Here we are, halfway through my Twelve Days of Blogging, which would make it Day, uh … hmm, I wasn’t aware there would be math. Maybe the pic below will help.
Right, Day 6. I knew it all the time. Just testing you. Anyway, we are halfway through this holiday trainwreck, and today I have some poetry for you. I have provided winter poems in the past, but never a winter holiday poem like I have for you today. I do have to warn you before you click through that the poem is rated for more mature audiences as it concerns drug use … sort of.
If all football/soccer matches were like today’s World Cup final, I’d consider watching more. Anyway, watching that classic match unexpectedly set me back a bit today. What I’m getting at is I didn’t finish my Christmas poem post. But I did get this unexpected Christmas gift today.
That’s right, misshapen muffins (good name for a band, but a bad Christmas gift). Along with the misshapen muffins (in concert at the United Center for one night only!), I also received some coffee. I don’t drink coffee. To put a positive spin on it, any additional gifts I get can’t be worse. Can they?
That means it’s late for most people to start shopping for holiday gifts, but it’s still a bit early for me. I consider myself more of a pressure shopper. However, just this very morning, I gave myself a gift. It wasn’t easy, and it took some effort. I do appreciate the effort I put into my gift to myself.
I use Wordle to wake up and get my brain working in the mornings. This is before any caffeine or other stimulants that are typically found around most American homes like bennies, coke, crank, uppers, blow, speed, snow, etc. have entered my body. Consequently, I sleepwalked through many Wordle gaffes that I should have avoided had I actually thought about my guess rather than randomly mashing the keyboard until I make a word. I’m kind of a 4-try guy in Wordle, but those numerous early-morning Wordle goofs ran up my 5-try tally well beyond my 3-try total. Well, as of this morning, I am pleased to report that my 3-try and 5-try totals now match.
I know it’s not much, but on another grey morning while dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder, it’s a great gift to myself. I’m so thoughtful of a gift-giver to me!
Don’t worry, I have something specifically for you later in this post, but I first have a last-minute holiday gift-giving idea for everyone. Wouldn’t this look sharp on the finger of a loved one?
Here we are on the third of Twelve Days of Blogging, and I am thrilled to report that I am not yet out of ideas for twelve straight days of blogging.
Sure, not all of my planned blog ideas are monumental. One of the ideas I have is for a picture of “Merry Christmas” spelled out using toenail clippings. However, mine are not enough. All I can make is “Merry Chris,” and the one Chris I know is somewhat surly. I could settle for “Merry Xmas,” but I don’t want to disappoint you, the reader, by not providing the full, traditional Christmas salutation. I suppose I could use some older ones that I have stored in jars in the basement, but I really wanted them to be fresh clippings from this Christmas season. I guess you can just call me a traditionalist. Now I’m playing a waiting game for someone else in the house to trim their toenails to be able to make that post happen. I know you’ll be waiting on pins and needles.
Wow, this post about a true Christmas miracle really went off the rails quickly. Well, let’s get back on track. After already detailing a recent Hannukkah miracle, I am thrilled to report being witness to a true Christmas miracle involving my wife’s pumpkins (not a euphemism).
These cold, wet, and grey days are not good for my SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). I think I may actually be getting a simulated sunburn from all the sunlight-simulating lights I have on in my office. Fortunately, living in the greater Chicagoland area, the weather frequently changes. Let’s take a look at the upcoming weather and see if the cold, wet, grey days will become more palatable.
Hmm, it looks like colder, snowy, and grey days ahead. However, if I substitute gray for grey, gray seems a bit cheerier to me. It’s not much, but I’ll take it! And we are just one week away from the days starting to get longer after the winter solstice!
For those who struggle with depression and can’t do the mental masturbation I do to convince myself that it’ll all eventually be okay, dial 988 nationwide in the USA to speak with a counselor. The holidays are hard. Get help when you need it.
Since we have started the Twelve Days of Blogging, I am pleased to offer you 12 of the least-loved Christmas sayings. You know what I mean, things that you don’t want to have to say or hear. Here’s a good example.
Especially with Christmas spelled as Chirstmas. The gif creator had one job to do. Sigh! Anyway, if you don’t believe that these sayings aren’t beloved, feel free to try one or two at your next Christmas gathering.
Don’t try the holiday punch. I think he stirred it with his “candy cane.”
Pass me an elf.
If that wasn’t figgy pudding, what was that I just ate?
Those aren’t reindeer on your roof. You’ve got rats in your attic.
My Yule log is sooo hot.
If you need to eventually get rid of the gift I got you because of leakage, just be aware that it is highly corrosive and illegal to dispose of in a landfill.
Every time a bell rings, an angel gets laid.
Trump is coming to Christmas dinner.
Grandma’s cookies smell like her denture adhesive.
Let me show you what it really means to have Santa come down your chimney.
That’s not eggnog on his pants.
The liquor store was out of beer and wine, so I just bought some myrrh.
