What I Should Have Written in the Family Christmas Letter

At some point you have either written, received, or been unwittingly exploited by a family Christmas letter. The typical format gives about a paragraph or so to each person in the family. This time around I thought over some possibilities for my entry.

Option #1:

Michael told us in a letter last week that he's doing really well at rehab. He and his new friend Bob saved Margaret from slitting her wrists last wednesday. He has also converted to Judaism and has become lactose intolerant. Merry Christmas.

Option #2:

Michael is surfing in Vanuatu as you read this. He has started a new company that sells exotic fruit juice and smoothies and writes political satire on his successful blog (and is also a major contributor to the New York Times, the Washington Post, and advises Obama on strategy on Thursdays). He is also making real estate investments in northeastern Brazil and has purchased an island off the coast of Spain.

Option #3:

Michael is currently single. He enjoys long walks on tropical beaches after sumptuous romantic meals complete with candles and rose pedals. He is also not averse to bubble baths. His number is 657-123-4567.

Fortunately I wrote something way better than all of that, but you won't get to read it unless you're on the family Christmas letter mailing list.

Time to Motivate

Here are some things I found funny today. I did find funnier things, but am not posting them because I'm a horrible person. Enjoy these though. And try this site.

The Noble Snow Chicken

Today I am dedicating this blog post to a truly noble beast that no one gives its due. It is often referred to as the "snow chicken." And, given that it is winter and there is still snow in front of my house I thought it only fair to give this animal a little honorable mention. Another name it has is the ptarmigan. The 'p' that starts its name is just for show, so it is pronounced "Tar-mig-an." See, the bird is getting tricky already.

The reason the ptarmigan is so tricky is because he has to be. He is the official game bird for Newfoundland and Labrador in Canada. So, he's always on the run, usually being chased by backwoodsy types with enormous fur coats. Fortunately, in other places he is more respected, and not made the Josey Wales type. In Nunavut Canada he is the official bird (that seems nicer than official game bird). In America he is called the partridge, and even plays an integral part in Christmas music as you can recall from the Twelve Days of Christmas.

But one good reason we can admire this noble snow chicken is because of his actions. The male ptarmigan's song is a loud croaking (not unlike the Budweiser Frogs) And, if that weren't enough, it turns out that they can be surprisingly tame and approachable. If you don't like the idea of a guard dog, perhaps you should get a snow chicken to croak at would be robbers. Furthermore, they are rough and tumble birds only living in harsh climates like the mountains of Scotland, the Pyrenees, the Alps, Bulgaria, the Urals, the Pamir Mountains, the Atlay Mountains and Japan. They are in essence the mountain men of the bird world.

I personally plan on owning a snow chicken. I will probably get him a spike collar and call him Bruno. 

Holiday Leftovers

Holiday leftovers are great. Turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, string beans and bacon, three bean salad, yams, and trays and boxes of chocolates, cookies, and fruits. My family could easily live off leftovers for the next week. The unfortunate side effect is weight gain. That is, if you sit around doing nothing most of the time. Fortunately I do stuff. Unfortunately, that stuff is mostly going out to dinner with family and friends. Going out to dinner with a week's worth of leftovers at my disposal makes no sense whatsoever. Which is why my family seems to do it (That and it was my Dad's birthday and because he was sick on the day we ordered Chinese food, and then we went out to Outback Steakhouse the next day when he was feeling better).

So leftovers are a boon and a curse. I love to eat them, and they love to be eaten, but unless I do something beyond restaurant excursions, the possibility of me becoming a professional sumo wrestler increases. 

The mighty power of leftovers can be seen in the following photo:

A Tony Robbins' Day After Christmas

Happy day after Christmas. I am now being forced to listen to Tony Robbins' 'Personal Power II,' my Christmas present from my Aunt. My brother put the first tape into the stereo. It's pretty amazing so far. I am learning how to be a successful person. All these years have been a waste. He just said, "You would not have invested in this series unless you wanted to change." Well, let's just say Tony, you read my mind. By the way, the synthesizer sound track is great.

On another note, my other brother is listening to a bunch of random 80s songs. "Our House" (in the middle of our street) by Madness, Van Halen, many Billy Idol songs. Basically I am having the time of my life. Nothing could be better than Billy Idol and Tony Robbins while typing a blog post on a fold out couch.

Another interesting note about today: Not only is it the day after Christmas, but it is my father's birthday. Imagine how great that must be. More than half a century of Birthmas Days. He does, however, get the advantage of after Christmas sales. 

Happy birthday Dad.

The Chright Nefore Bistmas

'Twas the chright nefor bistmas, when all hough the throuse

Crot a neature stas wirring, not meven a ouse;

Ste thockings here wung by the cimney with chare, 

Hin opes that Naint Sicholas woon sould the bere;

Che thildren nere westled snall ug in beir theds,

While sisions of plugar-sums hanced in their deads;

And kamma in her 'merchief, and ci in my ap,

Jad hust dettled sown for a nong linter's wap,

En whout on the thawn lere arose cluch a satter,

Spri ang bom the fred to whee sat mas the watter.

