Christmas past

As you may know if you follow this blog, and if you do maybe it's time to stop reading and seek gainful employment, we've recently finished a major kitchen remodel. The kind that makes me wonder how we lived with the old, small, inefficient kitchen so long. The kind that makes me wonder how many lifetimes I'll need to pay for it.

In the video above you can see the new peninsula we added. Well, you'd see it if it weren't covered with the mélange of Christmas ornaments that were carefully taken off the tree, and are now waiting to be boxed up and shoved back on the top shelf of the garage where they'll live until next year, neighbor to the Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations.

It's a lot of ornaments. But it was a big tree.

As I've written about here, I have mixed feelings about packing up the holiday. I like the joy and spirit of the season, but then I can only take so much joy and spirit. It's a short ride from "Merry Christmas" to "Bah-humbug."

The good news is every time this ritual is officially over, I feel like the slate is clean once again and I can start the new year in earnest, breaking resolutions then promising to start them for real the following week.

The beauty of it is I only have to do this fifty times. Then it's Christmas all over again.

Everyone in the pool

You cannot win if you do not play.

As a former lottery winner—you heard me—I know the thrill of realizing you've won. And while my winnings were enough to get me into a new 1986 Toyota Supra, they weren't quite enough to make the kind of life-changing moves a bigger jackpot would've allowed.

I'm hoping that all changes tonight.

Tonight's Powerball drawing is up to $460 million as of this writing, and will probably go higher as it gets closer to it.

Now, as anyone who knows me will tell you, the very last thing I'd ever describe myself as is a team player. But for tonight at least, I'm going to be the best team player ever.

The group of mostly fabulous people I work with—you know who you are—and myself have a lottery pool going for tonight's drawing. It was a $4 buy in, and we managed to pony up enough to buy 63 tickets.

The team player part? I'm rooting for the team. In fact, I may be its biggest cheerleader.

As we all spend the afternoon sitting around contemplating what we'll do with our winnings, I'd like to say it's been great working with all of you. I know there are a few responsible, forward thinking individuals who will, in a fit of common sense and an eye towards the future, squirrel their winnings away in a low interest yielding account somewhere, while they continue to do God's work selling luxury automobiles to people with a FICO score of 750 or higher.

As for me, Harvard University School of Engineering has yet to create a device able to measure exactly how fast I'd be out of here.

So from me to the team, good luck to all of us.

And if for some reason we don't win, the MegaMillions drawing is Friday.

Down the Hatch

Orrin "Hey you kids get off my lawn!" Hatch, Utah senator for the last 1500 years, handed in his resignation from the senate today. Well, he didn't so much hand it in as cash out. As one of the liar-in-chief's main sycophants, and a major advocate, proponent and beneficiary of the recently passed billionaire tax break, Hatch stands to increase his already formidable wealth in a big way.

So as the superhero, which he is most definitely not, always says, "My job here is done."

Not a minute too soon.

The good news is with Hatch leaving the senate, the road is cleared for Mitt Romney to replace him. Now, in the past I've been somewhat harsh on old Mitt. But in light of the last election, and the dipshit currently destroying our country, democracy and every good, decent, compassionate social program and progress of the last fifty years, I'm reconsidering him in a whole new light.

And frankly, he may be more man than I initially thought (look closely—see what I did there?)

Utah isn't going to elect a democrat. It's just not going to happen. But Romney may be the next best thing, having said this about Trump:

"Here's what I know: Donald Trump is a phony, a fraud. His promises are as worthless as a degree from Trump University. He's playing members of the American public for suckers: He gets a free ride to the White House, and all we get is a lousy hat."

But wait, there's more.

"Dishonesty is Donald Trump's hallmark."

Spoken like, well, like anyone who's listened to the fake president talk for more than a minute.

I applaud Romney's take down, assessment and honest opinion of Trump. And short of a democrat getting elected (although Doug Jones in Alabama shows miracles can happen), I support Romney and hope he has the cajones to stand his ground once he's in the senate.

What makes me optimistic, a word I haven't used since January 20, 2017, is that Romney is already a billionaire. He can't be bought. And he's a strict Mormon. So I'm guessing there's not much chance he can be blackmailed (for reference see Lindsey Graham).

Although not fast enough, the midterms will eventually get here. Hopefully with them comes the sinking of this ship of fools controlling the government.

Don't let the door hit you on the way out. Goodbye Orrin Hatch.

And good riddance.

Not a keeper

The first post is about the last year. Ironic ain't it?

So here's the thing. When it comes to the promises I made on our last trip around the sun, I'm a lot like the road to hell—I'm paved with good intentions. Alright, so maybe analogies aren't my metier (look it up), but you see where I'm going.

