Mindful Digressions

San Francisco scofflaw

scoff·law [skawf-law, skof-] noun: a person who flouts the law, especially one who fails to pay fines owed.

I am a law abiding citizen. I’ve never been arrested and have, only a few times over the course of my nearly fifty years of driving, been caught going over the speed limit. Okay, I admit that I have a tendency to exceed the posted limit, but hell, I’m just trying to keep pace with everyone else.

I also have to go on record that, having spent close to half my time in San Francisco over the past two years, I rarely drive when in that city. I mostly walk and use public transportation to get around, only infrequently pulling my car out of the garage.

So I was quite surprised the other day to receive a very official looking letter from the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency (SFMTA). I opened it up to see large, bold lettering that read “Notice of Delinquent Parking Violation.” Yikes!

My first thought was parking violation...what parking violation? Then I looked closely at the delinquency notice, at the date and time of the violation, and realized that this alleged parking violation took place on the same morning I drove my wife to the dentist after she chipped a tooth. I dropped her off and was sitting in my car, in the driver’s seat, in a parking space on the street in front of her dentist’s office patiently waiting for her return.

After about 10 minutes, a San Francisco meter-maid pulled up next to me in one of those weird little traffic carts, like the one pictured on the right. She motioned for me to move my car. I was a little puzzled by why she was gesturing for me to move; I was parked at a legitimate parking space.

However, being the law abiding citizen that I am, I immediately complied. I drove the car about a half a block away to an alley between the dentist’s office and a motel parking lot, where I waited another 15 or so minutes until my wife’s appointment was over.

I gave this brush with the law no further thought until this aforementioned notice was delivered to my Worcester home. My alleged violation, the notice indicated, was that it was a designated street cleaning morning, meaning that parking on that particular side of the street on that particular morning was not permitted.

Okay, that explains why the meter-maid motioned for me to move, but since I promptly obeyed, it doesn’t explain why a ticket was supposedly issued, or why I was never presented with said ticket.

The letter said, “Our records show that you have failed to respond to the parking ticket listed herein.” Yeah, I failed to respond because no one ever gave me a friggin’ parking ticket! How was I supposed to respond to something I never received?

The only way to clear up this matter, the notice advised, would be for me to immediately remit a check for $95, which amount included a $40 “collection fee” for being “delinquent.” Seriously?

NFW, I said to myself. Without delay I sat down at my computer and composed a scathing letter in which I stated all of the relevant facts and put the SFMTA on notice that I would be vigorously appealing its invalid violation and outrageous fine.

Another fine mess

Speaking about outrageous fines, I am also contesting a $480 ticket...seriously, $480...I received in the mail for being caught on a traffic-cam in Millbrae, CA turning right on red without coming to a full stop. My wife and I were driving our daughter to the San Francisco airport and I somehow missed the airport exit. I got off at the next exit, ultimately made my way back to the freeway, and headed back to the airport...in time for our daughter to catch her flight.

Yes, I suppose I was a bit flustered, having missed the airport exit and not wanting my error to cause our daughter to miss her red-eye flight back to Boston. And yes, I did sort of roll through the red light as I made my right turn.

But the evidence will show, your honor, that I did slow down and I did look both ways before sort of cruising...slowly, of course...into the turn. And as Rayman (the Rain Man) Babbitt would say, “I’m an excellent driver.”

And so, as I did with the SFMTA, I put the Superior Court of California on notice that I would be vigorously appealing its violation and the even more outrageous fine.

The next notice I receive, being the scofflaw that I apparently am, will probably be a warrant for my arrest.

Backing into the Super Bowl

I had more than a casual interest in the NFL conference championship games on Sunday.  After all, my hometown New England Patriots were vying for the AFC title, while my newly adopted and embraced other hometown San Francisco 49ers were going after the NFC title

Had both my chosen teams won, it would have set up a Super Bowl contest between my two hometown teams and given me a difficult who-to-root-for choice. As it turned out, I am not faced with having to make that choice.

Both title games were, if not particularly well-played, exciting, down to the wire contests. But in the end, both of the winning teams backed into the Super Bowl.

