Snow and Cold, or a cold.

Lately I’ve been wrestling with a cold, the cold has been winning. But, it is only a matter of time before I gain the upper hand and vanquish the virus or bacteria, or whatever. Or it will change into something worse, maybe pneumonia or bronchitis, and my doctor will have to intercede on my behalf, and together we will win. Or, it will slowly worsen, changing, worsening in imperceptible ways until it consumes me in feverish exhaustion and sends me to live with my ancestors. They probably aren’t all that keen on having me hanging around whining about a minor illness and are overtly rooting for me to make a full recovery.

But, such is the meat of the cold. It isn’t as if you are sick, not really sick, but not really well either. You can’t spend all day in bed. You have to carry on as best you can. 

Today that means shoveling snow. It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. It is over two weeks past Christmas so the timing is a little off. And I have a cold so the timing is terrible. But, I am in the middle of a Fit Bit challenge and am getting my almost sick butt kicked up one side and down the other. So, some time shoveling snow might move me from bottom to middle. Ah, the joys of not being last. 

I am currently 4th out of five people, despite making a trip to the grocery store last night. It is impossible for me to go to the store without making a few side trips. I have to check it out. Who knows what kind of progress they have made in groceries since my last visit. Grocery display technique is a fast moving field, and I refuse to be left behind. Even if I am almost sick, or a little sick, or just a whiny little baby, as has been suggested.

Unfortunately I was too preoccupied to really enjoy my trip to the store. It was cold, snowy and slick, and all I could think about was getting my new car home before some careless, malignant bastard smashed into it.. The streets are filled with cars driven by people on their phone, sending texts, maybe answering an emaill, all just seconds away from sliding into the side of my car. “Be careful,” I want to scream, but they wouldn’t hear anyway. They are too busy.

Colds do have one redeeming feature. “Feed a cold.” It may be an old wive’s tale, but it is gospel to me. Of course, I also believe in feeding a fever, or a sprained ankle, or osteoarthritis. So, I may not be the best source for treatment advice. Unless you are looking for an excuse to have pizza rolls for your breakfast appetizer, and then huevos rancheros for breakfast, with a side of tortilla chips covered in chili and cheese. Then I am a great place for all of your food as over the counter medicine advice.

The Holidays.

There is a lot of riding on Christmas. Financial solvency, sprititual fulfillment, connecting, sharing, expensive, flashy displays of affection, all wrapped in festive paper with a neat bow. It is almost more than one day should have to bear.

I attended a Catholic school. One cold, bleak December day, the halls filled with green and red decorations, trees, bells, big white construction paper snowflakes, all in fevered anticipation of the coming winter break. Our religion teacher, a priest of unusual candor and a refreshing lack of pretense, told us that if you were a Christian, a true believer, the big holiday was Easter, when He died and arose and provided absolution for all of our sins. It was a matter of fact reply to a question I can’t remember. But, in a room full of high schoolers nobody really cared. And, today I don’t really see any proof. 

It was easy to understand his reasoning, then and it is now. But, just like a room full of high schoolers, nobody really cares about which holiday has more profound spiritual overtones. People go crazy for Christmas. Traffic is wild, even grocery shopping takes a sinister turn during the Christmas season. Goodwill towards men is a lovely platitude, but it has no real utility when sour cream is on sale and there are only two left on the shelf. Every man for himself, only the strong survive. We will just see who wants the sour cream more, damnit. Merry Christmas, loser.

Even in high school I was not sure of all the teachings and dogma of a church. As I aged and more of the practices, the real practices, of so many different faiths splashed across headlines and television screens I drifted further from the way. It isn’t that I think religion is bad, I just worry about the people who interpret the meaning. As an explanation for life it is wonderful, not as dramatic as mythology, but just as believable.  

Believing is as individual as gift giving. No matter how you choose to worship, or not worship is ok with me. No matter what you are celebrating this season I am happy for you. I am spending the day with my family, and I will say a silent prayer of thanks, thanks for my family, thanks for the smiles of my sons, which are still immeasurable treasures, thanks for the love and affection of my wife, the greatest gift I have ever received. Thanks for our health, even though one of us is decidedly under the weather. And thanks to anybody who took the time to read this, to you I am particularly grateful.

Happy Holidays to all of you.  

Life Explains Explains the Naughty List

Santa came in low and fast, out of the setting sun. Jingle Bell Rock was blaring from the onboard PA system. Due to the low approach, and the speed of his sleigh, he was almost invisible to our anti-aircraft radar. You could almost sense the ominous echo of the malignant “Ho Ho Ho.” Yes, it was true, we had been moved to the naughty list.

We thought we were ready. But, you are never ready for the naughty list and the potentially explosive retribution of a year of half baked, half hearted, inconsistent debauchery. 

