Emotional energy conservation

In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of an energy crisis. Not the one involving Saudi oil barrels. Or the Texas power grid. I’m not talking about the reduction in natural gas production. Also not preaching about greenhouse gas emissions.

I’m talking about the emotional energy crisis.

Maybe it’s just me, because a lot of times it is, but there are just too many things being thrown at me on a daily basis that, for some reason, I’m supposed to care about. It’s a never-ending news cycle in the loosest sense of the word "news."

There are of course more than enough legitimate issues we should all be concerned about:

The war in Ukraine.

The next covid variant.

The national debt.

The fact congress is being held hostage by spineless, right-wing, Trump-loving, racist, conspiracy theory loving, power hungry liars and seditionists more concerned with conducting revenge hearings against imaginary wrongs than actually governing.

I can’t even.

Then there’s the ever increasing, never ending tidal wave of stories about things I couldn’t care about if I tried, but for some reason algorithms deem worthy of being served up to me as if they mattered. And as if I cared. A few examples of “news” from today alone:

Michael Strahan Poses for Rare Photo With Girlfriend at Hollywood Walk of Fame Ceremony

Ashley Graham Shows Off 'Ripped' Gym Session Photo With Husband

See David Foster and Katharine McPhee’s Toddler’s Amazing Drum Solo

Justin Bieber sells his music catalog

Shailene Woodley opens up about Aaron Rodgers relationship

Kylie Jenner reveals son’s name and how to pronounce it

New pill treats diabetic cats without daily insulin shots

Vanna White Distracts ‘Wheel of Fortune’ Viewers With Another Bold Outfit

J.Lo and Ben Affleck Reunite with Jennifer Garner for Family Event

Alright, full disclosure—I’m a little worried about Jennifer Garner. She shouldn’t have to put up with that crap. But everything else, nope.

I only have so much emotional energy to spend, and last I looked the emotional energy filling station was closed. So I suppose the only answer is to try and shut out the noise and focus on the things that really matter.

Now if I could just stop thinking about how much those cats were paying for insulin.

The recline of western civilization

Who says there are no surprises left? I can't even believe I'm saying this, but I want one.

First of all, it's a chair that's named after me: La-Z-Boy. BAM! Thanks, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress.

Actually here's what happened. My mother-in-law desperately wanted a recliner so she could fall asleep comfortably while watching either golf or Wheel of Fortune. In a completely unselfish act of kindness and a blatant attempt to score marriage points, I told her I'd be happy to take her recliner shopping. I promptly proceeded to put it off for weeks, but we finally went this past weekend.

I'll swear I heard the angel's choir as I opened the showroom door.

Entering the store was like walking into a room filled with clouds I could just float away on. Seriously, I must've tried at least fifteen more chairs than she did. Granted she's 92-years old, but I don't know how you can resist those chairs.

And just so you know, these aren't your father's recliners. They have power everything. They're heated. They give you a relaxing massage. And that's just the salesperson! (You've been a great crowd...)

My mother-in-law finally landed on a nice burgundy number that'll look just swell in her room. So basically she's about 6-8 weeks out from me visiting her a lot more often.

In a conversation with the wife I casually brought up the idea of getting a recliner. She casually brought up the idea of me getting a second wife.

So for now, I'll just have to be content to fall asleep in our comfy reading chairs, neither of which have a footrest or recline. But don't worry. I have a choose-the-lesser-evil strategy to get what I want, and I'll be taking a second run at the wife soon.

I don't want to give everything away here, but let's just say it involves the word "minivan".

Wheel Of B-O-R-E-D-O-M

I once told my son I couldn’t imagine a more boring television host than Nick Lachey on The Sing-Off. He took a beat, then said, “Carson Daly.”

He was right of course. But if he said that today, I’d come back with “Pat Sajak.”

A few of you may remember from this post that my mother-in-law, Grandma to the kids, fell at our house, broke her arm and had to have surgery. That was back around October 19th. Since she got out of the hospital she’s been staying with us.

Seems one of the routines we’ve fallen (see what I did there?) into has been following up Jeopardy, which we always watch, with WOF, which we never watched until Grandma was invited to use our couch for a bed for a few weeks. It always reminds me of the old joke that Vanna White is so stupid they have to light the letters so she knows which ones to turn.

But just a few viewings tell you that's the least of this show’s problems.

Let’s start here – apparently the contestants are coached to ar-tic-u-late every word in the answers clearly, distinctly and loudly.

You know, the way people talk in the real world.

Sajak always saunters over to them in his neutral color suit that totally clashes with his spray tan, makes some lame joke in a voice that has no modulation or energy, and then has some excruciatingly awful jokey exchange with the announcer before prizes that the contestants are playing for are announced.

It should replace waterboarding at Gitmo.

Here’s the thing that probably makes it even more unbearable: Grandma is a little hard of hearing, so the volume has to be up. Way up. Hear it from down the block up.

I’m trying to stay social given the circumstances, but I’m finding it too much to take. I wind up doing exactly what I tell my kids not to do: going in my room, closing the door and shutting out the world.

Or at least lowering the volume on it.