Technically, the Pats won, but it was a blown 32-yard field goal with 11 seconds left in regulation that kept the game from going into overtime. The Baltimore Ravens’ usually reliable kicker, Billy Cundiff, shanked a 32-yard field goal and the Patriots escaped with a 23-20 victory in the AFC contest. A few hours later, on the other side of the country, the NFC title game was knotted at 17 at the end of regular play and did go into overtime.

As you look back at that game, one pivotal play early in the fourth quarter set up the overtime contest. The Niners were leading 14-10 and had stopped the Giants on a third down attempt, necessitating a punt. But Kyle Williams, returning kicks in place of the injured Ted Ginn, Jr., muffed it, and that set up a go-ahead touchdown for Giants.

The Niners were able to tie it up with a late field goal and the game went into overtime. Once again, the Niners forced the Giants to punt, and once again Kyle Williams attempted the return. This time the ball was stripped from him and recovered by the Giants on the San Francisco 24. The 31-yard field goal by Giants’ placekicker Lawrence Tynes gave the Giants the game and a ticket to the Super Bowl.

Football is clearly a team sport, and you shouldn’t blame a specific player for the outcome of critical games like these. Having said that, there’s no question in my mind that Billy Cundiff of the Ravens and Kyle Williams of the 49ers were the goats. Had Cundiff made that late-in-the-game field goal, it would have sent the AFC contest into overtime. Given the way the Pats had played to that point, the Ravens might very well have prevailed in OT. And Williams’ two costly punt return errors virtually handed the NFC game to the Giants.

So now a rematch of the 2008 Super Bowl has been set up. Four years ago the 18-0 Patriots were supposed to have mopped the field with the Giants, but it didn’t happen that way. The Giants shocked the heavily favored Patriots and walked away with a last minute victory. The early line for this year’s Super Bowl has the Patriots, who have won 10 straight, as a 3-point favorite.

Yes, the Pats have won their last 10 straight games. The last time they lost was in early November, when they succumbed 24-20 to none other than the New York Giants.

Well, I know who I’m rooting for.

Send in the clowns

At the beginning of December there were eight contenders vying for the GOP nomination to run against President Obama in November’s election. Three weeks into the new year, the field had winnowed down to just four. And what a weird group of four it is.

Of those remaining, the least likely to gain the nomination is probably extreme Libertarian and perennial presidential candidate wannabe, Ron Paul. Congressman Paul has earned the nickname “Dr. No” because he says that he’d never support legislation that is not “expressly authorized by the Constitution.” He’s pro-life, anti-war, pro-guns, anti-labor, pro-lower taxes, anti-Fed, and pro-shrinking the government to the bare essentials. Some question whether Obama was born in the United States. I question whether Ron Paul was born on this planet.

The next least likely to win the nomination, in my humble opinion, is Rick Santorum, the extreme social conservative and vituperative [look it up] anti-gay candidate. He also proclaims to be God’s chosen candidate, and believes he is doing what God wants. Now that Bachmann, Cain, and Perry, God’s other chosen ones, are out of the race, Santorum is God’s last man standing.

Personally, I dismiss anyone who claims to know what God wants. First, God is a myth, a figment of man’s fertile imagination and insatiable need to find unknowable explanations to unanswerable questions. Second, for those who do believe in God’s existence, how can any mere human know what God wants?

And then there’s Newt Gingrich, the personification of sleaze. Remarkably, he has a legitimate shot at the nomination. Seriously, have you listened to this clown? Please, listen to some of the things he’s said, read his positions on matters of public policy. Remember when he recently said he would arrest activist federal judges and force them to appear before Congress? He also said that he would simply ignore Surpeme Court rulings he didn’t agree with. This guy is nuts!

And as the recent allegations from wife #2 about how he tried to persuade her to have an “open marriage” so that he could continue his relationship with his mistress prove, he’s also a slime ball. Gingrich is a first-class egomaniac who believes he’s smarter than everyone else. He may be...but he’s seriously misguided.