Our forces were arrayed in a defensive perimeter with automatic machine guns in focused on the most likely approaches. Nerves were tight and everybody was tense. People were smoking and vaping out by the wire. It was against the rules, but hey, we were on the naughty list, and the punishment was coming, what was one more indiscretion. 

“Oh crap, he’s coming!” The cry went up from the front line.

Reindeer draped in camouflage, sleigh bells ringing in violent, boundless anger, nostrils flaring, breath streaming in the freezing air. It was him or us. Yes, we hadn’t been that good this year, but we were drawing a line in the snowpack. It was hm or us. 

And really, if he was willing to single out people on some silly list how nice was he? Who gave him the right to make those judgements? When did a person cross the line from nice to naughty? And what about those people who are so nice that they cross the line into irresistible irritant? Aren’t they really naughty? We didn’t know. But, we were going to nail the fat man to the wall and get some answers.

Unfortunately we were not only naughty we were a little cowardly. Our front line broke, running for the cover of the pool tables, a few hiding, whimpering, in tears behind the Christmas tree. Some lay prone on the path, begging for mercy.

Santa pulled up in front of the bunker, stepped down, and looked over the top of his glasses at me, demanded his milk and cookies, told us to straighten up.

“Next year I won’t be so nice.” He said, as he flew out of sight. 

“Well, we really dodged a bullet there, huh?” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “Who’s ready for breakfast?”

Life Explained Explains the War on Christmas, kind of.

Today is December 20th, it is time to for my annual war on Christmas. Yes, I am once again taking up my futile battle with the most excessive of holidays. It is time to rail against the blatant consumerism, wretched scramble for anything to wrap, the insincere mask of the season of giving.

It gives me a headache. Last night when I stopped to buy a six pack of beer and a television dinner there were two Santa's ringing bells at either end of the entry to the grocery store. The one on the southern approach was doing much better. People were dropping clinking piles of change in his little red bucket, 35, 40, 50 cents at a time. Give until it hurts and they have a low threshold for pain.

Northern Santa was not happy, he had three pull tabs from empty cans and 17 cents, so he moved closer. And then a little closer, and then he was standing in the entryway. People were overcome with the spirit of the season, seeing this man in a fake white beard, and a shiny red plastic suit, sweating in the unseasonable warmth, blocking the path into the grocery store. So they turned around and went back to their cars where the guilt and shame was a little more remote and off camera.

Of course the store management was not happy, and asked the offending Santa to move out of the entryway. He did, he moved just south of the southern Santa, where he started raking in the dough, after several minutes he had accumulated almost 90 cents from the dozens of people walking into the store to spend thousands of dollars.

Charity is a zero sum game and this windfall for the new southernmost Santa, formerly the northernmost Santa, (hereafter referred to as Santa A) was an automatic loss for the former southernmost Santa, (henceforth known as Santa B). Santa B (for the sake of brevity let's call him B) moved just a few feet south of Santa A (going forward he will just be A). A was furious.

A moved past B. B began swearing and threatened A with grievous bodily harm.

"Give it your best shot, fat boy." A said, puffing out his chest with the arrogance only a fake beard and a shiny red plastic suit will provide.

They began wrestling rolling on the ground, grunting with exertion, knocking over a display marked "peace on earth" and filled with artificial evergreen wreaths. They wallowed through the fake needles, the sprayed on fragrance covering both of them in a gentle pine scent.

A crowd gathered and bets were placed. A bright young man, who was studying applied business techniques, ran inside and bought candy bars and cold soda and began selling concessions. People were buying the patio furniture that had been marked down to clearance prices early in the fall and lit fires, roasting hot-dogs and marshmallows.

The air was filled with a joy and festivity that was seen nowhere else in the city, nowhere else in the whole country. A and B eventually ran out of air and just stopped, breathing in ragged shallow breaths, laying on the ground, unable to move, they were locked in a warm, almost tender embrace, sweat dripping from the synthetic beards.

The store made a fortune selling everything from fire pits to canned cheese and boxed crackers, the crowd went away happy, the Santa's made a good haul, and the Christmas spirit that was on display was put back in the bottle. People snarled at each other and cursed their fellow man with all the venom of the season, and Christmas was back to normal.

"And I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight..." Well you know the rest.

Dreary Holiday

We, here at Life Explained (#lifeexplained) are sorry to announce suspension of the search for intelligent life in the universe.  While it was an exciting, enlightening chase, paying so many benefits in acquired knowledge, and fascinating, useful discoveries, there are too many potential problems.  Since we felt we were so close it is a particularly bitter decision and one made with solemn consideration.  But, there was little choice, considering the many possible results we have no choice but to deep six the whole idea for a while.

