. Only my wife and sister-in-law would even think they could do five days in the park, as they are self-proclaimed Disney-philes.
I bought six five-day passes, thinking we could share them when we wanted. I knew they were non-transferable...but we had no intention of selling them. Little did I know that Disneyland had merged with the NSA. When the first group of six showed up, we were forced to give our names (which were written down on each pass). Okay, no big deal, so we pretend to be somebody else on certain days. It's not like they can ask for identification. They did. And then they took photos of us and attached it to each pass, like identification badges. The security was tighter than at an Obama appearance in Omaha, Nebraska.
I spent the first hour inside the park looking at our options on my iPhone. If somebody else tried to use my ticket, and their appearance didn't match my image, they would confiscate the ticket and we would be out hundreds of dollars. Seriously, Disneyland? I can't share my ticket? I understand not allowing somebody else to use it the same day (hence the ultraviolet arm stamps), but they couldn't even use one of my other days? Didn't I pay for five days? What if I am exhausted after four days? I can't give my last day to some underprivileged kid at the 7/11?
Nope. Not at Disneyland, where every step outside the park and into California Adventures is monitored by overzealous mall cops.
Grandpa Randy directing Lily towards the next
bumper car accident. (Note Lily's road rage).
To Disneyland's credit, they reluctantly exchanged my six five-day passes for ten two-day passes (after I told them my sob story). We lost ten days of park time, and I sucked it up and payed another $400 for these downgraded tickets. $2100 for ten people to go to Disneyland twice. I payed less for my first two cars. I payed less for my wedding (seriously...and it was beautiful). My father only went on six kiddy rides one day. My father-in-law left by 5 pm exhausted both days. Did they get their money's worth? Absolutely not. Not to mention that water and soda were both over three dollars, a crappy corn-dog cost seven, and nobody was ever close to being hydrated, full, or able to avoid the sun's oppression.
We did exhaust our little girls. Gotta get your $100+
dollars worth.
I did have fun. Well, some. Between blisters and sun burns, and dragging my lethargic little ones around to the next attraction or ride, I constantly wondered how my extended family was doing. The weight of inviting them on an expensive vacation that ended up costing more (for less) weighed heavy on my mind.
So newsflash Disney: I saw less American families, and more foreigners speaking different languages than I've ever seen at your park. While there were plenty of Californians there enjoying their discounted passes, there were hardly any other vacationers there from other states. You've priced your park out of the range of the average family. Your rides take too long to get on; your rides aren't that thrilling; your food is overpriced and under-portioned; your gift shop prices are extortionist; and there isn't enough places for families to just cool off and relax to get their second wind.
Overcrowding the Bug's Life Teacup ride.
I knew it would be tiring, hot, and expensive. I knew my children were young, and would slow us down and force us to ride unexciting (and outdated) rides like Alice's Teacups. I didn't know you (Disney) had hired TSA agents to make me feel like a terrorist at each gate. All because I tried to make a once in a lifetime memory by inviting both my children's grandparents to Disneyland before they are unable to do so; and do so without running up student loan type debt. Guess I was wrong.
In defense of Disneyland; their staff is incredibly
nice and cheery. One even offered us this photo op.
Disneyland doesn't care about families. They care about gobs and gobs of profit. Instead of driving down the cost of living (like Walmart claims to do), you are concerned with lining the pockets of your executives and huge shareholders who probably never step foot into your crowded, hot parks.
So please unfreeze Walt Disney. We don't have a cure for lung cancer, yet, but we could probably keep you alive long enough to remake your parks "family friendly." Because I don't think wishing upon stars is a good way to prepare financially for another Disney experience.
I had more fun swimming in the ocean at Huntington Beach and
watching the sunset with the family. It only cost the price of gas
getting there. (Although I'm wholly unqualified in the looks
department to remove my shirt there).
Using my principles you too can be a pretentious Acura owning snob.
Okay, it is a 2003 model; but I still want to take up cigar smoking and
get a subscription to Golf magazine.
Lately I've written a lot about not needing material possessions, but there comes a time when necessity dictates a purchase. In my past lifetime I was a salesperson, so I've learned a few tricks as a consumer to get nearly everything you want in any budget.
I recently had to buy a new vehicle because my beloved Nissan Murano started having transmission problems. And knowing that those problems translated to a $3000 dollar fix, it was time to put ole' Murano down. So I traded it in to a dealer, and bought an Acura MDX. They will prudently euthanize my Murano (read: they will sell it to some sucker).
