T'was the night before Christmas - Revision 6

If this post looks familiar, you have a fine memory. I posted it exactly one year ago today. I guess the fact I'm reposting it again here would be considered re-gifting. You're welcome.

Anyway, many people have asked me to post it again this year. Okay, not many but a few. And by a few I mean my wife. Alright, none. C'mon, it's Christmas Eve. I've got things to do, and coming up with a brand new post just wasn't on the list. Does that make me naughty? Guess I'll find out tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, please to enjoy. And the very merriest Christmas to you and yours.

‘Twas the night before Christmas in the agency halls
Not a planner was stirring, there were no client calls
The glasses were hung by the conference room with care
In hopes the Christmas party would soon begin there

Creative directors nestled with campaigns that were dead
While visions of One Show Awards danced in their head
They’d talk of production and work they had done
It was true this year’s party would be nothing but fun

When out in the lobby there rose such a clatter
I sprang from the status meeting to see what was the matter
Was it the new intern wearing an Urban Outfitters jacket
What could possibly be making all of that racket

With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
Let’s go in the kitchen and see what they’re fixen!
To the corner office and just down the hall
They found trays of hors de oeuvres and ate them all!

The staff would look forward to the holiday bonus
Saying "as hard as we’ve worked of course they would owe us"
The general manager spoke, it was quite a summit
He told us all how profits had started to plummet

Cutbacks, downsizing, raise-freezes, client losses
He would if he could, but not so the bosses
He charted the bonus with marker not chalk
He wrote on the white board “That’s just crazy talk.”

They showed the work that’d been done all through the year
But with no bonuses the staff was not of good cheer
Sure there was music and dancing for those who were able
Even some shenanigans on the conference room table

Soon it was over, soon it was gone
All the carrying they’d planned had been carried on
The party was finished, the tinsel unhung
The songs they were singing had all been sung

After bad luck like this, what else could they add
It was Christmas, and really, things weren’t that bad
Until he exclaimed as his limo drove out of sight
Happy pink slip to all, and to all a good night!

Doc me

In case you couldn’t tell from the Christmas decorations that went up at Labor Day, we’re coming into the final stretch of 2015.

Which in my case only means one thing: doctor appointments.

Like a lot of people, my family and I will be making our year end, deductible and co-payment free visits to the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with us—in fact we’re all pretty much the picture of health. But starting midnight on January 1st, our deductible kicks in again, and we’ll be paying our own way until we meet it for the year. And because we’re such perfect physical specimens, that doesn’t happen until we’re at least past the halfway point.

So for the next eight days, it’s off to the podiatrist. The acupuncturist. The pharmacy. The chiropractor. The dentist. The ophthalmologist. The pediatrician. The lab. The specialist.

The holiday season is crazy enough without running around to these appointments. This year I’m asking Santa for morning appointments before 10 a.m.

Anyway, there’s still shopping to do, so I’m going to call it a post.

Maybe I can pick up a new paper exam gown for the wife, and some tongue depressors for the kids.

Keeping a secret

There’s a holiday tradition everyone who works in an advertising agency eventually runs up against despite mighty, mighty efforts to avoid it.

The White Elephant holiday gift exchange. Sometimes known as Secret Santa.

Essentially it’s a primitive holiday ritual where you and all your co-workers buy inexpensive gag gifts no one wants, then exchange them. Hilarity ensues. (At my house, we call this Christmas). You can challenge your co-workers if someone gets one you actually want, or you can just hang on to yours and silently figure out who you don’t like enough to re-gift it to.

From Magic Eight Balls to Fart Extinguishers to the How To Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting To Kill You book, white elephant gift exchanges are exactly the opposite of what they’re intended to be: Funny.

So, being in the giving spirit of the holiday – although I’m not saying which holiday – I’d like to suggest three Secret Santa/White Elephant gifts that are agency appropriate, worth a few laughs and inexpensive to create or buy.

Which is good, because you're not getting a bonus this year either.

The Pink Slip.

Agencies are notorious for having heartless housecleanings just before Christmas. Give your colleagues an official looking pink slip, and enjoy the merriment when they can’t tell if it’s real or not. For extra fun, have everyone take a step back from the recipient when they open it.

Dock the Halls.

Use card stock in the mailroom to dummy up some realistic looking timesheets, with the hour for the gift exchange you're right in the middle of marked as docked from their pay. Watch the fun as the bitching reaches new heights. Wait, is that someone marching off to read HR the riot act? You can't put a price on entertainment value like this!