Considering how well everybody in the world is getting along we thought it would be a grand idea to try to find some intelligent life on Earth. We started here, at Life Explained (#lifeexplained). Nothing. There was a brief glimmer of hope, in the kitchen. Turned out to be the toaster. A delightful device. It takes ordinary bread, and makes it warm, crispy and delicious. If you take a little butter and some jam it is almost heavenly.

Nothing here. After breakfast (warm, crispy bread) we tried the local grocery store. It was filled with homicidal people. Shopping cart wars. Every aisle was combat. Jingle bells was barely audible over the screams of rage buy the boxed potatoes. We left. Not only was there no intelligent life it looked as if all life there would be extinguished in less than 20 minutes.

The streets were filled with people carrying bags of presents, wrapped in happy, beautiful colors. Glaring, snarling and looking for a fight.

A man dressed as Santa was ringing a bell and standing beside a bucket, attached to a tripod. "Merry
Christmas," he bellowed.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, kiss my ass." A well dressed, kindly looking old woman said, holding her middle finger as high as her arthritic arm would allow.

We gave up the search for intelligent life, and went looking for a drink, and solitude. Misery may love company, but disappointment likes to drink alone.

Christmas, and the competition is really sizzling.

 It is a sign of the times. There is a show about Christmas light displays. Ostensibly, the most garish, brightest, flashiest celebration of the solemn, profound occasion will win the prize. No, that was just a little joke. It has nothing to do with the birth of a Savior, it is all about Santa Claus, reindeer, and sparkling, glittery snowmen. All synced to a rock and roll beat.

In the first episode the Smiths are doing well, they have 75,000 lights scattered around their house. Santa, 🎅 his sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer perched on the peak of the house, and enough light pollution to call the mother ship here from the Andromeda galaxy. Across town, though, the Ringolds, put Santa, and Frosty on rotating platform, elves twinkling and dancing to Jingle Bell Rock all across the front yard, and fireworks exploding from the chimney🎆 and are looking to grab the lead.

It doesn't look good for the Smiths. Until Mr. Smith's Mother, a kindly, gray octogenarian, with a walker that turns and doubles as a seat, on work release from the Shade of Heaven retirement home, fires a rocket propelled grenade through the living room window. The explosion destroys half of the house, and cuts the power to the carefully placed, meticulously orchestrated lights. And the sound system.

At first the judges are a frozen. But, there was no law against explosive ordnance. There were several provisions for firearms, and light artillery, after the debacle last year with the 75mm mortars, and the raging fire fight in Santa Clara, they had no choice. But, the Smiths had been wise enough to find the loophole. And are now in a solid first place.

Tune in next week when the producers revise the rules. Here is a little spoiler, they forget about tactical nuclear weapons. Say goodbye to Tempe. Including the Phoenix Cardinals, the Suns, and Pizzeria Bianco, which is a real shame.

A Christmas Story goes a little haywire.

"Meanwhile, far away, in another part of the world."

A faint light shone in through the open blinds, not really enough to see anything, just enough to make everything homogeneous and indistinguishable. A grey blanket of bland, dull, lifeless, blah.  The Tooth Fairy had the means to see in low light, a nice pair of night vision goggles* but Central Procurement, Distribution, and Supply was out of batteries, so to make the stupid things last until the next shipment Bob only used them when needed.

Assuming there was enough light Bob would just rough it and look unaided. Most time it works out, tonight it didn't. Bob stepped on a dog's squeaky toy, and a small dog came running out of a room yapping and wagging and wiggling, almost electric with delight.

Right behind the dog a little girl came out rubbing her eyes, "Bolton what are you doing?" She flipped a light switch, and looked at Bob, the Tooth Fairy, who was holding the dog in one hand, yipping, snapping and almost smiling, and the squeaky toy (a rainbow colored raccoon) in the other.

"Hi," the little girl said, "My name is Amanda."

Bob felt awkward, and uncomfortable, this was a violation of the rules, (Page 1, Article 1, Line 1,don't get discovered,). He was not supposed to be discovered. He looked at the girl, and the dog, and the fireplace, and finally the squeaky toy. He sat the dog down and tossed the raccoon towards the kitchen. Bang, the dog was gone like a shot.

Bob thought, in for a dime, in for a dollar, and said, "hi, I'm Bob, the Tooth Fairy." Which was a violation of the rules, (Page 1, Article 1, Line 1a, don't talk to humans).  He was not supposed to talk to humans.

A plan began to swirl, and twist, and turn, and twist some more, and in a flash Bob had a twisted plan, with a tortured end game, setting the world right, for Bob, anyway.

"Amanda, I am so happy to meet you!" Bob, was tall, and Amanda was not, so he had to bend way down to shake her hand." He pulled up an Easy Boy recliner, and touched a few buttons on his phone, and smoke, flash, muffled boom the chair shrunk to Amanda's size.

