Merry Xmas!

Merry Christmas to all, and Happy Holidays to all you politically correct weenies. Let's get right to the good stuff (which usually happens the minute you hit the little red "x" and exit my blog)
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AFC North Champions: Cincinnati Bengals. What the...huh? That doesn't just roll right off the tongue now does it? 15 years of futility and now this! Pretty happy. I've said all along that they don't have to be the best and win it all but just be competitive. 4 or 5 years ago, I would sit in front of the television with my head buried in my hands mumbling things like "what the *$&# was he thinking?" "just tackle, dipshit" "oh, for god's sake, that's pathetic" All I wanted was some feeling that by the fourth quarter that the Bengals would be close. Back then, this was never the case.
I wonder if their success has anything to do with me NOT boasting about how good they'll be "this year". See, every pre-season I go on and on about how awesome they will be. "15-1, Conservatively!", I'd proclaim. I even went so far as to last year say that I would "remove a digit for each Bengals loss". I figured I could do without a pinky or two. I quickly denied ever making that claim after about the 5th loss and the thought of how I'd ever get by with a stump at the end of my arm. So this year I made no such claims. I might have said they'd be decent, but I always made a point to not make any predictions.
A buddy of mine got some season tickets this year and I managed to purchase a few games here and there. Is it any coincidence that this is the first season that I have attended a game at Paul Brown Stadium...and they go to the playoffs? I think not. I made my pilgrimage to my Mecca to visit the hallowed ground of the future of pro football in Cincinnati. But I was not merely satisfied to see my beloved Bengies play at PBS. Nay, I noticed on the schedule that they would be traveling up the road a piece to play the Lions. It was then that I emailed my wife's cousin, a Detroit native and Lions fan. We spent many a Thanksgiving out by the campfire hashing out all of the problems of these perpetually woeful franchises only to come to the bitter conclusion that Led Zeppelin in fact was right in saying the "Song remains the same". So who better than my friends from Up North to share my recent glory with?
I packed up the wife and kids in the family truckster and journeyed northward braving the bitter cold of late December for the remote chance that the Bengals could meet their goal by winning one game against a team a little down on their luck and secure themselves a playoff berth.
This game wasn't going to be just another ordinary game. As I mentioned before, the Bengals needed only this win to make the playoffs...but interestingly enough, this was the final home game for the Lions and for their fans to make their feelings known about the direction of this team. Fans were told to wear orange (the Bengals colors). And Ford Field was a sea of orange that day. Prior to the game there was a "Millen-man March", a protest against Lions general manager Matt Millen. There were billboards on the streets saying "The New Millen-ium: 57 years of Rebuilding"
So I, along with cousins Pauly, Tony, John, Rich, and Uncle Johnny loaded up the minivan and headed to the stadium. Our plans of drinking a few beers in the parking lot faded quickly as the single-digit temperatures forced us to search for warmer climes. So we trekked to a place called the "State Bar and Grill" *pictured*
Upon entering, I found several positive things. Primarily: Heat. Also, 3/4 of the clientele were wearing the orange and black of Bengaldom while letting out an occasional "Who Dey!". Finally (and most importantly) $7 pitchers and good food. It was truly a great environment. I only took a little heat for wearing a Bengals hat and that was while I was taking a leak. A couple of guys behind me said "You're probably a Buckeyes fan, too" to which I answered "Yes I am". After they made a few comments, I shook a few times, zipped up and asked them how they thought the Wolverines would do in the Motor City Bowl this year (a "lower" less prestigious bowl game). Ha ha, Buckeyes: 1, U of M: 0. I was pretty proud of myself for being so quick witted instead of thinking of something clever a half an hour later which I always do.
Ford Field is a magnificent place. Truly a great place to watch a game, and even better as Pauly and I headed to our seats. We sat 8 rows from the field behind the end zone. In fact, after a T.J. Houshmandzadeh touchdown, he walked right toward us and tossed the ball into the stands. Awesome.
Late in the second quarter I felt the excitement of the day's activities starting to take their toll on my body. I was tired, my eyes were heavy and I was about to take a nap. I look to my left and see that Paul is in the same state. I'm pretty sure the countless $7 pitchers and a gross of chicken wings had nothing to do with it. It was at that point we headed up the stairs to visit the Nacho folks. We both had an epiphany! Nachos draped in melted cheese with a little chili sauce and a giant tub of coca-cola instantly breathes new life into a person. From that point on, we were ready for the second half. I also learned a valuable lesson. Don't conserve the cheese at the top. Even though it looks like there isn't enough, you will find that as you reach the bottom, there is plenty left over. No need to scrimp, cheese it up, big fella.