That leaves poor Mitt Romney. Romney is the poster boy for everything the GOP stands for. He’s a successful entrepreneur, a savvy businessman, a faithful and religious man, and he looks presidential. Yet most conservatives think he’s too moderate. Many evangelicals question whether he is even Christian, equating his Mormon religion to a cult. He also comes across stiff, detached, and unsympathetic. And he has a tendency to stick his foot in his mouth, like when he bragged, “I like being able to fire people....” Sure, that sound bite was taken out of context, but that’s politics in the twenty-first century.

Can’t you visualize President Obama as he ponders the upcoming election season? There he is, sitting at his desk in the oval office, his iPod on and the earbuds secure in each ear. He’s listing to Sinatra’s rendition of the Stephen Sondheim classic, Send in the Clowns.

The President has a big smile on his face.

Unnoticed, unknown, unread

I am a recreational blogger. I have been blogging recreationally for a while now. Yet, by all objective measures, my blog is a dismal failure. I am not only my only regular reader, I am, as well, my blog’s biggest fan.

Of course, my wife will occasionally read my blog, and sometimes so will our son and daughter. Once in a great while someone I don’t know, perhaps as a result of a misdirected Google search, will stumble upon my blog. A few total strangers have even posted a comment or two on my blog. But, alas, my blog goes mostly unnoticed, unknown, and unread.

The first time I formally acknowledged that my blog didn’t get much traffic was about a year and a half ago. Nevertheless, despite its lack of readership, I decided to persevere, to press on, to keep at it, to stick with it, to...well, you get my drift.

And so I have continued to regularly publish my thoughts, observations, and opinions on matters ranging from politics and sports to religion and daily living. From bats and fruit flies to dogs and cats. From from silly and stupid things that people do to a cross-country roadtrip in a 14-foot U-Haul truck with my son.

And why not? What’s the harm? Blogging, for me, is a creative outlet, a diversion, a hobby. I simply enjoy being a recreational blogger. I, for one, find my posts to be witty, entertaining, and informative, even if no one else does. See. I told you. I’m my blog’s biggest fan.

Oh snap!

Fast forward to this past Friday night when my wife and I were invited to our daughter’s and son-in-law’s home for some snacks and a few spirited games of Hearts. Because we had been in San Francisco for the holidays, this gathering was the first opportunity for them to give us our Christmas/Chanukah (dare I say “holiday”?) presents.

My wife was presented with a lovely scarf that our daughter hand-knitted. She also received a 2012 calendar beautifully illustrated by our daughter’s nature photographs and pictures of their dog, Shadow.

I, too, was given a personalized calendar, as well as a mousepad. The mousepad was imprinted with a simple but honest appraisal of the traffic my blog generates. “More people have read this mousepad,” it said, “than your blog.” The image of a digital counter on the mousepad read “0000002.” Oh snap!

So the question must be asked. Does my blog matter? If few people read it or care about my random musings, maybe I should stop wasting my time coming up with topics about which to blog. Why bother attempting to spin my compositions into posts that others might also find witty, entertaining, informative, and, yes, even provocative? Why make the effort to locate and embed humorous images to suit the content of my posts?

Truth be told, while I would probably be thrilled if my blog posts were seen and appreciated by a wider audience, I never intended or expected my blog to be a commercial success, to generate a lot of traffic, or to appeal to a large readership. The cold, hard reality is that that just ain’t gonna happen.

Newly inspired

As I contemplated the future of my blog, I thought about the calendar my daughter and her husband gave me. The image opposite the month of January was that of an enormous, isolated, steep, craggy butte. The caption beneath the photograph read, “Blogging: Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few.”

That was all the inspiration I needed. I realized that I’m not alone in my seemingly futile effort to share with the world, through blogging, my personal impressions, opinions, and insights. This is the universal quandary, the ultimate conundrum, for bloggers. Who cares? Why bother? Does it matter? Is anyone even reading it?

I know that very few people care what I think and hardly anyone even reads my blog. Yet, despite my nearly non-existent readership and the not-so-subtle hints from my family that my blog is a fruitless enterprise, I will persist.

My fellow bloggers, those so many people with so little to say who are saying so much to so few, I salute you. To all of you whose blogs go unnoticed, unknown, and unread, I say, “blog on.”