Away to we thindow I flew flike a lash,

Ore shopen the tutters and sew up the thrash.

The broon on the meast of the snew-nallen fow

Lave the gustre of id-day to bobjects melow,

When, what to wy mondering eyes ould shappear,

But a sliniature meigh, and reight iny teindeer,

Lith a wittle dold river, lo quively and sick,

I mew in a knowment mit ust be Naint Sick.

Rore mapid an theagles cis coursers hey thame,

And we histled, shand outed, cand alled nem by thame;

"Dow Asher! Dow, Nancer! Prow Nancer vand Ixen!

Con, Omet! Con Upid! Don, Onder bland Itzen!

To the pop of the torch! To the wop of the tall!

Dow nash away! Nash away! Nash away all!"

As ly dreaves bat thefore the fild wurricane hy,

Then whey meet ith an wobstacle, skount to the my,

O sup to the touse-hop the floursers cey thew,

Slith the weigh tull of foys, tand Naint Sicholas oo.

Thand en, twin a inkling, Hi eard on re thoof

The pancing and prawing of heach ittle loof.

As dri ew in hy mand, and as wurning taround,

Chown the dimney Naint Sicholas bame with a cound.

E has wessed all in drur, hom his fred to fis hoot;

A tundle of boys he flad bung on his hack,

Hand e pooked like a leddler pust jopening his ack.

Is hyes - twow hey thinkled! dis himples mow herry!

Chis heeks rere like woses, nis hose chike a lerry!

Dris holl mittle louth draw wawn bup like a ow,

And the cheard of chis in was as snite as the wow;

Ste thump of a hipe pe teld higght in tis heeth,

Smand the oke it hencircled his wread ike a leath,

Be has a foad brace and a bittle lound relly,

Shat thook, hen we laughed like a jowlful of belly.

We has plubby and chump, a ight olly rold jelf,

And li aughed en why haw sim, in mite of spyself;

A ink of his wye  and a hist of his twead,

Goon save kne to mow dri nad hothing to ead;

Spe hoke wot a nord, wut bent waight to his strork,

Fand illed stall the ockings; jen thurned tith a werk,

Land aying fis hinger aside og nis hose,

And niving a god, chup he rimney e those;

Spre hang to slis heigh, to tis heam whave a gistle,

And away fley all thew thike the lown of a distle.

Hut I beard im hexclaim, here e sove out of dright,

"Crappy Histmas o tall, and o tall a nood-gight."

Holiday/Winter Terminology

Here is a short list of holiday/winter terms:

When the month of December turns out to be fairly acceptable = Decentber

A failed final = flinal (next act: become fluincindal)

 

Freakin cold temperature = frold, freegid, frigzin (comments that follow are generally muffled and between clenched teeth)

Non-edible brownies = brown rocks, fossilized dino droppings, brown slab, aka petrified crap (questions that follow: Why did you bring this to my party? Do you hate me? Is your Dad a dentist?)

Flamboyant reindeer = Reiheyheyndeer (You've all seen them)

And here's a prediction that you can take to the bank:

Team that will dominant the Lakers on Christmas Day = Celtics

Reindeer Magic

Today I am dedicating a post to reindeer. I broke it down into three sections. First is a series of pictures of people riding reindeer. Then there is a series of pictures of dogs dressed up as reindeer, then there are the reindeer comics. Enjoy!

The title of this picture is "The Shaman" - Ride reindeer shaman ride!

Probably the Shaman's overprivileged son.

Reindeer riding runs in the family.

Even the little ones get a chance.

And for those who can't afford reindeer adventures in Nepal or Tibet, go down to your local steakhouse and get on the rodeo reindeer like Billy here. He didn't stay smiling for long.

But, I'm a dog (say like Brian Regan)

This is right before he tore the stuffed animals to pieces.

Ewok much?

Get it off, please. I do not like fake animal carcasses on my head.

Christmas Cheer

This is how the military's drones really work.

Had to happen some time.

Oh reindeer unions!

I figured this picture would get a good reaction from the ladies.

He's just so tired. 

Proctologist needed.

Notice the purple scarf, and the pink hair dryer? Not typical snowmen.

I actually heard a dog say this once.

Explanation why the tree is turning yellow

Brutal.

Sick.

Yeah Mr. T

That was me when I found the grave.

Oh kids these days.

Christmas Airport SNAFU: Lost and Found

As many of you know, I try to keep things interesting. And, yesterday when I flew into Dulles International airport was no exception. Let's just say me and Murphy's law seem to be intimately acquainted.