Manual Labor.

Showcase your creativity, since the client doesn't let you showcase it anywhere else, with this 100% fake Employee Manual. Contains uproarious, fictional and totally bogus sections like Our Profit-Sharing Plan, Vacation Days, Overtime Pay, Bonus Structure, Addressing Grievances, Internet Use Policy and much, much more. Wait a minute, that's the actual employee manual. Oh well, even funnier. And the printing's already done for you.

I hope these suggestions have been helpful. As you rip open the gift wrap, don't forget to pause and give the fake laugh while you say unconvincingly, "Oh, that's..great.." And remember to be kind, because bringing joy to the world and love and friendship to your colleagues is what the true spirit of the season is about.

Plus you have to work with these people every day. At least until someone hands one of you a real pink slip.

Powering down

In an ad agency - excuse me, I mean a fully integrated, digitally progressive, socially engaged, experientially driven, disruption oriented, communications consortium - it's not hard to tell when the holiday season finally arrives. The telltale signs are all around you.

Like the fake Christmas tree in the lobby, the one that's been dragged out of storage and decorated with the same ornaments since 1979.

Emotionally-arrested frat-boy account guys, giggling like baby hyenas and tucking mistletoe in their belts, like they're the first ones ever to do it.

People trampling each other for restroom stalls like it was Black Friday, so they can change before heading out to the debauchery, free bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres, open bar and regret-filled morning after that is every agency Christmas party.

But before any of that happens you can see Santa coming to town weeks ahead of time. The agency starts to power down.

Suddenly, attention spans are even less than they normally are. Lunches are longer, because they include shopping time. Starting the first of December, the office begins to thin out as vacations of various lengths start kicking in.

Client meetings get pushed back. You hear a lot of people ask, "What's the difference between getting it to the client the end of the month or the beginning of January? They won't even be there !" Well, you hear me asking.

Laughter happens more often, shop talk happens less often, and there's food and candy everywhere you turn. Which is great, because I was just thinking I wasn't fat enough yet.

If you listen you can hear the agency gears slowly grinding to a halt. It's as if all the hard work, late hours, frustrations, bad client decisions, disappointments, long meetings, pitches, revisions, bad hires and do-overs of the past twelve months have finally caught up with everyone.

And now, as the year comes to a close, they have a chance to finally catch their breath.

One of the great benefits of agency life I wrote about here is the fact many of them close from Christmas Eve day to the first Monday after January 1st. In an age of no bonuses, open offices (don't get me started) and uncovered parking, it's one of the last remaining perks to look forward to.

I'd write more but, you know, it's December. I'm ready to do a little powering down of my own.

Are you available the 25th?

Here's what you need to know about Santa Geoff. His dreams have come true. It says so right there in the small print.

"Since he was a boy, Santa Geoff has dreamed of delivering presents to all the good boys and girls around the world."

I'm a big believer in dreams coming true. Good for Santa Geoff. Because it's something he's always wanted to do, I'm sure he makes an extra effort to do the job as well as he can. No threadbare spots on the red velvet. No matting in the beard. No twinkle only in one eye. This is a man who's literally living the dream.

"Santa Geoff is accredited by the Professional Santa School..."

It's the difference between a handyman and a licensed contractor. An amateur and a professional. A Santa who's been to the professional Santa school (apparently there is one) and all the others. I imagine it's a rigorous curriculum of HoHo'ing 101, Chimney Diving, Reindeer Veterinary Care and Advanced Gift Wrapping. They also offer Beginning Sleigh Repair & Maintenance, but I think that's an elective. Anyway, somewhere at the North Pole there's a degree with his name on it, and that's good enough for me.

"...and has undergone a full background check so you can feel confident that Santa Geoff is the best Santa for the job."

Background checks are a good thing - especially when it comes to fat strangers in red suits who may at some point have your child on his lap. Besides things like drug abuse and a prison record, I wonder what else comes up in a Santa background check. Hosting back room reindeer fighting with Michael Vick? Loitering at Christmas tree lots? Listing Bad Santa as his favorite movie? By the way, the last one would be enough for me to hire him.

"Always cheerful and jolly, Santa Geoff loves being Santa and is dedicated to being the best Santa Claus possible and making every event memorable for both children and adults! Just ask Santa Geoff how to make your experience even more unique."