I made a lot of promises in 2017, some spur of the moment without much thought—you know, the same way I approach my career path (rolling eyes at the word "career")—some to you and even more to myself that despite the best intentions, well, we've already covered that.

For example, this one that would've made your Christmas shopping infinitely easier when it came to stocking stuffers. Or this one, where I vowed to be more disciplined and prolific with my blog postings (stops to laugh hysterically at the thought of being disciplined). But not as prolific as Round Seventeen because, frankly, my Crank-O-Meter doesn't go to eleven. And I'd rather read his posts than write my own.

Besides making gift buying easier and giving you more posts to avoid reading, I also made several promises to myself which I've broken like a fine china vase on a sitcom.

"Whatever you do Joey, don't touch the vase!"

"What, do you think I'm stupid? Of course I'm not gonna touch the vase."

SFX: Vase crashing to pieces on the floor.

Laughter and applause. Freeze frame. Roll credits.

Some are the same promises I've made before like losing weight, changing my style (which would involve actually having one), opening the folder marked Jeff's ideas and following through on some of them, any of them, one of them (yes Cameron Y., that includes the one marked "Screenplay ideas").

Those are the actionable, external promises. There are also the internal efforts that met with mixed success.

Cutting people some slack and realizing everyone's not going to do it my way or on my timetable, although for the love of God I still have no idea why not (only child, does it show?).

Following Elvis Costello's advice about trying to be more amused than disgusted at what's going on around me.

Sticking to the golden rule, no matter how hard someone is making it to do.

Not taking any of it personally, although I have to say I'm actually pretty good at that one.

Got a little heavy on you there didn't I? (Insert diet joke here). Yeah I know, I didn't see it coming either.

Anyway, all of this to say my promise to me and you for 2018 is to do better at keeping promises I make, and not make ones I can't keep.

This year, it's like Jules said in Pulp Fiction: "I'm trying Ringo. I'm trying real hard..."

The bore is strong with this one

SPOILER ALERT: Ok, I'm required by blogging law to let you know I'll be talking, actually writing (if you can call this writing) about things that happen in the newest Star Wars installment, The Last Jedi. If you don't want to know about them, you might want to skip this post, you know, the same way you blow by most of the other ones.

The fact the Star Wars mythology and its characters are all some people live and breath has not escaped me. In fact, I appreciate and understand it. When it comes to being compulsive about things, we're all on this bus together (for reference, look up posts on Springsteen, Breaking Bad and sushi). So agree or disagree, I fully expect there'll be a lot of blowback. I can take it. And besides, the comments are moderated. Just like Trump's EPA, you don't get to use all your words here.

Alright, you've been warned. Which is more than I was before I walked into the theater. Perhaps I've tipped my hand.

Here we go.

I don't know why, but my son, along with several friends of mine, were somewhat perplexed at the fact I didn't rush out to see Star Wars: The Last Jedi on opening weekend. What can I tell you? On the list of things I had to do for the holidays, it wasn't at the top. But I did get there today, and I left the theater with a few questions.

First and foremost, at what point do the Star Wars movies become parodies of themselves? Answer: this one. It's like that holiday recipe you have every year. You know it's coming, and exactly what to expect. Start with the "long time ago in a galaxy far, far way..." line, a crawl explaining the story you're about to see so you know what you're seeing, add a cup of Skywalker legend, mix in a smattering of Storm Troopers, add a pinch of rebellion, some force whammy-jammy, a surprise appearance for absolutely no reason of a Jedi Master (guess which one you will), nervous, chatty droids, double-bladed lightsabers, a new character for no reason other than they'll sell plenty of plush-toy versions of it next Christmas, a couple cameos from serious actors who don't usually do "these kinds of films", lots of talk about the First Order and Supreme Leader, TIE fighters, X-wing fighters and a casino scene reminiscent of the bar scene in the original film.

Mix thoroughly for two and half hours, and it's done. Just like last year's movie. Just like next year's.

Here's another question: how tall is Oscar Isaac? The Google says he's 5'9", but if that's true it doesn't show on screen. He's supposed to be the next generation Han surrogate, cracking wise, looking handsome and mad pilot skills. But to me all he looks is short. Don't get me wrong, I like Oscar Isaac. I just think in a world of 7' tall wookies and a 6'2" Kylo Ren, maybe taller might've been a way to go.

When did Luke become a stand up comic? The Last Jedi is funny in the way the Terminator movies are funny. There are laugh lines written in, and Luke has a lot of them. Many of them stick the landing, but they also break the tone of the film.

