Who gets rid of their Christmas tree in December? People who never got into the Christmas spirit in the first place, that’s who. I’m happy to say that my tree (and my exterior lights) are still standing, and will continue to shine brightly into the new year. I agreed to take them down the first weekend of January, but even that feels wrong to me. If I had my druthers, I’d leave the Christmas tree up for another week…or another two weeks…or another month…or, what the heck, until the last of the snow melts.
Archive for December, 2010
Salt melts snow? That’s news to me. Every time it snows I do my best to shovel the sidewalks, but I always end up missing a spot or two. Maybe the uneven concrete is to blame for this, or the prevalence of boot-compacted snow that’s practically impossible to remove. Maybe I’m just lazy – who knows? What I do know is that the salty mixture I use to coat the sidewalks afterward does little to melt the straggling snowflakes, which is not to say that it has no effect. It does leave hideous streaks on my gloves – streaks that manage to stay there for weeks on end. Joy.
Somebody likes wine. And you know what? I can’t say I blame him. A glass of room temperature red complements even the chewiest of steaks (or the saltiest of chocolate chip cookies) while a glass of chilled white makes even the fishiest of fish palatable. But as with all good things, some people take their love of wine to excess. Large bottles are one thing, but large boxes? That’s something else. Pretty soon we’ll be buying wine by the crate and uncorking bottles as tall as our torsos. Either that or we’ll install vats in our front yards and hire deliverymen to refill them on a regular basis.
Shirts are okay. Socks are acceptable. Pants are very nice. But sweaters? Sweaters are the best. When it comes to Christmas gifts, there’s nothing I like more than a warm, reasonable fashionable, sweater. Although the rest of my wardrobe might suffer from neglect, I can rest assured that my supply of sweaters will be refreshed every December 25th. It’s a tradition that started a few years ago when my mother-in-law bought me a particularly sharp sweater. I must have expressed a great deal of appreciation, because now I get a new sweater every year. (This year’s version featured a red checkerboard pattern.) Sweatshirts are okay. Hoodies are passable. Jackets are permissible. But sweaters? Sweaters are fantastic.
Widescreen, high-definition televisions have been part of the mainstream for years, but that doesn’t mean I’ve purchased one. On the contrary, I’ve made due with a 27-inch analog TV that I bought in 2005 for less than the cost of my current monthly cable bill. It had to be one of the last such models produced, and I’m sure the store assumed I’d be back in a few months to buy a bigger, snazzier set. But, no, I’ve waited patiently for prices to come down. In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed my sturdy little television for what it is: a stopgap. When I really feel the need to watch something in widescreen, I head to the movie theater. Either that, or I pull out my phone…
See the size of that jar in panel three? It’s just a teeny, tiny bit bigger than my mom’s favorite coffee cup. Seriously. I love my mom, but I’ll never understand her fierce commitment to coffee. She refers to it as her “drug of choice” and there are precious few moments during the day when she doesn’t have a cup (or a thermos) of it by her side. When she wakes up in the morning…coffee. When she catches a break at work…coffee. When she’s relaxing in front of the TV at night…coffee. I’m not sure how much coffee my mom actually drinks in a given day, but I wouldn’t be surprised if her purchases managed to keep a few dozen farmers in business.
Late last year, I had the pleasure of going to the eye doctor. I wasn’t expecting to have a pleasant visit, but I did, thanks to some incredibly nifty technology. My previous visit to the eye doctor had been as a child, but I was experiencing some eye strain and a few mild headaches so I thought to myself, “why not be responsible?” I was pleasantly surprised by how painless everything was, and was deeply impressed by the high-res image of my eyeball that my doctor pulled up on his computer screen. He also refrained from rubbing charcoal in my eyes, which was something of a bonus.