Clearly, Santa Geoff is going to do his gosh darn best to make your holiday event merry. The part that concerns me is asking him how to make it even more unique. Frankly, it conjures up some fairly un-Christmas-y naughty and not-so-nice images. It also brings a whole new meaning to "decking the halls."

Anyway, if you need a Santa - and really, who among us doesn't - it seems like you could do a lot worse than Santa Geoff. Plus as you can see by the area code, he works in Orange County.

Although I think we all know that's not the home office.

T'was the day after Christmas

T’was the day after Christmas and all through the house
Gifts were scattered - a book, a toy, a blouse
The socks that were hung by the chimney with care
Are gone now as if they’d never been there

The family was here, there are telltale signs
Wrapping paper everywhere with Christmas designs
Some gifts were great ones, some not so much
Trinkets, knick-knacks, re-gifts and such

When the family wakes up, there’ll be such a clatter
But the day after Christmas it just won’t matter
They’ll stumble to the living room and look at the tree
But without all the presents it’s not much to see

Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen
Can start on the sleigh, it needs some fixin’
For next year will be here before they know it
And with so much to give, they don’t want to blow it

For breakfast there’s always cookies and cake
Leftovers are ready, we don’t have to bake
We’ll just stuff our faces like the holiday’s not over
Then after we’ll sit and feel bad about ourselves and wish we hadn’t and wonder what the hell we were thinking.

Christmas lights

They say the two happiest days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you get rid of it. I think the same can be said for Christmas trees. I know what you're thinking. Why's the Jewboy talking about buying Christmas trees?

I'll tell you why.

For starters, I love the trees. The fresh scents, the lights, the decorations. I also happen to be married to a woman who isn't a member of the tribe, so Christmas has always been the big December holiday in our house for as long as I can remember. And not to advance any stereotypes here, but I'm pretty good at math. 8 days of Hanukkah, 12 days of Christmas.

After four years of Hebrew school, a bar mitzvah and dating enough Jewish girls who made "till death do us part" sound more like a goal than a vow, I decided to opt in for a holiday a little more festive than what I'd grown up with, even if the point of the celebration wasn't exactly in my wheelhouse (although He was a member of the tribe, just saying).

Plus why would I limit myself to just blue and white lights when I can have so many different colors?

Anyway, every year we go to Brita's nursery in Seal Beach, and re-enact Goldilocks & The Three Bears as we pick out our perfect tree. "This one's too small." "This one's too large." "This one's just right."

But the secret about Christmas trees is that the exact moment it's up, decorated and ready to be enjoyed is the exact moment my 6000-year (5775 to be exact) history of worrying kicks in.

Has the tree been watered? Is it taking the water? Are the pine needles dry? Why is it dropping so many? Did we turn off the tree lights when we left? Is it going to go up in flames and take the house with it? And can the presents be saved if it does?

After a minute of standing back and admiring it, the moment has passed, my mind is spinning and I can't wait until it's out of the house (which is also how I felt about my high school girlfriend).

Every day we have to vacuum the needles that've dropped so the puppy doesn't eat them. Suddenly, what started out as a joy and spirit-lifting visage has become something I can't wait to get rid of (girlfriend joke again).

Sometime after New Year's, long after everyone else has taken their tree down, we'll finally get around to putting the hand-made, antique, mercury glass, Salzburg-bought decorations away, then kick the tree to the curb for the recycling truck to come take it.

It's sad thinking about something that brought me so much joy - although briefly - being gone so suddenly. To snap myself out of it, I just do what I did when it first got here. Stand back, look where it stood and admire the pure beauty and joy of what I see.

All the living room space I get back.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas - Revision 5

‘Twas the night before Christmas in the agency halls
Not a planner was stirring, there were no client calls
The glasses were hung by the conference room with care
In hopes the Christmas party would soon begin there

Creative directors nestled with campaigns that were dead
While visions of One Show Awards danced in their head
They’d talk of production and work they had done
It was true this year’s party would be nothing but fun

When out in the lobby there rose such a clatter
I sprang from the status meeting to see what was the matter
Was it the new intern wearing an Urban Outfitters jacket
What could possibly be making all of that racket

With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
Let’s go in the kitchen and see what they’re fixen!
To the corner office and just down the hall
They found trays of hors de oeuvres and ate them all!

