And safety comes first.

Tuesday, December 28

This one's for the children.

Three years ago when I moved to Minnesota, I fervently completed the initial chapters of a children's story, but quit the project abruptly. I couldn't let children read anything so bitingly sarcastic, yet those who did taste of the lucsious fruit of my endeavor still, to this day, beg for more! More narrative to satisfy our rotting little hearts, swift writer of children's stories! More characters we love to hate and hate some more! More, more, more! To them, I say, "Please contact me at work no more, no more. You're all starting to creep me out. Why don't you get on with life? You're missing out on childhood. Look--there it goes. I don't think it even likes, uh, did you get anything nice for Christmas?"

If children are make-believe children, as featured in the above paragraph, then mean comments made about then can surely be excused.

Sunday, December 26

Petula Clark, Downtown!

The song swims merrily into my mind each time my bus nears Nicollet Mall, the heart of downtown Minneapolis. Featured several nights of the week between Thanksgiving and Christmas is the Holidazzle Parade, a procession of costumes and props lit with holidazzling holiday lights. I happened upon it after work a few times and was astonished by the masses of people huddled along the sidewalks and packed in the skyways like cans of lamb and rice dog food. If you like those kinds of things--bumbling snowmen wagging oversized candy canes at you in public--then this parade is for you. Otherwise you could just observe the crowd as you're walking to your rerouted bus stop (thank you, street-hogging parade). Some kids are playing patty cake with a sidewalk that got a summer's worth of spit and cigarette ashes stomped into it. Damn, that's nasty.

Day After Christmas Cheer

For today I have marked on my calendar, "You will not miss Christmas songs," and indeed I do not.

Hey, here's a fun idea. Let's all chime in and post how much weight we've each gained since Thanksgiving. That way, none of us would feel so bad about our weight gain. Misery loves company, right?

No, misery doesn't love company. Misery wants to be alone the day after Christmas to eat a mayo-slathered sandwich in peace. Misery has had enough of songs about unrealistically pleasant family gatherings and a winter that holy-crap-no-way! doesn't make your face hurt, and Misery thinks if more Christmas songs aspired to be as uplifting as the catchy ditty by Wham!, Misery might entertain the thought of company.