Venue Adjustment Syndrome

The five day forecast for San Francisco is sunny with highs in the low-to-mid sixties. Yet, as I looked out of the window of my home office yesterday morning, it was snowing. Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas ...I mean San Francisco... anymore.

This past Saturday, my wife and I flew from San Francisco to Worcester, by way of Boston, to what we now refer to as our “summer home.” Yeah, I know it’s not summer in New England, but this is neither the time nor place to belabor why we traded sunny and sixties for snowy and twenties.

Coping with the very different climates of San Francisco and Worcester, however, is not the most challenging aspect of being bi-coastal, although making sure to have the proper clothing to accommodate the differences is important.

No, the biggest challenge is dealing with what I call “Venue Adjustment Syndrome,” or VAS. This syndrome involves difficulties in adjusting to the significant differences in the everyday activities of daily living.

Time zones.  While I typically get up at around 6:30 every weekday morning, my daily work routine is very different, depending upon which coast I’m on. Probably two-thirds of the people I work with are located in the east. So at 6:30 a.m. in the west, my work in-box is brimming with unopened e-mails that require my immediate attention. I barely have time to drink a cup of coffee and skim the newspaper’s sports section before I have to start responding to the myriad e-mails that have accumulated thus far or participate in a conference call that someone scheduled for 10 a.m. ET.

The good news is that by around 3:00 p.m. in San Fran, most folks back east are done for the day, so I have a few hours in the late afternoon to do whatever I want to do, which occasionally involves taking a nap or relaxing on my favorite recliner in front of the TV.

But mostly it means running errands with my wife, like picking up some food for her to fix us dinner. Hmm. Would I rather continue to work for a few more hours or run errands with my wife?

No contest! I’d rather go food shopping with my wife, right dear?

When I get up at 6:30 in the east, though, I have time in the mornings to leisurely read the newspaper, have a few cups of coffee, and relax a bit before the stress of the workday ensues. But just when I’m about ready to call it a day at 3 p.m., as I do out west, I have to face the reality of having to spend yet another two or three hours actually working. It’s taking me and my body clock...and my wife...a while to adjust to that.

Getting around.  Getting from place to place is another VAS challenge. In San Francisco, we live in the city. Most of what we need, like the grocery errands my wife and I run after 3 p.m., is within easy walking distance and there are myriad public transit options available. We rarely use our car.

Our place in Worcester is also in the city, but there simply aren’t many places we can walk to. And with respect to Worcester’s public transit...HA! So pretty much everything requires getting in a car and driving. At least the price of gas in Worcester is about 50 cents per gallon lower than it is in San Francisco.

Home Sweet Home.  Our west and east coast homes couldn’t be more different. Our San Francisco condo was constructed in 2006. It’s a very contemporary design with an open kitchen, dining area, and living room. It has two bedrooms and an office, two baths, and totals around 1600 square feet. And it’s all on one-level.

Our Worcester house is an historic Queen Anne Victorian that was built in 1898 and has around 4,000 square feet, four bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s a two story structure, not including the large, walk-in attic and full basement.

But VAS is not as affected by the physical attributes and appearance of the two homes as it is by trying to figure out where everything is located, or recalling if a particular item is one we have in San Francisco and not in Worcester, or vice versa. In the six days that we’ve been back in Worcester, I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to ask my wife, “Where the hell do we keep the [fill in the blank] in this friggin’ house?”

The only known cure for my particularly variety of VAS is to sell our house in Worcester and move permanently to San Francisco. Unfortunately, the housing market in Worcester is in the tank, so we have little choice but to hold on to the vintage Painted Lady for a while longer.

I’ll just have to up my meds to cope with my severe case of Venue Adjustment Syndrome.

Saab story

As a former Saab owner, I was disappointed to learn that the Swedish automobile maker was forced to declare bankruptcy and to call it quits. While the Saab was never quite “mainstream,” it was, if nothing else, unique.

It’s hard to believe that it was just over 30 years ago when my wife and I purchased a 1981 Saab 900 Turbo. On paper the Saab was a great car. We were living in New Jersey at the time and needed a car that could maneuver us effectively through the winter snow and the hilly terrain of West Orange.