Here's 10 ways to ensure you are never the sucker.
10. Never pick a specific model.Consumer Reports readers fall in love with "Best Buys," and other people get fixated on a make or model of something they loved in the past; yet this is a salesman's dream. You didn't do your own research. Years ago, CR picked a Kenmore vacuum as their "best buy" and it was nothing but problems. CR loves features: an extendable wand? check; a 20' hose extension? check; a belt-less beater bar? check...reliability? Uh, not really...but it has really flashy features. If the customer had the time to listen, I'd redirect them to a vacuum that was $100 dollars cheaper, lighter, less clunky, and totally reliable. What percentage of customers listened? about 40%. They kept their vacuums. The customers who listened to CR returned them...en masse. Oh well, I made more in commission on the CR "best buy" model.
Clemson Tigers? Bengels? Nerd?
9. Never buy based on looks. If you want to be happy for the rest of your life, never make a pretty model your life. I'm not saying that you have to buy unattractive products like the Nissan Cube, or Crocs because they are good deals...just don't let smooth lines, fancy LED lighting, and Apple-type stainless steel trim play with your mind. Nothing gold can stay...
8. Buy out of season. Patience is a virtue; a virtue many of us don't possess. I've learned to buy my camping supplies and softball gear in October, when it is a whole 9 months from playtime. Yet on average I save at least 50% off the summer cost. In February, as un-festive as it is, I purchased an 8' lighted Christmas tree for $20 (originally $300). While I'll miss the smell of a real tree, I won't miss my wife's allergies, the disposing of, and constant maintenance of a dead conifer in my living room (or the yearly rising cost of dead trees). Patience always pays off.
In retrospect, this car actually looks better than Kitt.
7. Never buy the last year of an old design. Those poor souls who bought the 1993 Dodge Ram, or the 1981 Chevy Camaro. How many guys were driving around their '81 Camaros, Trans Ams, or Firebirds (all essentially the same car), when Knight Rider came out and instantly made their year old body style lame. Most body styles last four to six years. Buy the second - forth years, as the "add ons" in later years aren't worth the extra cost. Nobody knows the difference between a 2008 and a 2012 Honda Accord except for the buyer who either saved or swallowed the $10k difference in cost.
Iphone 4 reception issues?
Not anymore.
6. Try not to buy the first year of a new redesign. You want to be cool, right? You wanted the first iPad with its little memory and no camera, you got it. Couldn't wait eight months for the kinks to get worked out, right? Basically, all products get tweaked between the initial manufacture run and subsequent reorders. Most product recalls are in that initial 6 months a product is manufactured. Year three is usually the most reliable of any given product on the market.
More like "Ready when I feel like it"
5. Ignore patented jargon.Versa-cut, Durafoam, StabiliTrak, Wikaway, what do they all mean? Mostly nothing other than a company paid to have a useless feature patented. I used to sell treadmills, and every single make and model had a different cushioning system (even though all five of our brands were owned by the same conglomerate--Icon Health and Fitness). The more money you spent, the more "foam" (and fancy patented names) you got to separate the deck from the frame. Like shoes, the best solution is to try them out. Give everything a test drive, and ignore the salesman harping about some product's "industry exclusive." If something works, every brand will have its variation of it in five months.
4. Never tell the salesman what your "price range" is. An honest salesman should sell based on needed features, and not budget. 90% of the time a salesman has his/her own interests in mind. Remember you hold ALL the CARDS. A salesman makes NOTHING, if you walk away. Don't like a salesperson's attitude? Request another one, or ask for a manager. Salespeople are only pushy because we ALLOW them to be pushy. This isn't middle school, or your first beau; don't get bullied/manipulated into something you DON'T want. It's your freakin' money, so man up!
3. Do some research. Even if you have to walk away and look it up on your smart phone, you need to be educated. Know what the cost should be and what is a good deal. Some stores have the same sales every single week. Just because it's 50% off, doesn't mean it is a good deal. Know which stores and retailers mark their prices up so that their sales look even better. I can't do my grocery shopping at Albertsons (huge chain west of the Mississippi) anymore, because only 1/4 of the items I need are on sale, and the rest are so marked up, it makes for ridiculous shopping experience. There's always a better deal. You may not be willing to search it out, but you should imply to the salesperson, that their deal isn't that good. Be ready to negotiate and use your research to your advantage. Yes, even in stores with "set prices" like Walmart. Almost all stores will price match to beat a competitor.
I like a good moonroof on my RV.