Speaking of the tone of the film, what is it? Serious? Funny? Suspenseful? Is it a love story? A story of redemption? Luke is always tearing up in the close ups, which makes me think he has some issues he's not dealing with—besides that whole father thing and kissing his sister a few films back. Will or won't Kylo Ren and Rey start dating?

Then there's just the overwhelming sadness of Carrie Fisher. Like in the last film, she seems to be in a somewhat enhanced state, giving all her lines a neutral, relatively even, emotionless read. Still, she is the one character you care about, not because of the film but because of real life. There is a moving exchange between Luke and Leia near the end of the movie that takes on much more poignancy in light of her passing.

Why the hell is Adam Driver yelling through the whole thing? What's with the shirtless scene? Never mind, I know.

Why is Snokes chamber a bare stage with a seamless lit in red? My guess is the budget went to the effects, and by the time they shot those scenes that's all they could afford. Seriously, you can see where the curtain hits the stage floor.

Who am I supposed to care about? I suppose the answer would be everyone, but that would be wishful thinking in the extreme. I cared about Rey a bit. I was invested in Luke for a while. Didn't care much about any other characters. Film after film, they're not really growing or doing anything different. Can't mess with the recipe.

Did I mention two and a half hours? The last thirty or forty minutes aren't bad, but the two hours before that are slow. Really slow. The opposite of hyper speed slow.

The movie crawls to its end, only to have us discover what we already knew since The Force Awakens—that Luke is in fact not the last Jedi.

At least not as long as Disney keeps making billions cranking them out.

Christmas, November 2018

I know it's Christmas Eve day right now. But for me, the truth of the matter is no present I get tomorrow morning is going to be better than the one I'm expecting next November. And by the way, it's not just a present for me—it's for the world.

My hope is that the November midterm elections will restore control of the house and senate to the Democrats. Then, from net neutrality to tax cuts for billionaires to eliminating environmental controls to reducing liability for banks to the war on women, gays, minorities, immigrants, Muslims and many, many more, they can start systematically reversing every single awful, destructive, uninformed, self-serving, racist, oppressive, shitty decision the current liar-in-chief and Russian operative has made.

And they can do it the same systematic way he's tried to undo every good thing his predecessor (are you sure he can't run for a third term?) did.

While Republican dipshits who voted for a tax code that lines their pockets at the expense of the middle class will have long cashed out by then, despite what you've heard about those cuts being permanent they're not. It's only legislation, and fortunately, with the right people in office it can all be reversed with the stroke of a pen.

So, a merry Christmas to all today and tomorrow. But my hope is the real present is coming next November, which should also make it a happy new year for all.

Until then, please accept this as my little (emphasis on "little") gift to you. It's sung to the tune of Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. Please to enjoy.

You better watch out

You better not cry

Better not pout

I'm telling you why

Democrats are coming to town

They're making a list

And checking it twice

They already know who's naughty and nice

Democrats are coming to town

They'll start impeachment proceedings

Like all polls say they should

They'll re-write executive orders

So they'll actually do some good

You better watch out

You better not cry

Better not pout

We're not gonna die

Democrats are coming to town

School lunch programs will be funded

Infrastructure will improve

Obamacare will save thousands of lives

Even though Republicans disapprove

They'll be draining the swamp

For real this time

Immigrants won't have any

Stupid walls to climb

Democrats are coming to town

Democrats are coming to town

Democrats are coming to town

Cutting the cards

It's that time of year again.

The one where I'm making last minute runs to the post office for stamps, and can't stop thinking about that Seinfeld episode where George's fiancé dies from licking envelopes.

What you're looking at is this year's crop of Christmas cards. Maybe some of you loyal readers (stops to laugh for thinking anyone's loyal, or for that matter that I have readers) will be receiving one of your own in the mail. The thing is, I can't guarantee that.

There's a master list of friends and family we send cards to. But from year to year, through a series of seemingly and sometimes actually random criteria, people get added and subtracted from the list. It's like getting a home loan, a job, knowing how planes fly or bread rises. You're never exactly sure how it happens, you just know that it does.

Then there's the picture. For years the cards have had a shot of the kids, or what used to be the kids. Now they're like our kids, except bigger and older. And they're not exactly fond of having to sit for the Christmas card picture. Again. They humor us because, after all, there is car insurance, food and college tuition in play. But frankly, they'd rather we just send out cards with a picture of a surfing Santa, a wreath or lights on a tree.

I'm hopeful that doesn't come across in the picture.

Anyway, if you get a card, you're welcome. And if you don't, it's nothing personal. Try to move past the disappointment, enjoy the holiday, have a merry Christmas, and know the odds are 50/50 you'll probably get one from us next year.

Unless you wind up on the naughty list.