Thanksgiving is behind us and the biggest holiday season of them all is now in full swing. There will be family and company parties, get-togethers with friends, charitable fundraisers and town celebrations. Santa will be hosting one-on-one meetings upon his lap, hams will be glazed and sweet voices will be singing religious and festive songs. Ah, ‘tis the season.
Phooey.
Relax. I’m not going to join the four million voices bemoaning the commercialization of the holidays. As a sports fan, I gave up on that diatribe a long time ago when I started noticing things like the Meineke Bowl for college football and Lincon Financial Field in the NFL. Actually, that may not be a bad idea. Hang with me for a second. What do you think about Coastal Point Lawnmower Race Stadium or, ooh, better yet, Coastal Point Groundhog Day? I’m really liking this. We rustle up a few groundhogs, take a branding iron with our logo ...
But I digress.
Ah, yes, the holidays. Now, for the record, I’m not a Grinch. I enjoy the festivity of the holidays as much as the next guy, and I love the notion of my family getting together and telling stories and laughing and drinking enough Bushmills to ... well, I like getting together with my family. Heck, I even like watching Jimmy Stewart realize he’s had a wonderful life.
However ...
There are the other things about the holidays that make me want to dip my head in a vat of rubbing alocohol and start pounding it on the side of a cactus. Things like the 5 a.m. foray I made into a Dover store last Friday to try and secure an electronics device at a ridiculously low price.
Allow me to explain a few things that are very much a drag. Being in Dover at all is a drag. Being awake at that time is a drag. And being awake at that time in Dover only to find out the store did not have enough of said electronics items on stock for you to secure one is a drag I wouldn’t wish on anyone outside of oil executives and naturally slim men with full heads of hair.
Fine, I’m petty.
However, when I first got out of the Marine Corps there were a few things I promised myself I’d never do again, and being awake and on a mission of any sort at 5 a.m. was one of them. Also on that list were running without being in fear for my life, considering Spam being cooked on the sun-baked hood of a filthy vehicle a delicacy and certain forms of going potty outdoors. We all have our little rules, and those are some of mine.
So, yes, my 2005 holiday season did not get off to a rousing start. Besides the lost opportunity at the store, and the painful indigestion from the 46 pounds of sweet potato casserole I digested at my aunt’s house the day before, I was also slapped in the face with the reality that this holiday season was far from over.
See, I still had to compile a few lists for Christmas. Those who know me well know that I am a creature formed by lists. I have lists for what needs to be done with the paper, what I have as personal goals for the next five, 10 and 15 years and what sporting events I have to attend before I die. I have lists for hygiene, lists for the best left-handed relievers of all-time and lists of lists I have to compile in the near future. I’m list-mad, a legacy passed down to me by my father, along with my inability to differentiate colors and an unexplained affinity for Dirty Harry movies.
The gift-buying lists are tough. What you want to be able to do is search your inner-self and find exactly what that individual means to you, and what gift both exemplifies your unique relationship with that individual and will also warm his or her heart.
Yeah. Good luck with that.
Actually, my sister is good at that sort of thing. She often takes the time to make gifts for her loved ones — scrapbooks, quilts incorporating photos from the individual’s past, etc. It’s sweet. Cheap as all get-out, but it’s sweet. Me? I usually end up going the old gift card or cash-stuffed-in-a-sock route.
Fine, gift lists aside, it was time to move on to travel arrangements. A quick click on my mouse and I was surfing the Internet. A few more clicks and I was on a discount travel Web page, picking departure and arrival sites, clicking desired dates to travel and ... finding out prices.
That sound you heard was the dull thud of the back of my head meeting the floor.
Fine. Since it’s still illegal to sell your organs in this country, I was forced to look into alternative methods of travel. Driving? Too long and too boring for me to drive to Colorado. Greyhound? Nope. Train? Too Americana.
Back to the plane, and back to me eating cold cereal three times a day for the next six months.
Man, you have to love the holidays.