2. Search out the scratch and dent section. While I love me some e-shopping, nothing beats brick and mortar stores for returns. Clearance, mark-downs, repackages, refurbished and floor models can be purchased for AT LEAST 20% off the SALE price. I love finding these deals, but often times the brand new item in a pristine box is only a few dollars more. Notify a manager about the discrepancy. They want that stuff out of the store, and can make additional markdowns. No store wants to look like a garage sale. They will make concessions to get junky looking products out of their store.
1. Never fall in love with anything. No car, no house, no phone, no television, no DEAL is so good, that you shouldn't be able to walk away if your terms aren't met. Too many people fall in love with an item and wave the small green flags of surrender. NO! Save your money. Make them sweat. Make them sweeten the deal. A good customer will say, "I want this price, this product, delivered on this day, with zero percent interest for a year..." Maybe the retailer can't meet those demands, but a good salesman will say, "well, on such and such a day you can get it a little cheaper, and we will have no financing"...employees usually have a heads up on future sales (especially major holidays). A customer can make demands...and if these demands aren't outrageous, the seller will usually comply.
Be empowered. It's your money, you should get the best deal.
Now excuse me, I have to buy a monocle and some leather bound books to go with my new Acura.
"For some reason I can only remember the live-action Mr. Magoo with Walter Matthau's from about six years ago," I recently said to an esteemed history teacher colleague who had referenced Jim Backus (the original Magoo voice and Gilligan's Island actor).
Never mind the fact that it was Leslie Nielsen, and not Matthau, who was in that forgettable movie.
"Are you sure it was six years ago? Matthau has been dead a lot longer than that?..." the history buff replied. (Matthau died in 2000, Nielsen in 2010).
I looked it up. 1997 was when Disney's ill received version of Mr. Magoo was released. 16 years ago! Exactly the same time I've been out of high school. I was off by a decade. As a history major, one who prides himself on remembering how chronologically the world has been chugging along, I committed a cardinal sin.
Patrick Stewart: Unstuck in time.
A sin because I seem to be stuck in 2003. Still a newlywed, with my bachelor years full of insane roommates and imbalanced ex-girlfriend just recent history.
I think I'm still 24, not nearing 34. I'm off by a decade. As Kurt Vonnegut says in Slaughterhouse Five, I seem to be "unstuck in time."
My body knows I'm not 24 anymore. It reminds me daily. The athletic peak of the human body is said to happen at 28, and my softball skills would agree. I play for a team called the Aging Heroes. Irony? No--simply fact; although calling myself a "hero" is probably hyperbole. My role is more Aging Role-Player. I'm like a crafty veteran. Grant Hill of today, and not when he was Sprite's demigod.
I'd call it a pre-mid-life crisis, but it's not. Simply, the world has continued to revolve while the lives of many of my generation have come to a standstill. My career, my earnings, my future, are all still question-marks. Seven years ago I graduated from graduate school, and seven years later I haven't really progressed.
I look at my house and it is like a museum to a more prosperous time. I'm not complaining. I have a flat-screen television...but I've had it for eight years (don't ask how much I paid for it back then). My leather couches are cracking all over the place. My wife's furniture is aging ungracefully. Eight years of Jack Russell Terrier and two small raccoons (my daughters) have taken a toll on our materialism.
My wife and I, ten years from now. Still rockin' the Wii.
And now I look around, and see that my once proud possessions are almost worthless. Almost everything in the house needs updating. The Joneses have moved three times, and I don't get updates, because I can't afford their housewarming gifts. I can't keep up with progress. I still own a Wii; which sends its ugly 480i transmission to my HD television...and I'm repulsed by its VCR-ishness.
I used to be someone. I used to be a contender. But now I'm nothing. Now I'm a bum. A bum with a Wii.
Oh, I'm sorry, that's just the feel sorry for myself mentality that is so engrained in every American. Other people got it good...why can't I? Every once in a while, I forget about my blessings and go back to that complaining DNA that resides in all of us. Is this what life was supposed to be like? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
It's all lies. Yes times are still rough. I sometimes wonder where I've been for a decade. A hiatus? Waiting it out on the doldrums? Where are the trade winds that will bring a financial windfall? Isn't the economy recovering? Shouldn't I be moving on up, to the East Side?
I don't know what the future holds and I don't know where I'll be in five years, or if I'll still be teaching or blogging or whatever.
But I know I want to be more content. I want to age gracefully and not live in constant stress. I want to surround myself in familial love and not material possessions. Because frankly, the way I'm living now is going to kill me.