"Set down, I have a little deal for you. I know the standard practice has been to leave a little coin for an old, discarded tooth, but, working together we can make some changes. If you will give me your tooth, I will give you a partnership in the my new World Government. Would you like that?"

"I guess so," said Amanda, "can I have pop for breakfast?"



* 279.99 at OpticsPlanet.com with free shipping. Mention this blog when you order.

Unfortunately for Eddie, and you, and me our little tale of self discovery, and rebirth has taken an awful turn. Stay tuned, Eddie, and the Extranaturals will need your support.

To Be Continued.

Billy, the god of Christmas Past, part 5 (V if you are from ancient Rome)

Last we saw Eddie and the giant god of Christmas past were strapped into a PT cruiser, rocketing through the ether of a world that exists just to the right of reality. Drinks were jostling and the popcorn and peanut shells were floating up off the floor and dancing around their heads, looking almost alive, and slightly malevolent.

"I tell you, that Tooth Fairy, he is a piece of work. The Easter Bunny had to have a wad of chewing gum cut out of his tail. Oh, sure, nobody saw it happen, but if anybody had a big wad of sugary gum to waste it would be that guy." The god of Christmas Past drained his can and tossed it towards the back. It floated up and bounced gently off Eddie's head.

Eddie swatted at the can, and thought, this is the craziest dream I've ever had. But, the can circled around and hit him in the back of the head, startling him, making him doubt he was in a dream. He looked around, and thought I don't think this is a dream.

"How long have you known the Tooth Fairy?" Eddie asked, realizing how stupid it sounded, even as he said it. In all fairness to Eddie this was an odd situation, even for Thanksgiving.

The god of Christmas Past looked at Eddie, over the top of a pair of waif there is nyfarer sunglasses. "Forever," he said. "Look, we are extranatural beings, we have been here forever, and we will be here forever. Our lives are endless, and beginningless too, when you think about it. So, we go way back.

"His name is Bob, oh you can call me Billy, he used to be tolerable. But, he got that job, and it turned him sour. He started in on the sugar, and caffeine, and cocoa, and salt, he may  have an addictive personality, and it changed him."

Eddie swatted at a piece of popcorn, and a wad of gum, before asking "How many extranatural beings are there?

"Damned if know, there are a bunch, tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, countless monsters under the bed, all kinds of openings, and always enough, but never any extra. Now, it seems like the scale is a little off, too many of us, and more coming."

Tune in tomorrow to discover the secret from Eddie's past, but don't tell anyone, it's a secret.

The Life Explained Christmas Plagiarism Extravaganza Part D.

The god of Christmas Past opened the door, it swung with a complaining squeak, and scrambled out into the empty street, leaving the door hanging in the street. The hood opened as noisily as the door. There was some swearing, some vaporizer smoke, a little more swearing, while the car rocked gently from side to side.

"Hey, man, crank the key, would you?"

Eddie reached over and turned the key, the engine started with a small sigh of acceptance. While the god of Christmas Past was unhooking the portable battery charger a motorcycle  chopped way past the edge of safety, roared past, driving right through the open door, without disturbing the door, the motorcycle or the rider.

"Take that, fatman." the rider screamed as an empty bottle clanged off the hood. Eddie ducked, cringing into the passenger seat.

"I hate this dream," he said, to himself.

Slamming the hood down the god made an obscene gesture to the rider who had disappeared into the night. "I hate that guy," he muttered as he settled into the drivers seat, fastening his shoulder belt, and stowing the charger in the glove box.

"Who was it?" Eddie asked, pretending he had dropped something and was looking diligently for it instead of cowering in fear. While pretending to rummage around he noticed the carpet was filthy, covered in oil spots, with bare patches, and had a few large wads of gum stuck in places.

"The Tooth Fairy, he is all jacked up on sugar soda, and gum. And really steamed because he never gets a night off. I used to have that job, and let me tell you, it sucks, always on call, and since it is always night somewhere you never get a moment's peace. And the price of discarded teeth keeps climbing. But, the resale value is in the dumper, so it is impossible to make a living.

"I wouldn't wish that job on my worst enemy, but I am glad that guy has it, he is dip wad, of unbelievable proportions. I hate that guy. It would be fine if he were transferred to one of Santa's Stable Elves. Shoveling a little reindeer poo would do him some good." Said the god of Christmas past while reaching into the back seat and grabbing an energy drink from cooler.

"Do you want one of these?" He asked, showing Eddie the can, Multi Year Monstrous Energy Drink (for when you are visited by otherworldly beings) Rainbow Flavor the can read. "Regulations say I have to offer you one, and it ain't half bad, maybe three quarters bad," he laughed.

"No, I think I'm going to be sick." Eddie said, trying to wipe the carpet gunk from his hand onto the seat.