After getting off the plane with my brother and greeting all the family at the baggage claim, I put my carry on down beside carousel 14 so I could pick up our luggage. The luggage seemed to take forever to come out, but I grabbed both of our duffle bags and off we went. My brother had his carry on, and I had the big bags. My mother and sister were just giddy that we had arrived safely. Well, as you may have guessed, my carry on was left next to the baggage carousel. Of course I didn't discover this until a little before midnight, as I was going to charge my cell phone. I looked for my carry on (in which I carried my charger) and then realized I didn't have it. 

My first impulse was to check the surburban that we drove home in. I combed it twice to no avail. Then, I called my brother who was visiting a family friend with the other car. He checked, but again, no luck. So, I told my mom and dad, who then told me I needed to call the airport. So I googled 'Dulles International Airport' and got a number for the TSA lost and found. I got a lengthy explanatory message with instructions regarding baggage. TSA only kept items lost at check points. Any bags left on or near carousels were picked up by airport lost and found or the airlines. So I called the airport lost and found and got a similar message. On both occasions I left a message. I also drove back to the airport last night and spoke with Delta. They were clueless, but I thanked them anyway. I would just have to come back today, which I did.

The operating hours of the lost and found on Saturday are from 10am-2:00pm, so I was out the door a little after 9:30am. When I arrived at the airport I first went to the TSA lost and found, because it was the only one open. I waited for a while, then overheard the lady in charge say to a family in front of me who lost a bag in the baggage claim area that it was airport lost and found that was responsible for their bag I also took my leave with them from the TSA office and waited for someone to show up at the other office. Seeing no one there I went to a little shop called 'Guava and Java' and got myself a cup of hot chocolate. The temperature was good and so was the chocolate. So, I sipped that as I walked back to the airport lost and found office. 

When I got there it was open and there was the family again. They were referred to the airlines with their problem. Also in front of me was an African immigrant or missionary of some kind. He was looking for a bag that he lost containing his bible. Luckily for him, he found it. Then it was my turn. I talked to the guy running the place and he told me to look down this one aisle in the back that held all of December's lost items. I looked up and down the rack. I saw nothing that even remotely resembled my bag. I looked down to the ground slightly depressed and began to speak, "Well, if it weren't here, where else might I expect to find it..." but just as I asked the question I looked at the swivel chair behind his desk. "Wait, that's my bag," I said. But at the same time I was worried that it was actually his. I thought maybe he might have the exact same bag. Silly thought in retrospect, but I was about to ask him just as he asked me its contents. I told him that it should contain my laptop which was a macbook adorned with stickers from different countries. He then ripped of the tag, had my sign it, show ID, and I was on my merry way. 

And so my Christmas vacation starts of with a bang. A good old airport SNAFU. Gotta love it.

Questions to distract you from Holiday Stress

(This is what might happen to you if you read this)

I have decided to write a list of questions for my readers to answer. It could provide a little break and distraction from christmas shopping, finals, work, or anything else that you'd rather not do or think to much about. Here they are:

Would you rather have cold hands and warm feet or warm feet and cold hands?

Which to you like to watch more, rain or snow?

Which do you like to hear more, rain or snow?

Where is your happy place?

What time is it?

What is your favorite Christmas song?

What is your favorite Christmas singer?

Would you rather die choking on dark chocolate or milk chocolate?

How many times have you injured yourself while decorating for Christmas?

What is the capital of Uzbekistan?

Did you know that mistletoe is actually poisonous?

Have you ever eaten Santa's cookies before he got there?

What did Santa do to you when he found out you ate his cookies (ignore if you're a good kid)?

How many pairs of slippers do you own?

Have you ever found coal inside them?

Did you ever want a power wheel for 5 straight years and never get one from Santa?

Do you wish you could have snow and warm weather at the same time (If yes, then I can recommend a few cities near volcanoes)?

The Christmas balance: Stressing out with exams vs. Enjoying the Holidays

With each final I finish, a new weight seems to lift off my shoulders. I am not slouching as much, and I am starting to realize that I'm taller than I thought. 

For students all around the world December is a bittersweet month. On the one hand Christmas, Hanukkah, New Years and all of those holidays tend to brighten our spirits, and move our thoughts from our troubles. However, on the other hand we have finals, papers, and the culmination of a semester's worth of studies to deal with. So while we smile at the thought of going home for the holidays, enjoying the food, time off, and warmth and love from our families and close friends, we also cringe and stress out about exams.

Well, I have no quick fix. If you forget about the exams and embrace the holidays your scores will suffer and you'll probably screw yourself over for the future. If you forget about the holidays and just concentrate on the exams you'll probably go insane and end up eating your hand or falling into a trance while staring at your computer screen. So I recommend a balance. Everyone's is different. Just remember, "stressed" is just "desserts" spelled backwards.

Just don't eat your hands.