Because all that stuff is going to the junk heap eventually. I don't want to go with it.
My wife and I will celebrate a decade married in July. It's been a joyous ten years, even if it hasn't been a professionally successful decade. When I wonder where the years have gone, I remember, "Oh yeah: I married the love of my life, and family became my top priority. So what if our kids and dog have destroyed the furniture and stained the carpet. We did this, together. That's what we've been doing for a decade. Wearing in, not wearing out."
Maybe I like Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss) because he started as a political
cartoonist during WWII. His book, Goes to War, is a great history read.
My house if full of stuff. I have too many things. There's whosits and whatsits galore, thingamabobs and whacha -macallits scattered all over the floor, unopened clamshell electronic dohickeys, and unnecessary Disney collectible Mickeys. Oh, I also have the entire collection of Dr. Seuss books, even though sadly I seem to enjoy reading them more than my daughters do.
Having said that, I need to declutter the house. I get attached to items and I don't even know why. Many disappear into dark corners of the house and are rarely used, and are not disposable, or salable, no matter the profit. I am a true materialistic American. And I don't mean to be.
Realistically, if my house burnt down, there's only about ten items I would consider saving. But as important as my guitars, computer, and family photos are, those are obvious choices that most people would risk at least a first degree burn for, and I won't bore you with their ordinarary-ness.
Here's a list of ten items I wouldn't get burned for, but am really enjoying the heck out of. Call me a material girl, because well, I'm living in a material world.
10. Spenco shoe insoles. I stand for hours in my line of work, and I almost forget, daily, how this is going to affect my feet when I get home. I've tried Dr. Scholl's inserts multiple times in the past, and they help a little, but one day I found these Spencos on clearance at Fred Meyer (love me some Freddie's 50% clearance). They barely fit in my shoes, and only fit in my Nike athletic shoes, but now that's all I wear. Comfort all day. Is it unprofessional to wear tennis shoes to work everyday? Absolutely. Do I care? Not anymore.
9. K'NEX: Beatles Yellow Submarine set. I don't like imitation Legos, and my favorite Beatles album is solidly Abbey Road, but this compromise set of plastic figures fulfills so many nerdy aspects of my life; plus I didn't even need to drop acid to have them come to fruition. I bought the set for my buddy who loves all things Submarine, and while it's my sixth favorite album, it is iconic of the Beatles, so I had to have it. Sorry, Justin, I just ruined your birthday present, but I was so jealous looking at your gift, that I went back and bought one for me. If only Yoko was in the set, it truly could be the Plastic Ono Band.
8. Steve Martin: The Television Stuff Special DVD set. In 1984, my family recorded a television special called Comedy is Not Pretty, by Martin, as it ran on NBC. It only aired twice in it's history, yet because of that VHS copy, my brother and I must have viewed it 50 times (until the tape was garbled up). The Cold War era jokes, and Martin's Wild and Crazy Guy haven't aged that well, but still, it was comedy gold to us boys. One of the skits is how to be a ladies man while dining out; to a waiter, "Tell you what, bring me a pig-on-a-stick, and bring the lady something for a dollar and a half"...and "They come to me a little girl, but they leave...a man." Mr. Martin, some of my sense of humor, I owe to you. Over six hours of impossible to find material from the early 80s.
7. Martin Acoustic SP guitar strings. Every guitarist is in love with their gear, so I can already hear the detractors, "blasphemy you corporate rock whore!" But for me, no string lasts as long, plays as bright, and is as economical as these guys. Just listen to how these sixth month old strings make my silly swamp blues song Gator Got Me Gurl almost sound melodic.
6. High brow and nerdy books: My family never knows what to buy me for Christmas, and so this year, they conspired to get me a bunch of new books I have eyed, but not bought. Books are expensive, so most of the time, I try to find used books. I'm loyal to a good author, so I usually buy their entire cannon. My intellectual novel collection includes J.D. Salinger, Sherman Alexie, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, Ian McEwan and Nick Hornby, and in the entertainment crowd, Michael Crichton, Peter Benchley, and David Benioff. This Christmas loot (photographed) was the perfect assortment of thinking and geeking out literature. Thanks family.
I like to grind up Ginger and pretend
it's some exotic animal going into
the blender. (I'm kidding, I really
pretend it's malignant cancer cells).