"Suit yourself, human," he said, while a giant, slippered foot stomped down on the accelerator, causing the car to rocket into a light filled void that threatened to suck the insides of Eddie's body out through his ears.

A Christmas Tale by Life Explained. Part 1

In the spirit of Christmas we, here at Life Explained OH (LEOHNO) have decided to remake the Christmas Carol. We realize there is no way to improve on the writing of someone so talented, and universally esteemed as Charles Dickens, but what the heck, at least we don't have to come up with our own ideas that way.

This may run into several parts, and it may never end, kind of like the Presidential election cycle. So stay tuned.

A Christmas Carol remake.

Eddie ran a small retail shop. Selling shirts, snacks, drinks, hats, almost anything that didn't require a special license. Except cigarettes, he had a license for that, and made big money selling those. Sometimes he didn't even ask for an ID. Not always, it depended on the balance sheet.

It was a small store, in a big building between two department stores, and a mall. The location was perfect. People would see the signs advertising cheap smokes and $1.00 sunglasses in bright green and red looked almost festive. People would stop in for a bottle of water or a candy

He didn't own it, he just "managed" the shop. It was owned by a huge, soulless conglomerate with clawed, unscrupulous tentacles that ran through the very core of society. Giganticore sold cigarettes, chemotherapy treatments and coffins. They owned ice cream shops, bakeries, and weight watchers. They were everywhere.

And Eddie and the corporation loved Christmas, not the holiday, of course, the profits. 

Eddie hired his Mother, his sister, his brother in law and their daughter to work in the shop, and paid them less than minimum wage, unreported, so he had no withholding taxes, and didn't need to pay overtime. 

Eddie and the corporation loved family. 

On Thanksgiving Eddie made the family come to the shop and set up all the sales, rotate the end caps, change the prices, clean from top to bottom, fold the shirts, dust, mop, sticker, and toil. Then for

Thanksgiving dinner he made TV dinners,in the microwave, at the shop, so they would only have to stop working long enough to enjoy the salty, homogeneous tasting items on the cheap cardboard trays.

Eddie talked, during dinner about the importance of being together for the holidays. "Family is everything," he said holding an orange enchilada drooping over a plastic fork. "If it weren't for family we would be like animals, just walking around without a job, and doing nothing to improve the world. Now let's all get back to work. That shelf looks like Santa dropped a dirt bomb on it."

Eddie and his family toiled long into the cold, bleak night. Making the little shop shine like the Star in the East.

By the time they opened the shop at 4:00 in the morning the sweaty smell of hard labor would be gone.




Tune in tomorrow, for "The gods of Christmas Past visit Eddie in his small apartment" or "Hey, would you keep it down with special effects, we're trying to get some sleep here!"

 Spoiler alert, there will be lightning, thunder, and Eddie will lose a toe nail.

Christmas, Time to Celebrate the Life Explained Way.

We, here at Life Explained, Ohio Office (LE uhoh), have examined the meaning of the holiday season. It is steeped in mystery, and intrigue. Many people feel it is about finding and filling spiritual needs. Others feel it is a time to connect with family, and friends, to strengthen the ties of blood, and affection.  Others, still, feel it is a festive party season, a chance to shower people with love, and presents, and tokens of appreciation.

Turns out it isn't any of that. It was established by the printing industry, in a unique spirit of cooperation with timber harvesting companies as an excuse to generate enormous amounts of catalogs and profits printing sale flyers, toy catalogs, and shopping advertisements. It was a huge success.

Soon retailers jumped on board. It was a great opportunity. In August, at a predetermined time they quietly raised prices to an agreed upon level. Then, when Thanksgiving rolls around they have a "Black Friday Sale." Prices are reduced to, what is known in retail circles as, the "July Level."

Newspaper carriers suffer through the day with sore backs, aching feet, strained shoulders, and thinking "I have nothing to be thankful for, except non steroid anti inflammatory drugs." Kicking off the joyous season, in a realistic way.

Soon the stores are filled with people clutching sale flyers, ads, and lists. There are fights for the big screen televisions caught on security footage. "Merry Christmas, you son of a bitch. Now hand over the high tech sale item before I have to kill you, and have a nice day."

So, to combat this vicious progression, we here at Life Explained Ohio Office (LEHOHOHO) have raised the prices on all of the items on our Gift Shop Website to ridiculous levels. It is your duty to buy several over priced items, and add a nice gratuity, we are doing this for everybody.

On The Lookout

The town got together with Madam Mayor, Ms. Candy Stick and has given me the honor of being the look-out for this years party crashers.  We had an unseasonable amount of rebel rousers last year so look out Christmas merriment parties, we are coming for you.

I am to be provided all the eggnog I can drink, I'll bring a bottle of rum for I also belong to the "Spiked Eggnog Inc." and the things I could tell you from previously crashed parties would curl your hair, but I had to sign a confidential form so if you see me smiling secretly that's why.