The Bengals won easily as we sat and enjoyed the chants of "Fire Millen" echoing through the stadium. I sat for the entire fourth quarter listening to Paul explain the genius of putting Joey Harrington in for Jeff Garcia. See, at this point, whatever Paul said I agreed with. No, not blind faith by any stretch. It was his previous comments in the day that had me listening. He claimed, as we first sat in our seats that after Detroit won the coin toss that the Lions should defer and take the ball in the second half because "They will already be down at that point and you don't want the Bengals to come out after halftime and score again". Lions win the toss...take the ball. He then said, "The Lions will fumble the opening kickoff and the Bengals will score" Guess what? Lions fumble kickoff, Bengals score. Finally, he said that it would be 17-0 at the end of the first quarter. The gun sounded at the end of the first quarter and I slowly looked over at Pauly. He just smiled...Bengals 17...Lions 0.
He expounded on the efficiency of Joey (while neighboring Lions fans scoffed) as Harrington led the Lions down the field and scored as he completed 6 of 7 passes for 77 yards and touchdown.
New General Manager for the Lions? I think we found him.
I really had an excellent day, spending it with my relatives who really know how to have a good time. I was honored to be their guest. Tons of laughs, great conversations and memories that will last a long time. And as I walked through the throngs of fans, many wearing the orange and black stripes of the Bengals, hearing the chants of "Who Dey, Who Dey", I couldn't help but get a little goosebump knowing that they finally accomplished a little something.
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Went to my wife's Christmas Party Friday night in Columbus. What a nice time. I keep waiting for this company to "half-ass" something. They never do. Whether it's the thirty-seven rum and cokes they allow me to gulp down for free or the fantastic dinners they serve me, it's never a disappointment. I admire the way they give back to those who get the job done for them throughout the year. It's something that a lot of other places should think about investing in for the long term, instead of merely fattening their own wallets in the short term.
It's sorta funny now though because we are seasoned veterans. This is a young company and we are kind of the elder statesmen of the scene. What's funny is that when co-workers aren't coming up to me telling me how much of an inspiration my wife is to them, they are asking me how I feel about a variety of subjects. What's more is that I've always been a notoriously quiet guy at these events. I stick out like a sore thumb amongst the twenty-something, mostly-single set, decked out in their hip clothing and dashing good looks. All the while, I stand at the bar wearing my only pair of dress pants, holding court over a hotly-contested debate about such things as : Big Ten football versus Southern football (I win, stating Big Ten plays more quality opponents and better football)...Ben Rothlicksburgers vs. Tom Brady (I win again saying that Big Ben is a dork whose main job is to hand off and NOT lose the game. Brady is just a winner and doesn't whine about his injuries), Boxers versus Briefs (I state that neither are that good. A hybrid, the boxer-brief, gives the support boxers lack while giving the freedom a brief is unable to afford. I win).
Wifey just laughs when she looks over at me working the room.
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If you are over thirty years old and find it kinda cool to peel out in your car more than once every 3 months...you're a loser.
Now, sure...there's the occassional wet pavement or overly-gravely conditions we all encounter. And you'll likely spin the tires here and there. But when you're driving your Dodge Neon with the "No Fear" sticker on the windshield and you light up the tires as you pull out of Walgreen's parking lot, I've gotta think that you are a tremendous dipshit. Just my opinion.
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Recently we got a big snowfall. Since we live on the windiest place on earth (actually, the windiest place on earth is Antarctica which has wind speeds from 80-145 kph...whatever the hell a kilometer per hour is...I think it's like 5 mph or something), we get huge snowdrifts across the driveway. So, I confidently stroll out to the barn to retrieve that one item that you kick, move, and stumble around all year...the snowblower. So I get it out....no gas. Ok, run into town and get gas. Now we're ready. 2 hours later, a bottle of starting fluid and propane torch empty...I give up. My favorite rite of Winter always happens after a big snowstorm. I'll be out trying to start the snowblower...or shoveling my ass off...when our neighbors (and Katy's relatives) drive by with their big Kubota tractor with bucket and plow. I stand motionless with shovel in hand, sweat freezing on my forehead and anger steadily creeping to the boiling point as I mutter through clenched teeth to myself "Sure, just drive on by, got her under control over here..." as we exchange friendly waves. I gotta get a tractor this year.
To prove to you that when it rains, it pours...the day previous to our snow and subsequent wind, one of my garage doors jammed. I spent a few hours trying to fix it only to find out that there's a lot of tension on those springs (proof? busted knuckles) and that the more I work on things, the more I F*** 'em up. So now I have a garage door that is only halfway up (or halfway down depending on whether you are a pessimist or optimist). The snow comes and then the winds come and then the winds blow the snow into my garage. I now have three feet of snow piled up against one wall of my garage as I can make out slight protrusions of my property that lie buried beneath. Look, there's all my fishing rods! Hey, I think I can see some hand tools!
My next idea was going to fix my snow in the garage problem. Since I don't have a snowblower to blow the snow out (and the fact that I didn't want to suck up a few 50 dollar rods and shoot them through the thrower) I thought I would just find my kerosene "torpedo" heater. These are those long cigar shaped heaters that sound like a jet engine but can literally melt the jeans off of your leg. So I trudge to the barn to retrieve the heater. Bring it to the garage and plug it in.....nothing. Ah-ha! No kerosene. So I head back into town returning later with fuel. I fill it up....nothing. I worked for about 3 hours trying to fix it without blowing up the entire garage. I finally retired to my house that evening with a mound of snow in my garage with a half-open garage door letting more snow in...a broken heater sitting there quite cold...and a snowblower left in the driveway surrounded by a few feet of unblown snow. Typical.