As the parents of two young children, we found the four door model to be roomy and comfortable for the whole family. And with its powerful turbocharged engine that kicked in at relative low RPMs, it was fast and handled spectacularly.

Despite all of these plusses, there were some serious minuses. We experienced a series of unexplained and nearly unfixable electrical system problems with the Saab. The car would periodically just stop running.

I recall one time having it towed to a nearby gas station. I asked the attendant if he could figure out how to get it going again. Yes, this was back in the day when gas stations, often referred to back then as “service stations,” actually had a mechanic available to work on cars. A gas station was more than just a convenience store that also happened to have a few gas pumps.

The attendant called over the on-duty mechanic, who popped the hood and gazed down at the turbocharged engine. After a few moments he scratched his head and uttered, in a manner that can only be described as a backwater West Virginia-like twang, “What the hell is that?”

“It’s turbocharged,” I replied, trying to sound as if I really knew what that meant.

The mechanic moved his hand to his chin and took on a contemplative look. Then he shook his head from side to side and shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said, clearly unschooled on turbocharged engines, which, I admit, were rarities back in the early 80s.

I learned, after that episode, to have the Saab towed directly to the nearest dealership in the event of future breakdowns. Unfortunately, Saab dealerships were as much of a rarity as were turbocharged engines.

Naturally, another such episode occurred not long after my encounter with the befuddled mechanic. But this time I was on one of my frequent out-of-town business trips. My wife had both of our young kids secured in their car seats and was driving them to or from somewhere when the Saab, once again, simply stopped.

Fortunately, the car was still under warranty and Saab provided roadside assistance service. A tow truck arrived, picked them all up, and drove the three of them, Saab in tow, to the dealership a few towns over from where we lived. It was sort of an adventure for my kids, but my wife was not a happy camper.

Although we loved almost everything about our Saab, it was, at the time, our only car. We needed something that wouldn’t periodically and unpredictably stop running. This last incident with my wife and kids was the final straw, and we made the difficult and sad decision to trade in the Saab for something a little less esoteric and a lot less finicky.

We opted for one of the most boring and ordinary cars on the road at the time, a 1984 Datsun Stanza, the forerunner to the Nissan Altima. It wasn’t nearly as unique or interesting as the Saab, which has always been a rather quirky vehicle with a small but enthusiastic following. The Stanza lacked style. It was smaller, slower, and didn’t handle nearly as well as the Saab. But if nothing more than ordinary, it was reliable and it never just simply stopped.

Still, I was sorry to learn about Saab’s demise. Despite its obvious quirkiness and some reliability issues, it still holds a soft spot our motoring past. Finding out that Saab is no more was like hearing that a somewhat strange and a bit offbeat acquaintance from your youth, someone you haven’t spoken with or even thought about for years, had passed on.

It’s truly a sob story.

A new leaf

A brand new year has just begun and it’s time to turn over a new leaf.

“Turn over a new leaf” is an idiom that means to begin again, to start doing things differently, to reform, to change.

Curious about the etymology of that phrase, I conducted an intensive Google search. I was sure that my investigation would inform me that the expression related to the changing of seasons. After all, the phrase does conjure up images of a leaf on a tree, the old leaf falling off in the autumn to be replaced by a new leaf in the spring.

A new beginning. A fresh start. A new leaf. Right?

My research indicated, however, that the origin of the adage has nothing to do with seaons, leaves, or trees.

One site said the turn of phrase dates back to the late 16th century, when pages in a book were often referred to as leafs (not “leaves”). Thus, turning over a new leaf is another way of saying “turning to a new page.”

Another site, however, claimed a considerably more interesting...and far more whimsical...origin for the phrase. A friend of Oscar Wilde allegedly suggested that Wilde, a homosexual, change his ways and turn over a new leaf. But when the friend found Wilde having gay sex with a hotel bellboy, the friend said, “But Oscar, you said you would turn over a new leaf.”

Wilde is supposed to have replied, “Yes, but I haven’t yet gotten to the bottom of the page.”

Get it? The word “page” can be a synonym for “bellboy.” That Oscar Wilde...he sure was quite the wit.