I am dressed in my super party crasher fur lined outfit complete with a super spy pair of binoculars. In my ear is a super party crasher ear piece tuned into the sounds of party merriment or the sound of a copy machine going off. We know who you are.

I hear a party. Elf Toes to Rudolph's Nose come in, come in. Sounds of merriment AND a copy machine coming from the corner of Deck The Hall Street. Will meet you all there.

Life Explained, the Christmas Party.

We, here at Life Explained, Ohio Office (LEOhiO) are very excited. It is almost time for our Christmas Party Extraordinaire. Every year it is huge. And we always seem to come up with some great stories.

Six years ago, for example, we used frozen rocks from the surface of Mars for our drinks. Martian Rocks from the surface of Mars for drinks! It was great. Unfortunately all of that talk about Life on Mars turned out to be true. And it turned out to be lying dormant on the surface of the rocks. When exposed to good bourbon it was reinvigorated, grew to human sized proportions, and went on a drunken binge. It destroyed the kitchen, the lunch room, the copier, the microwave and the executive restroom before we managed containment.

We managed it to sell it to the Pentagon for a tidy profit, even after we replaced the bourbon. Last we heard the Martian life form had been promoted to Colonel, and was running a supply base in the Caribbean somewhere. He still sends us Christmas cards.

Then last year Bob, from Acquisitions had too much Pinot Noir, and started to walk around pretending he was a drunk from the past. He put a lamp shade on his head, and paraded around singing what we thought was White Christmas.

But, he forgot to take the lamp out from underneath the lamp shade. The lamp, and base, and lampshade made Bob about 9 foot tall. Our doors are 8 foot high, so when he hit the part of the wall over the door, the glass base exploded, slicing into the electric cord. Sparks were flying everywhere. It set Bob's sweater on fire, and we poured a pitcher of Sangria over the top of him to extinguish the flames. Since he wrapped up in the cord (we are adamant about teaching "stop, drop and roll" before every party) the liquid shorted out the electrical system for the whole building.

When this bought down NORAD, and grounded all of the AWAC planes all over the Northern Hemisphere (don't ask, we are not allowed to tell you) we got a pretty angry call from the Chairman of The Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"Next time you morons have a party and don't tell me you can expect a few party crashers from Seal Team Six." he said. That would be awful, those guys don't know how to mix a drink to save their lives. And forget about having any Nachos, Seals are voracious around cheese covered chips.

Anyway, the party is next week, and we are sending Bob, from HR back in time to get some French wine, and German beer. It will be great.

A Christmas to Remember, until next year.

Oh sure, you think you can quit anytime you want, it is just a social habit. You started small, just giving a few trinkets to friends, and family. Maybe a few small stockings hung with care. Soon, though, you started making cookies, and taking them for co-workers. Then it was fudge, and caramel popcorn, and decorative coffee mugs filled with handmade goodies and lottery tickets.

And now you are hooked, plans are formed as Halloween candy is being purchased. Oh sure the fun sized candy bars are in the basket, but secretly you are planning on Candy Canes, and Eggnog.

Once the pesky trick or treaters have quit you start planning, formulating, scheming. Sure, Thanksgiving is coming, but that is just the opening act of the big play. And this year you are bringing home the Oscar, or Emmy, or Tony or whatever they give for best "Live Production of Christmas Perfection." Because that is what you are pulling off, the perfect Christmas.

People from all over will be talking about the Christmas you are pulling off. That tree is so beautiful it has moved you to tears. And the gifts under it are carefully researched, perfectly appropriate for the recipients. Each is wrapped in coordinated paper, and ribbons, and arranged in a pattern reflecting the golden ratio. Anybody who goes anywhere near them will have to die, horribly.

And Christmas day is choreographed, and meticulously planned right to the very end. It is laid out by the second, from the alarm to the last pitter patter of little feat stumbling tiredly to bed.

Yes, this is going to be the perfect Christmas!  And if you are going to top it next year you had better start now. And it will be spectacular.

A little Holiday Advice, from a Trusted Source.

Thanksgiving is over, thank God, now we can start getting ready for Christmas. Actually it is socially acceptable to begin preparations when Halloween is over. The trick is to blend Thanksgiving and Christmas into one long celebration. It is not a good idea to advertise that kind of thinking. Wiser to just kind of mumble it in. Try "Happy ThanksChristmas, here is my gift list."

Running the words together is your left jab, preoccupying your opponent, putting them off balance, making them doubt what they heard. Before they have time to regroup, question the statement you strike with the right cross! the Christmas List. All they can do is stutter a thank you, and ask what you have planned for the holidays.

Of course it is vital that your list is complete, with a spreadsheet comparing prices, at several stores, with directions to each. Phone numbers, and web site addresses are optional, but it is recommended.