The staff would look forward to the holiday bonus
Saying "as hard as we’ve worked of course they would owe us"
The general manager spoke, it was quite a summit
He told us all how profits had started to plummet

Cutbacks, downsizing, raise-freezes, client losses
He would if he could, but not so the bosses
He charted the bonus with marker not chalk
He wrote on the white board “That’s just crazy talk.”

They showed the work that’d been done all through the year
But with no bonuses the staff was not of good cheer
Sure there was music and dancing for those who were able
Even some shenanigans on the conference room table

Soon it was over, soon it was gone
All the carrying they’d planned had been carried on
The party was finished, the tinsel unhung
The songs they were singing had all been sung

After bad luck like this, what else could they add
It was Christmas, and really, things weren’t that bad
Until he exclaimed as his limo drove out of sight
Happy pink slip to all, and to all a good night!

Heaving her Christmas cookies

I can hear the season laughing at me, and it sounds like Ho Ho Ho.

Until now, this Christmas seemed to be shaping up nicely. It wasn't nearly as hectic as ones in the past. The lights were up in time. We found everything we wanted shopping wise. And it all managed to get here in time.

We still haven't gotten Christmas cards out, but the bright side is now they'll turn into New Year's cards. Yet another Christmas miracle.

We were going to have family over to our house on Christmas Eve, then visit more family on Christmas day. It was shaping up to be a Christmas full of fun, merriment, egg nog and family. And lots of bourbon in the egg nog.

That was right up until my daughter, through no fault of her own, started heaving her own cookies when we got home today.

She'd been complaining of a bad tummy all day, but she has that every once in awhile and it usually passes and then we move on to more important things- like what's for dessert.

She was a trooper today in spite of feeling bad. I took her to our dentist in Santa Monica and had her teeth cleaned (something she might be needing again). We had lunch at The Counter, although she really didn't have much appetite.

But once we were home, she asked for the bucket and started spreading a little Christmas cheer of her own into it. Very thankful her aim is true.

So it looks like our Christmas plans are in a holding pattern until we see if she's feeling better.

But as Christmas' go, sitting on the couch with my girly next to me, looking at our beautiful tree and watching tired Christmas movies isn't a bad deal.

The bad deal is having to empty the bucket.

Dr. Sarah

The Christmas season brings many things with it, not the least of which is Christmas handbell concerts. So tonight, I was at the third handbell concert for my daughter's high school, because my daughter is in the handbell choir.

But let me paraphrase a question: why is this handbell night different from all others?

The answer is because my daughter, whom shall be known from this night forward as Dr. Sarah, sprang into action.

I'm going to be completely impartial here, but as I was watching my beautiful, poised, talented, smiling daughter play the first song in the set, I along with the rest of the parents in the audience noticed Kaitlyn, the girl playing handbells next to her, was very suddenly in a great deal of distress. She stopped playing, was very disoriented, was trying to find some direction to walk in, the color drained from her face, she couldn't focus on any one thing and she was clearly about to faint.

Dr. Sarah sprang into action. She grabbed Kaitlyn, held her both up and still, speaking comforting words to her while Kaitlyn's father quickly ran up from the audience, scooped up his little girl and took her outside.

The concert continued, but as you might imagine in a room full of parents, most of whom have known these kids since kindergarten, they were very concerned with Kaitlyn's condition even as they listened to the music.

After the handbell choir, the high school orchestra took the stage. But before they begain playing, the teacher/conductor made an announcement that Kaitlyn was okay.

The roomful of parents erupted into relieved applause.

Afterwards, Dr. Sarah told me that Kaitlyn had fallen off the stage before the performance, and came down particularly hard on her ankle. She either severely sprained or possibly even fractured it. What looked like dehydration or the onset of the flu from where we were sitting was actually shock, her body finally surrendering to the pain of the fall.

Thanks to Dr. Sarah and her cat-like reflexes, Kaitlyn didn't fall and risk even worse injury. Thank to her compassionate words, Kaitlyn didn't spiral into any more of a panic than she was already in.

I'm proud of my daughter for the musician she is.

But that's nothing compared to how proud I am for the caring person she's become.

Rein it in

It's that time of year again. Actually it's been that time of year since before Halloween.