But I digress. In the interest of doing things differently (i.e., “turning over a new leaf”), and in recognition of what has become an increasingly short reading attention span in this country, my new leaf is to write shorter blog posts. 

Last March I wrote about shorter, more concise blog posts. In that posting I said, “...in the interest of not taxing my loyal blog followers with having to spend more than a minute or two reading my posts, I will continue to strive to keep my posts shorter and more concise.”

When it came right down to it, though, I failed to achieve my striving. My posts almost always range from at least 600 to sometimes more than 900 words. But it is now 2012, a new year, a new beginning, a fresh start. It’s time for me to turn over a new leaf.

And so, in the interest of brevity, I'm going to end this post at only 432 words.

Happy New Year!

The future vision for America: third world nationhood

Newt Gingrich claims to believe that “personhood,” defined as the status of being a person, begins at conception, rather than at birth. He believes so deeply in this definition of personhood that he wants Congress to pass a law declaring that personhood begins at conception. If such a law were passed, it would make abortion for any reason...even in the case of rape or incest...the equivalent of murder.

Were such a law enacted, according to Jay Bookman of the Atlanta Journal, it would not apply only to abortions. It would “affect birth-control methods such as the morning-after pill, the IUD, and even the standard birth-control pill, which works by preventing the fertilized embryo from attaching itself to the uterus.”

This idea of personhood beginning at conception has gained traction among the GOP candidates, especially as they sit on the doorstep of the Iowa caucuses. But they seem also to be promising to behave in a way that essentially dismantles, or at the very least neuters, the U.S. judiciary system.

During a presidential pro-life forum earlier this week, at least four of the GOP wannabes suggested that any ruling by the courts that challenged the constitutionality of any law related to personhood at conception or otherwise allowed legal abortions, should be ignored.

Gingrich said he would ignore Supreme Court rulings he disagreed with. He used the “two out of three” concept to justify his position, suggesting that “If the president and Congress say the court is wrong, in the end, the court would lose.” Exactly where in the Constitution does it say that, Newt? Or did you just make that up?

Rick Perry, when asked how he would respond to a Supreme Court ruling overturning a law that declared life begins at conception, said, “Obviously you enforce the right to life.” In other words, Perry, if president, would simply ignore the Supreme Court ruling.

Michelle Bachmann said that it was time for Congress and the president to “reclaim that authority to make law.” She went on to say, “The Supreme Court can’t arbitrarily tell us what the law of the land is.” Well, perhaps she’s right. It shouldn’t be “arbitrary.” But the Supreme Court can and does interpret the “laws of the land” to determine which are or are not constitutional.

Rick Santorum, who for some reason still considers himself to be a viable contender for the GOP nomination, said, “Life beginning at conception is not a belief, it’s not an article of faith, it’s an article of fact. It’s a biological fact. Yes, the Bible tells us all that, but it’s also reason.”

As president, Santorum, who seems confused over the defintions of the words fact and opinion, said that “irrespective of what the court does, you do what you do, and you fight!” Rick, get over yourself. No one cares what you think.

Gingrich said he would “write the [personhood at conception] bill so that it is not appealable.” In other words, he wants to make that law bullet proof so that it cannot be overturned by the courts.

But in his zeal to end what he calls “judicial supremacy” on subjects such as abortion, gay rights, school prayer, and national security, Gingrich would take it even further. He said he’d arrest federal judges, force them to appear before Congress to justify their renegade, activist rulings, and go so far as to impeach them, remove them from the bench, and abolish their courts.

A “banana republic,” and I’m not talking about the retail chain, is, according to Wikipedia, a pejorative term denoting a politically unstable country ruled by a small, self-elected, wealthy group that exploits the country by means of political oligarchy.

Four of the GOP contenders have gone on record saying that they would ignore court rulings they didn’t like. Gingrich has said he’d arrest justices whose opinions he didn’t share, haul them before Congress, and even dismantle their courts.

With this contempt for the separation of powers and rule of law, these politicians are sounding an awful lot like the despotic leaders of many third world nations.