5. Drinks. While many people might be thinking of alcohol, and I do enjoy a Hefeweizen or a white Russian on occasion, I prefer to drink liquids without spirits. My wife just got me a juicer, and I already had a carbonator machine, so now, I can make pretty much anything. What I have realized is that bananas suck. They destroy everything; even a third of a banana will overpower five oranges and a whole pineapple. So I'm kicking you out of my life for good bananas. The miracle liquid on the other hand, is Ginger Ale. Alone, it is fantastic (if you live in the Eugene area, you should try it on tap at North Bank McMenamins), and it mixes well with anything fruity, creamy, or intoxicant. Fresh Ginger, however, will burn your lips for hours. Moderation in all things.
The perfect plate. Salsa, hot sauce, and bacon
4. Rojo's Medium Restaurant Style Salsa, and Secret Aardvark habanero hot sauce. I, unlike many of my hipster generation, have no dragon blood in me. I don't like ghost peppers, and prefer to not throw lava on my tongue as a show of manhood. However, I do like a certain degree of spice. I'm not sure why it's so hard to find a good store bought salsa, but this variation of Rojo's is available at most locations near me, and is a suitable replacement for authentic salsa. The Aardvark sauce, on the other hand, is my go to sauce. Hot, but not intense. Flavorful, as an enhancement to anything from cheese quesadillas to chili, it is my tongue's lover. (That was a creepy image, but I'm going to leave it because I am that passionate about the sauce).
3. Gungor: the band. I'm at that age (33) where music, movies, and television are no longer aimed at my demographic. I desperately don't want to be that guy who clings to all things related to his generation (mid-1990s). Thankfully, I don't have any Nirvana shirts, and only have one their albums on my ipod (although there is a stockpile of Pearl Jam on there). Anyways, when I find new music by relevant artists playing good music, I support them wholeheartedly. The word soulful is overused. These guys and gals are full of soul. Listen at least from 2:20 -
2. Craftsman 19.2 Volt Lithium Drill: Many of you know I worked at Sears for years, and I picked up a Ni-Cd kit years ago with a drill/ circular saw/ reciprocating saw, and it was fine. But two years ago my wife added a smaller drill with the lithium battery to the kit. They all work together. The old kit is now amazing. That battery will go months without being recharged and is almost as strong as a corded tool. I can cut through multiple sheets of plywood with the saw with no loss of power. I'm so in love with lithium, that I've started abusing it as a drug. Just kidding, but it did make me go back and listen to the song by the same name by Nirvana (oh crap, I am that guy living in the past).
I love John the Baptist's eyes. He was a wild man, after all.
1. The Brick Bible, The New Testament, A New Spin on the Story of Jesus: That's right. A visual Lego Bible. Surprisingly reverent (although completely literal), the Brick Bible is the entire New Testament in Lego figure scenes. Sadly, I have not read the Bible cover to cover, but this new visual resource has inspired me to look up a few scriptures to see how I would've interpreted them. It is funny and interesting, and definitely creative. Even my daughters get interested and ask questions. I'm not fond of promoting images over words, but honestly, this book got me excited about reading the Bible for once.
Narrowly missing: America's Best Pellets (nothing heats my house better); Game of Thrones on HBO (too long to wait between seasons); The Smurfs' Village iPad game (gets boring after level 30). A&W and Henry Weinhard's Root Beer (too unoriginal).
"I'm Teddy Ruxpin, and boy could I tell you some stories."
My children slept in today, exhausted from a month of Christmas related extravaganza. The lack of sleep or too many presents has them in a rather antagonistic, groggy mood. There's a lot of parenting to do around the Holidays. We celebrate materialism and then wonder why we are so stressed out and seasonally depressed. Why our kids are throwing fits, despite their newfound treasures. I sometimes wish parenting was as easy as reinserting new AA batteries into a compartment. It's a little tougher than that.
Abe Lincoln with Bieber hair.
Oops, I mean Mr. Warhol.
It's been a tough year for many people, from continued economic woes, to repugnant political saturation, to unthinkable tragedies and questions as to what the future lies ahead for Americans. Not only us, but the world as a whole is hurting; millions of her seven billion inhabitants are screaming out for attention that just can't be given out individually. We will not all get our 15 minutes of fame, which were prophesied by Andy Warhol.