Also, you want to have several lists, with different items, you don't want any of those morons you call friends, or family doubling up on that new Xbox Whatever They Call It.*

It is also important to remember that there are people who want to buy you something but are having a rough time, maybe experiencing a financial setback. Make sure there are plenty of less expensive items on there for those losers too. It is Christmas after all.

Of course, after careful consideration, and a thorough examination of my lists we might need to celebrate Happy Independence Christmas next year.

Anyway, enjoy shopping, buy lots of stuff, and don't forget to send your favorite Holiday Shopping Madness pictures to me.


* I don't suggest telling people exactly what they should give you. People can resent that.

Christmas, the Gamble.

Christmas is here and the Jolly old Elf has come and gone.  So far, we here at Life Explained, (#lifeexplained) are still tallying the results.  So far, though,  it seems that all of our extraordinarily good behavior may not have paid off.  It is very a very complex formula, shown here with pictures to make you more comfortable.  But, as we look back on the effort we have spent it is clear it did not make economic sense to behave so well.

We are afraid that spells big trouble for the world next year.  It was not easy saving the world.  And we did it constantly.  There were alien invasions, ancient armies traveling to our time, robot monsters, vampires, werewolves, all bent on the complete destruction of mankind.   Who stopped them?  That's right, we did.  You're welcome.

Plus, we have perfected the intergalactic radio transponder, to signal alien civilizations.  We have the worlds only functional time travel machine.  Our robot factory is running almost non-stop, and our occult research department is making great strides...  Never mind all that, though.

Straight from Dr. Dawg

Just rest assured there is still time to make amends, Santa, if you turn your little sleigh and eight tiny reindeer around and come up with some new iPads, and maybe a new television, and an Xbox one, with some cool games, we might be convinced to try one more year.  It's up to you.

Twas the night before the night before Christmas.

Look, we all know it is almost Christmas, and anybody who knows me, or has read my blog knows I am not a big fan of the "Christmas Spirit" embodied in these troubling times.  Too little is made of too much.  As fun as it can be to watch, it grows tiring.  Still, I hope everybody can stop their headlong descent into the madness of the season long enough to have a Merry Christmas.  Or Happy Holidays.  It makes no difference to me.  Live and let celebrate, that's my motto.

There are a couple of things I would like to say.

It makes me sad to think the world no longer has Joe Cocker.  "If you believe in forever, then life is just a one night stand, and if there's a rock and roll heaven," they just picked up a blues singer extraordinaire.   His voice was magic, and his persona was enormous.  He was classic rock, in so many ways.

I work for a small company.  I love my job (but, hate the alarm clock).  These are by far the most generous people for whom I have ever worked.  I have had a lot of jobs, too many, and every year at Christmas I am shocked by their generosity.  Each year I kind of wait for the economic foot to fall.  "We're cutting back, Tim."  But, so far so good.  Kind of makes me doubt all of my doubts.  You have to hold on to something, though.

Today is my wife's birthday.  She is young, and vibrant, and wonderful.  And I am so lucky.  "I loved her not for the way she danced with my angels, but for the way the sound of her name quieted my demons."*  And, that is not always easy, my demons are pretty noisy.  Being my wife is not easy, but she does it with grace. If you see her, wish her a happy birthday, and tell her I said thanks.

If you perform an image search for Santa Claus you will find that he is very heavy.  It might be time for him to cut back on the cookies and milk.  Perhaps, we should leave some humus, and carrots, this year.  A bottle of water would be ideal.  He will need to stay hydrated.  Traveling the world delivering presents would be hard, thirsty work.  Don't skimp, Santa deserves the good stuff.  We are leaving Dasani this year, it was on sale and Santa appreciates a bargain.

That should take care of today.  At least this morning.  I have big plans for this afternoon, stay tuned.  Don't expect too much, though.


*Christopher Poindexter.

Shopping Trauma.

Monday, back at work, safely hidden behind the solid red brick walls of the 100 year old building.  In here things are hectic, time is skewed by the dual reality of the products, and the need to finish everything before the artificial deadline imposed by the holiday.  But, out there, beyond the rock solid, impenetrable walls of this sanctuary, things are mad.  Christmas has taken hold of people.  It has twisted minds.  People are so intent on spreading good cheer they will kill.

We were out there yesterday.  My wife and I went to finish up some shopping.  A few small details to be finished.  Traffic was awful.  Parking was awful.  Cars were circling, bird of prey like, around the lot.  Waiting for someone to leave.  Three or four cars would follow anybody foolish enough to carry shopping bags to their car.  In some cases the people would put the bags in the car, hydrate briefly and head back inside, willing to fight on.  Anger would fog the windows and you could hear the cursing.  Some cars would bulge a little at the doors as the rage tried to escape.