Every Christmas season, the assault on our senses begins - bad commercials blaring out of the television and radio, all touting money-saving Christmas sales. Plastic Christmas trees at Costco. Indifferent, tired Santas at the malls. Salvation Army troops ringing that damn bell at me on every corner. Crowds at the post office. Another Mariah Carey Christmas album.

But I manage to take most of it in stride, and in fact even enjoy some of it. Whether it's despite of it or because of it, I usually find some way to get into the true spirit of the season.

However there is one pet peeve I have about Christmas: car antlers.

Granted, it's a seasonal pet peeve, but still. For some reason I don't think it's saying what the drivers of these oversized clown cars think it's saying.

As a rule you don't see this Christmas car decor on more upscale models. So Mr. PT Cruiser and Mrs. Hyundai Accent, I'm sorry you have to hear it this way, but you already look foolish enough without the antlers. Or the nose. Or the wreath on the grill.

Here's an idea: instead of spending the money on car decorations, spend it on gas and drive over to a nearby neighborhood that has a Christmas Tree Lane. You know, one where each house tries to outdo the next. Oooh and aahhh at the bright, colorful decorations.

Then drive home, secure in the knowledge that other Christmas revelers are laughing with you instead of at you.

Once you've come to your senses about decorating your car, if the urge to decorate something is still so overwhelming and you know resistance will be futile, may I suggest adding more lights to the tree.

Or the chimney.

Perhaps a few more ornaments on the mantle.

Or more stockings.

The point is, let's get the thought of putting antlers on something out of your head

Before you do something you know you'll regret.

Take the week off

It's been twelve days since I've posted on here, but I figured that fit right in with the season: twelfth month of the year, twelve days of Christmas. You see where I'm going here.

Now you might be thinking I've simply been too lazy to think of anything worthwhile to write about, but that's not it at all.

Actually I was out shopping for your gift, you know, that thing you told me you wanted way back in summer.

Im not saying that to make you feel bad for thinking I was lazy (but you do don't you? Ha, it worked!)

At any rate it certainly wasn't because I was busy working. In fact, almost everyone who works at an agency wasn't busy working. Every year, the Christmas spirit takes over agencies right after Thanksgiving, kicks in to high gear at Christmas parties in early December and reaches its peak the Friday before Christmas.

That's because while bonuses, flying first class, five-star hotels and expensing lunch has become mostly a thing of the past, one perk of agency life that's still around is the extra paid week off between Christmas and New Year's.

I'd like to report that it's out of the goodness of their hearts these multi-conglomerate global holding companies decide to give employees the week off. But it's more the fact that all the clients are gone for the holidays, nothing gets done or approved anyway and management wants the week off for themselves.

Still - and freelancers appreciate this more than most - a paid week off is a good thing no matter what the reason.

So, while I've had a self-imposed twelve days off from posting already, most likely I'll be giving myself this coming week off in solidarity with my on-staff comrades. In that time, I hope to write down the ideas as they occur, and have plenty of new posts ready for you in the coming year.

Have yourself a Merry Christmas, and a safe and sane New Year.

See you on the other side.

Those three little words

Nothing says Merry Christmas like the subject of poop.

Ever since my daughter was a little girl, we've had our own father/daughter jokes between us. They often send us into hysterics, while innocent bystanders wonder what time we'll be taking our medicine. Some of them are quite funny and tasteful, perfectly acceptable for telling at the Christmas dinner with family gathered all around.

Some not so much.

There's really no way to explain this gift she got me for Christmas without getting into way more detail than I'm sure any of you want or need to know. Suffice it to say I laughed harder than I have in months when I unwrapped this little gem.

It's an awesome gift, based on a particular joke - one of our less savory ones - that goes way back. Maybe right there is a good place to leave it (figuratively speaking). Except to say that the three little words referred to in the title aren't the ones on the mug.

They're "neat and clean." Enough said.

Uncle Pete

I didn't get to choose my first family. But I did get to choose my second.

And Pete Caubisens, who passed away a few days ago, was a huge part of it.

Many years ago my pal Richard introduced me to a friend of his named Rémi Aubuchon. I knew fairly quickly this Rémi character was going to fast become a new best friend. What I didn't know was how important Remi's family would become in my life. In some ways, with absolutely no disrespect to my own beautiful parents who had their hands more than full with me, Rémi's would often be my family of choice.

Living first in Brentwood then in Santa Monica when we met, I'd always look forward to driving (willing) my orange Super Beetle over the hill to the valley, then up the hill to Remi's house in Woodland Hills. It was always a welcoming, safe place, giving me many things I couldn't get in my own home.