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It's Christmas time and with that, we get a whole season of great Christmas songs. Although, like many things...for all good things come a few bad. Example, I have a Ray Charles Xmas album that has some great music on it (He does Little Drummer Boy...and for the last 1 1/2 minutes of the song it's just him just groovin' and playing that classic organ sound...freakin' awesome. You gotta be a good singer when the record company says, "Sure, you wanna just play around and do 'whatever' for a third of this song..go ahead!")
But for every great song you must tolerate a few that I will now list: Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer (I want to pour acid in my ears). Feliz Navidad (Fleas Nob-e-bob? What the hell is he saying. No comprende, Pedro) All I Want for Xmas is my Two Front Teeth ( All I want is to be able to stick my heel into your voicebox so you can't sing this again)...and there are countless others.
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This is a touchy subject here but I want to...no, I need to address it. Christmas cards. First and foremost....I love Christmas Cards. I really do. It's great to hear from everyone and receive their well wishes. During the season, the girls and I can't wait to see who sent us what.
But here's the problem: We don't send them out. Now it's not because we are fundamentally against it or anything, but I think we've narrowed it down to the fact that Katy and I are lazy. We have all intentions of buying cards, getting pictures ready, etc... We just end up waiting until like December 21 and then say "Screw it".
But there's a fine line here because I want all of you that sent us a card to know that we appreciate it and hope you continue to send us one...but please, don't for a minute think that since you didn't get one from us that you are A) Not liked or B) Didn't make the list. Hell, we've never gotten to the point of making a list!
I guess deep down it goes back to my deep seeded hate for the US Postal Service. I just can't support them (read previous entries for details why). If it was acceptable to send an email (which I think might be our only shot) with Holiday wishes, we'd be on it.
**pictured: Photo we'd probably include if we ever remembered to send a Christmas card**
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I don't know what it is, but I always feel "dirty" when I walk in/out of the liquor store. I feel like I just walked out of the 18 and over room in the back of the video rental place (or what I've been told it feels like to do so...I wouldn't know).
It seems that everyone is giving you the stinkeye. I always turn my eyes to the floor, turn up the collar on my London Fog overcoat (that I don't own) and quickly scamper out. In reality, what I should do is walk out of there happy and say "I'm going to a party, y'all! Like Parliament I'm Gonna Tear the Roof of This Sucka" Then walk out with waving my hands in the air like I just don't care while saying "Whoop! Whoop!"
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I'm still amazed by the fact that I can order a bagel or something at McDonalds at 5:30 in the morning and still receive a receipt for my purchase. What, am I gonna return it or something?
Reminds me of what comedian Mitch Hedberg once said about receipts:
I bought a doughnut and they gave me a receipt for the doughtnut... I don't need a receipt for the doughnut. I give you money and you give me the doughnut, end of transaction. We don't need to bring ink and paper into this. I can't imagine a scenario that I would have to prove that I bought a doughnut. To some skeptical friend, Don't even act like I didn't buy a doughnut, I've got the documentation right here... It's in my file at home. ...Under "D".
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I like getting my oil changed. Not because of the fact that I am renewing the lifeblood of my truck who works so hard without complaint to get me to and fro and over hill and dale. What is so enjoyable is when they are just about finished and the guy reaches under the hood and pulls the dipstick out for the final time. He gently cups it in his hand as he walks to your window. He presents the dipstick to you saying nothing but giving you that look that says "Is it to your liking, sir?". And I, like some wine tasting aficionado, look over the dipstick, lightly bathed in a shimmering layer of oil and say "that will be fine, garcon" as I impatiently look away.
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All right, I must go now as I embark on the Xmas Tour 2005. A whirlwind of events that takes me across the entire county logging thousands of miles as I am clothed in my little Christmas sweaters and one nice pair of pants. It begins soon. (Speaking of sweaters...I don't make the wife laugh much. I typically get a roll of the eyes and a sigh that cries "where did it all go wrong". But I actually got her to laugh the other day. I was looking for something to wear to her xmas party. I break into the Tub O' Sweaters that is packed away in the basement for occassions just like this. She pulls out this nice tan sweater but it has all kinds of colorful stripes on it. Yellow, Red, Blue, White...everything. I merely put it on, as her back was turned, and said "I feel like Cliff Huxtable (Bill Cosby's character on the Cosby Show)". She turned around and I'm doing the Cosby "dance", which is a series of painfully slow movements (you must watch the beginning of Cosby show to appreciate...I was dead on) I then followed it up with some comments about "Jell-o pudding pops" as she walked out of the room with me standing there alone, enjoying the fact that I actually made her laugh out loud.

I hope everyone has a great Christmas and please, leave me some "comments". I enjoy them.