In the stores the conditions were no better.  Macy's was packed.  It was a scene from "Day of the Dead."  Madness ruled the consumer.  People were grabbing bargains, regardless of usefulness.  It was better to get a good deal on something that had no value to you personally than let someone else have it.  Act quickly or leave with nothing, those were the choices.

Most of the day I hid behind my wife.  She is fearless in the fray.  But, there were a few tense moments when we became separated by the flow.  I would rush to catch up, and fall in step behind her.  One horrible time I stopped to look at something, something pointless, something that had no relevance, but the price was so good, maybe we should get a couple, maybe someone we know would like one, maybe we could give it to...  Oh no, the disease was after me now!!!

Looking frantically around I spotted my wife, a couple of aisles over, looking at shirts for our sons.  I rushed to her, she was a rock, and island in the ocean of insane, holidayness.  Unfortunately, I cut the corner a little too sharply, it was a mad dash.  After bumping a young, well dressed young man, I stopped, and turned to face him to apologize for brushing against him.  It was only a mistake in trajectory, and he should know I had no malice.  Imagine my terror when I discovered he was headless.  I panicked, looking around for the head I had knocked off this poor, very nattily dressed young man.

I was so relieved to discover it was only a mannequin!  But, then I wondered what happened to the mannequins head.  I looked around at the shoppers in their garish, gaudy, festive holiday gear.  Who had ripped the head off this mannequin.  What kind of person?  Why?  Had someone used it as a bludgeon.  In a mad dash for the last muffler mitten set anything is fair.  Looking around, I had no doubt most of these holiday shoppers would use a mannequins head to beat a person into submission over a pair of appropriately priced pajamas.

When I reached my wife I said "stay close to me, I will protect you."  She laughed a little and said "OK."

Nobody wins with the war on Christmas.

Christmas can be very stressful.  Stores are filled with people, traffic is thick, and slow.  There are gifts to buy, and parties to attend.  Charities scream for attention.  It can be overwhelming.

Grocery shopping becomes a nerve wracking, lethal exercise of hazard avoidance in a mine field of venomous shoppers.  Christmas predators, hunting.  With waves of Christmas music hammering senses, and deadening what little compassion remains, until an apologetic "excuse me" to a kindly looking, old gentleman in the canned food sections elicits a shrieked "kiss my ass" as he drops his cane and oxygen tank, and lobs a can of cranberry sauce at your head.

Television shows take a decidedly holiday turn.  Grisly murders are investigated by well dressed police detectives working out of a precinct adorned with all sorts of bright, happy decorations.  Snowmen, elves, reindeer, Santa, everywhere you turn.  There is no refuge.

Kids are out of school, but you are stuck at work.  A year end evaluation is looming.  Rain clouds on the horizon.  But, you don't have time to think about that.  You are too busy.  In part because no one is doing anything.  Christmas is beginning to drive people mad.  Everywhere you look people are wearing garish, gaudy sweaters, bright, ridiculous creations too awful for a golfer.  With their hands wrapped around Santa mugs, filled with with warm cider. Smiling, joking, laughing, not working, it just makes you sick.  You hope they don't start caroling.

If there is a war on Christmas, Christmas fired the first shot.  And has been on the offensive ever since. Santa and his jackbooted minions are rolling across the country, unimpeded.  Smashing, grabbing, sturming and dranging, all over the place.  Succumb, or perish, those are your choices.

I'm only kidding, Santa.  Don't forget, I have been pretty good this year.  I emailed my list last week, would you like me to fax a copy, FedEx?  Whatever is best, big guy.

Summer Time, Magic in the Making!

Yesterday was the summer solstice.  This carries very little importance these days, but it used to be momentous, spiritual, and celebrated.  Now it passes with little notice, and no real celebration.  Summer solstice marks the new season in all of it's warmth, light, growth, and the promise of life, potential.  The joy of yard work, and the smell of fresh cut grass, gardens and the aroma of flowers, the thrill of watching the vegetables, planted by hand,

bear crop.  It is the longest day of the year, and it brings a sure sign of summer, back to school sales.

That's right, folks, time to start getting ready for fall, pencils, pens, notebooks, and expensive caculators so complicated nobody can possibly understand or use them.  All on sale at such ridiculously low prices they will never see equal.  Until the next advertisement, that is.

Also, you might want to stock up on long sleeved shirts, pants, jackets and thermal underwear.  Don't forget to schedule an appointment to winterize your car.  Oh, and stocking hats and gloves, you need to make sure you have those.

While we are at it, don't forget to start buying some candy for Halloween, and now is the time to get a deal on Thanksgiving items (we recommend putting off buying the turkey until the Fourth of July Christmas Sale Extravaganza!).  

Summer, the season of outdoor life, grills, picnics, baseball, and preparation.  

This message was bought to you by the International Association of Stores.  Please buy a bunch,