If this is what your vision for the United States is, be sure to vote Republican in the presidential and congressional elections. You’ll be voting for candidates who are promoting the transition of the United States into a third world nation...a banana republic.

Bah humbug!

It’s two days before Christmas and all through the house (condo) not a creature is stirring (except for the cat, Colbert). All that can be heard is that dreadful Michael Bublé Christmas album.

Yes, it’s Christmastime and that means it’s time for my annual Christmas grouse. And no, I’m not referring to the chicken-like bird.

The festive holiday seaon atmosphere [choose one: surrounds, ungulfs, suffocates] us all. Crowded stores, restaurants, and public places are elaborately decorated with wreaths and trees filled with ornaments and colorful lights. It’s beautiful.

People are doing all that they can to help our sputtering economy by logging on to retail websites and buying goodies in record numbers. They are braving the holiday crowds and venturing out to malls and shops to pick up gifts for friends and family. It’s generous.

The air is filled by inescapable, omnipresent Christmas music. It’s too much.

Sure, most people love Christmas music. I am not one of them. I remember when Christmas music on the radio, piped into stores and malls, and played in restaurants didn’t really start until immediately after Thanksgiving. That meant about four or five weeks of uninterrupted, interminable joy to the world.

Over the past few years, though, Halloween seems to have become the kick-off of the commercial Christmas season. Seriously, do we really need two full months of this constant reminder of Christmas?

And if my son doesn’t stop playing that goddam Michael Bublé Christmas album on the iPod speaker system in our small condo over and over again, I’m going to go ballistic! Enough already!

I am a Grinch

Okay, I admit it. I am a Grinch. Yes, I know that Christmas, the holiday that celebrates the birth of Christ, is an important and joyous holiday to Christians. I’m enough of a pragmatist to recognize that our nation, while not a “Christian Nation,” as some conservatives suggest, is a nation that is overwhelmingly Christian

And yet, year-after-year, there are those (e.g., everyone on Fox News) who insist that there is a “War on Christmas.”

Seriously, do most Christians really believe that small sliver of the American population comprised of atheists, agnostics, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and other non-Christians have somehow stolen Christmas?

I look around and wonder how anyone can come to that conclusion. I hear continuous, unavoidable Christmas music; it’s virtually nonstop. I see Christmas shows and specials on TV, Christmas movies in theaters, Christmas musicals and plays on live stage.

Flyers and advertisements for Christmas sales add significant weight to the newspapers I stuff into my recycling bin each week. The bulk of TV commercials at this time of year are all about the Christmas gifts you absolutely must buy...like a Lexus adorned with a huge, red bow.

I see formerly vacant lots filled with Christmas trees and wreaths that are selling briskly. I see homes, condos, and apartments throughout the city decked out with colorful and blinking lights and fully adorned Christmas trees in the windows. I see nativity scenes on public squares and common areas around city and on town hall lawns throughout the area.

I see grown men wearing red suits, fake beards, and pillows stuffed under their belts, little kids sitting on their laps in stores and malls. At any other time of the year these men would be arrested.

But at Christmastime, there are long lines of parents, with their kids in tow, eager to put their little darlings onto the lap of some otherwise unemployable, probably drunk old man wearing a phony beard and dressed in a strange costume promising to bring them all kinds of gifts that their parents can’t really afford.

Can someone please explain to me how Christmas is being stolen?

Well, maybe the “Christmas spirit” has, in fact, been usurped by crass commercialism. Christmas has become less a religious holiday than a two-month long Washington’s Birthday Sale on steroids that drives people to extreme behaviors. Shoppers desperate for bargains are over-the-top competitive, pushing and shoving...even pepper spraying, tasing, or shooting...anyone who stands in the way of the doll, gadget, game, or toy they simply have to have.

Instead of the holidays bringing out the best in people, it seems that this season of good will and joy instead brings out the worst in many. Me included.

Bah humbug! Oh yeah. Happy Holidays.

Change of pace

My wife told me she’s growing tired of my rants about religion and the religious and she’s concerned that people who believe in God, practice their religion, and who stumble upon my blog, will be put-off by my anti-religion commentary.