Family, in the bigger sense of the word, was one of them.

Rémi's father Jacques was an accomplished actor. I was a theater arts major. Jacques didn't like flying. At the time I had a huge fear of flying. We'd sit for hours, talking about acting and how flight was still just a theory.

While we're here, one more thing about my major.

My parents were older when they had me, and like many parents of their era they had some old school thinking on what was a real job and what wasn't. Let's just say there wasn't a lot of love in my house for being a theater arts major (they were Jewish - doctor and lawyer were genetically programmed to be at the top of their list).

Where was I? Okay. Rémi's mom Denise, who looks like Ellen Burstyn, was an artistic, warm and welcoming presence. In my eyes she was always accepting and non-judgemental. It was like a breath of fresh air (perhaps I've revealed too much).

I was also close to his sister Danielle (the birthday girl in the picture above), and while his brother Philippe always marched to his own drummer, I constantly enjoyed his company and humor, and always loved hearing his take on things.

It was just good being around them. It felt like what a home should feel like.

Because of how I felt about Rémi's family, and the way I felt about my own at the time, for many years I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas at his house.

On one of those holidays early on, Denise's brother Pete was out from New York. Pete was an attorney for the airlines, so naturally with my fears I had all sorts of questions for him. I'd never met someone who knew so much about wind shear and bird ingestion (not the Thanksgiving kind, the jet engine kind).

Pete and I hit it off right from the get-go. He had a gentle brilliance and a sharp wit about him. He was funny as hell. He was worldly and sophisticated. He had a smile that lit up a room. And a laugh that let you know how much he was enjoying life.

He was New York cool.

I know what you're thinking: that he was also somewhat of a father figure to me. Is it that obvious?

The conversation turned to New York. Pete said I was welcome to stay at his place on the upper east side anytime I wanted. So I took him up on it. I was there about a week, using his place as my base camp.

I remember meeting him for lunch one day. He took me to my first real French restaurant. Escargot, rude waiters, the whole neuf yards. It was awesome.

Afterwards, as we were walking down 5th Avenue, it started to snow. It was the first time in my life I'd ever seen falling snow. It was magical. It's a feeling I'll always associate with Pete.

Time marches on and everyone's life gets busier. And while I talked to Pete less and less over the years, ironically I thought about him more and more.

When Rémi (here with the coolest uncle ever) let me know Pete was gone, he said one of the reasons he wanted me to know was because he knew how much I enjoyed him and his company.

But I don't think he really did. In fact, I don't think I did until I heard he'd died.

I don't know many things for sure, but I do know that Rémi's family, New York and my life are all better for Pete having been a part of them.

The other thing I know is, as of last week, heaven is a much more welcoming place.

Stumped again

To paraphrase Joyce Kilmer:

I think that I shall never see

A poem as lovely as my neighbors trash cans

In front of my tree.

Yes, (sigh), those neighbors. There's no reason they can't put their trash cans in front of their house, or for that matter any other house but mine. But then they wouldn't get to annoy the living piss out of me once a week. And what fun would that be.

However as of today, they'll have to find another landmark to situate their cans by.

That beautiful tree in front of my house - the picture doesn't do it justice - has been dying for a long, long time. You can't see the top of it here, but half of it had no leaves, and there was this very unpleasant fungus growing around the bottom.

And I think we all know how painful that can be.

Since it's on our parkway, we called the city to come out and have a look at it. Before the city arborist even closed the door getting out of his car, he said, "Oh yeah, that one's dead. It's gotta come out."

So as of a couple days ago, the tree leaves at the top that we've peered out at for over 13 years through the transom windows in our bedroom are gone.

All that's left is the stump, which the city will come back and grind down in a couple weeks.

Our homeowner's association, which I've dealt with several times (don't get me started), has a rule: if a tree comes out, the homeowner replaces it.

So that's what we'll do. In fact, we've already chosen the variety of tree we want.

It's called a ginkgo. Our neighbor across the street has one in front of his house. Every fall when the kids were younger, we'd take our Christmas card picture with them playing in the yellow leaves that dropped from it around November.

It's a gorgeous tree.

Of course, it'll be a few years before it's filled in and mature enough to start dropping leaves. But once it is, it'll be magnificent.

With or without trash cans in front of it.