This realization has made many unhealthy, some of our citizens are metaphorically flapping their arms and flopping on the ground, hoping that their pissy-fits will garner them the attention they hopelessly long for. Even myself, desperately using a year off from full time teaching to pursue a life-long dream of writing and publishing my stories, am realizing that it may not happen the way or in the time I had hoped. I'm not giving up, not by any means, but I didn't know it would be this difficult. Nobody said that writing the book was 15% of the process. Daily, this process, like rejection letters and more bad publishing industry news, is like taking body blows. Lucky for me, I have a larger than healthy midsection, so I can't take an unhealthy amount of these punches. I've also been well versed in the art of losing through sports, and have an incredibly supportive family, as well as a pain-crafted sense of humor, that lets many of these "set-backs" be learning lessons.
All good families prepare their children for this type behavior from the cold hard world.
Obviously my life experience is a rarity. I have an absolutely perfect family. There is no shortage of LOVE, ever. My mother and father have been everything I've ever needed at exactly the right times in my own life. They've never failed me, not even once. There successes can't be measured in monetary terms, but in familial stability. I have a brother who is still my best friend. We shared a room for the majority of our childhood, moved out together, and despite the fact that we don't see each other for weeks at a time now, we share a wavelength of thoughts and adventures that feels timeless. My two sisters, despite being a generation younger than me, are also my friends, and model the epitome of grace and sweetness: like all the sisters of Little Women spread evenly between two souls. And they both married Romantic Era men. Real men who love and support them, and aren't fickle and simplistic like the majority of today's under thirty boys.
I was lucky enough to marry a women twice my superior. She motivates me to be a better human daily. We have two wonderful daughters who teach me as much as I parent them. The curmudgeon in me wants to crawl out and complain about life, and they all Tiny Tim me back to the reality that is my life. I am very blessed, and that's not normal. But it should be.
Tragedies aren't only happening
with guns. Eg: Octomom.
You see Andy Warhol was wrong. Like his crappy art, his philosophies on life were stupid. Yes, I did say his art was crappy. I once had to watch his seven hour movie about the Empire State Building filmed from afar in college. Nothing happens. Night becomes day. It is as artistic as a white canvas with a black dot "painting." People worshipped Warhol, and some have paid upwards of 50 million dollars for his pop-celebrating simplistic art. And some, like all great pop culture idioms, have clung to this idea that we all will get our 15 minutes of fame. Maybe a youtube video, or whatever. But we will all be temporal celebrities, maybe with riches or fame or notoriety.
This fascination with fortunes and name recognition--it doesn't lead to contentment. Having your name in the papers, or on television, or spread virally on the internet leads to absolutely no happiness.
My counter-proposal is 50 years of happiness. Rethinking all the values we've learned as Americans and settling for strong families that reconnect on holidays and will break our backs to see each other succeed in life. Which means we not only have to make our marriages a priority, but also theirs. We have to value every minute with our children, and theirs. We have to invest in their education and upbringing. We have to teach values that make them good people, not just nurture their talents that make them "marketable."
We need to surround ourselves with friends who make us happy. Not those who force us to fall into old habits and fall to the lowest common denominator. I'm not saying not to have fun. Heckfire, I've had more fun without excessive alcohol and slutty attire, than at all the hedonistic get-togethers combined. I think we all have more fun when we genuinely care for the people around us, then when we're carnally trying to impress everyone around us.
Three Dog Night: Mama Told me not to Come
50 years of happiness. An investment in our families, our friends, our community, and human life. A rejection of pop culture celebration, fame, fickleness, and idol worship. Retraining each other to think that the amount of money or education or awards or accolades one receives is a distant second to the amount of love one surrounds themselves with.
I just realized this article was actually just It's a Wonderful Life in my words. Nothing about angels in mine though.
Which means, if I never get my books in print form, or never find myself in the tax bracket that can pay for PACs to lower my taxation, yet I have a family like my parents or grandparents, I have succeeded. People whose grown kids find the time in their busy work weeks to get together and celebrate their love for each other--that is happiness. That is success.
The recharging of batteries doesn't happen from material goods, but via the love we give out and the love we receive. I'm tired of toys that get 15 minutes of play time and then get forgotten under the bed. I'd rather invest in my family, and hopefully in fifty years, they will all show up at my house and sing carols (regardless of my Holiday Grinchness) and share loving memories. Yeah, that's happiness.
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9. Burn an effigy of the Chipmunks in your front yard: Nobody has the guts to say it, but the Chipmunks is/was a stupid cartoon, and Alvin is a horrible character. Even if you have the intestinal fortitude to enjoy the cartoons/live action movies, you have to admit that their Christmas tunes are musical cancer...the 1958 song was a pop-culture idiocy-fest comparable to What the Fox Says, that still gets radio airplay. 