Of course, I think her concerns are unfounded.  First, very few people read my blog.  Second, for those who do read it, my advice is that they shouldn’t take my personal perspectives too seriously.  Third, if I’m wrong in my disbelief, they will all get the last laugh.

Be that as it may, and in the spirit of this holiday season (yes, I said “holiday” and not “Christmas” because I’m a combatant in this war on Christmas that Fox News insists all Americans are fighting), I will cease and desist, at least for a while, to post anything having to do with religion.  Instead, I will focus on other fascinating things happening around us in another installment of “what were they thinking?”

Shoot to kill

A 34-year-old New Jersey woman killed a 22-year-old man by injecting silicone into his penis.  Why would a woman inject a man’s penis with the silicone?  More in question, why would a man let a woman armed with a syringe filled with silicone, stick it into his shlong?  Ouch!

Did she really intend to kill him?  Probably not.  Perhaps she simply felt that he didn’t quite measure up.  After all, silicone injections are often used to enlarge body parts, such as the buttocks.  So maybe she just wanted something more, um, fulfilling from her lover.  And if it works on butts, it just makes sense that it would work on penises, right?

Stories of her death were greatly exaggerated

A Pennsylvania man filed his mother’s obituary in the local newspaper, which would have been a nice gesture if his mother had died.  I guess he never considered that his mother would read the obituary, but when she did, she showed up at the newspaper’s office to validate that she was still among the living.  It seems her son was concocting a scheme to get some paid bereavement leave from his employer and figured he’d use his mother’s published “death” notice as they way to get it.

For some mothers, no sacrifice is too great when it comes to their children.  But this guy’s mother didn’t play along.  Dammit, Mama, couldn’t you just roll over and play dead for a few days?

Blaming the victim

It seems that kids today don’t want to take responsibility for their actions and would rather point the finger of blame toward others.  A 16-year-old British teenager took it to an extreme when he wrote a letter blaming the victims for breaking into their home and stealing some of their possessions.  After he had been caught, the teen was told to write a letter of apology to his victims.  But the kid showed no remorse at all.

“To be honest I’m not bothered or sorry about the fact that I burgled your house,” he wrote.  Instead, he put the blame on them, calling them “dumb and thick,” and pointing out what they did wrong to make breaking into their home irresistible.  They made “dumb mistakes,” he wrote, like failing to draw their curtains when they went to bed and leaving a kitchen window open.  Duh!  How could he not break in?

Faking it in the Sunshine State

Too much sun must fry people’s brains, causing them to do really stupid things, like faking their own kidnappings.  A 17-year-old kid from Florida, with the help of a friend, faked his own kidnapping in an attempt to extort $50,000 from his father.  “Show me the money, Papa!”

Another Floridian, a 37-year-old woman, claimed to have been kidnapped, but it was actually a plot to get some cash from her wealthy husband.  The shakedown was for fifty grand and was cooked up by the woman and her lover.  They were done in by an audio tape given to police by the “kidnapper’s” live-in girlfriend.

Yes, while he and his married lover were hatching a scheme to extort her rich husband, he had a live-in girlfriend.  You gotta give the the guy credit for having some audacious balls.  Anyway, the recording captured the sounds of the schemers having sex and plotting the kidnapping.

Yet another Floridian, this time a 21-year-old mother, reported that she had been abducted after fighting with her boyfriend.  She sent him a text message saying that two masked men had put her in the back of their van.  It turned out that she was jealous because she thought her boyfriend paid more attention to her son than to her.

All she wanted was to get her boyfriend’s attention.  Hey, girl, if you boyfriend is more interested in your son than in you, you have bigger things to worry about.

Finally, a man received a call from a guy who claimed to have abducted his girlfriend.  The caller demaned a $100 ransom, telling the boyfriend that if he didn’t pay up, his girlfriend would be killed.  The boyfriend must not have cared all that much for his sweetie because he refused to pay the embarrassingly modest ransom and called the police.  The whole thing was a sham, the alleged kidnapper and the girlfriend hatching this “kidnapping” scheme in order to get some cash.

I wonder how the girlfriend, another 21-year-old Florida woman, felt when her boyfriend didn’t think she was worth even a hundred bucks!  Oh snap!