I had maybe hoped I could delay starting my Twelve Days of Blogging until after Christmas, and nobody would notice or care, and then I just wouldn’t do it, but I stumbled across something that demands I post it today. So, I guess I start my Twelve Days of Blogging with this post. Besides, if I get too busy to blog, I’ll just recycle old Christmas posts. You readers don’t expect much with this blog, and I’m confident I can meet your low expectations.
I heard on the radio about a fascinating, but short, Christmas play, and I tracked it down on Twitter for your enjoyment. Supposedly, the plot and dialogue were written by AI (artifical intelligence, not former NBA star Allen Iverson) that was fed with terms, phrases, and themes from the Hallmark Channel. The AI spit out a mini story titled “The Christmas on Christmas” and is available for you in its entirety if you click to continue reading.
The 8 Days of Hanukkah tradition comes from a time just after Jewish rebels liberated the Temple in Jerusalem during the Maccabean Revolt. To rededicate the Temple, a menorah was to be lit continuously. Obviously, energy conservation was not a hot topic back then. No wonder we have climate change issues these days. Anyway, the bad news was that they only had enough oil to last one day. The good news was that a miracle occured, and their one day’s worth of oil lasted eight days until they got new oil.
I know it’s still a little premature for Hanukkah, but did I just personally experience a modern 8 Days of Haukkah? Yeah, I know it may not be as exciting of a story as the original, but it is to me. I was a part of this miracle. I literally partook of the miracle. While it doesn’t concern jugs of oil, it does involve this particular jug …
Do you remember when I wrote 3 short complementary pieces for an art exhibition? There was a free verse poem, asad mini story, and a funny mini story about peaches. Oh, what’s that you say? You were trying to forget? Well, not so fast as I have another peach story with which to regale you. But don’t worry. It’s not from me but from a sixth grader.
Last night, artists and authors gathered at an area public library to reflect on the art exhibited and read some of the writings. It’s one thing to see a small digital version of the painting on my screen. It’s a completely different experience to see these large oil paintings up close. I should probably visit the Art Institute in Chicago more often.
Wait, was I supposed to lead the finger snapping while at the mic? Seems presumptuous of me to snap at my own creation.
Anyway, enough about me. You are here to read a sixth grader’s story about peaches that is written better than this blog most days, although admittedly that is a low bar. I should warn you that this youth’s peaches story is a bit disturbing, so exercise caution (and maybe do a few sit-ups while you’re at it) before clicking through.
The opportunity seemed to be well within my grasp. I could finally parlay my fat into cash. I just needed to be overweight and willing to lose weight. As you may know from prior posts, I am both.
There are two weight loss clinical trials that caught my eye. One was more local in downtown Chicago. I could easily take the train into Chicago and walk to the clinic, but I wouldn’t want to walk so fast that I would lose too much weight so that I would no longer be considered fat. I would have to leisurely stroll. It paid okay, but the real payday was at a research clinic a couple hours north in Madison, Wisconsin. Their weight loss clinical trial is paying $18,000+ for participation in their 6 month trial which includes some overnight stays with meals provided. Yes, it would include several all-expense-paid vacations for me.
It’s been seven straight days of blogging about my favorite songs for each day of the week. I know how you feel. I’m sick of it, too. I really thought it would be easier. Well, we’ve reached Sunday, the final day, and I have a conundrum. I know, I should see a doctor about getting it removed. But seriously, my preference for a favorite song with Sunday in the title is this one.
I love Morrissey’s plaintive crooning backed with orchestral strings. But I can’t end a week of musical posts with Morrissey’s wailing. I feel the need to go out on a higher note. So, I’ve got one last song for you. It’s got an upbeat sound paired with a very snarky lyrical message about suburban life. Here it is, direct from the hit TV series …
I was thrilled to see the sun rise and shine this morning, just as I am on every cold day. If we can’t have heat, at least give us some sun. I knew immediately what song with Saturday in the title I was going to feature. Not since Monday was I so confident in a song. I am possibly suffering from recency bias as this is a newer song, but I just love the upbeat sound and the easy, uncomplicated lyrics. This song requires 0% thought to 100% enjoy it. It’s just a joy to listen to. So, here’s some musical joy from Vance Joy on a Saturday.
As I write this post, the sun is fading and I am reminded that’s it’s almost Saturday night and reminded of another great song with Saturday in the title.
After having a dreadful time finding favorite songs with Wednesday and Thursday in the titles, I am relieved to be at Friday with a plethora of songs from which to choose. Why are there so many songs about Friday? Well, it’s the start of the weekend and time to party, so people want to sing about it. I may be humming a tune myself as I clip my fingernails later on a Friday night. Now that’s a party!
Back in my younger days, I knew it was the weekend and time to party when Chicago radio station WXRT 93.1FM played Another Drugland Weekend by local band The Hounds at 5PM on Fridays. If not for that song, I’d probably still be in the church choir today. If you missed The Hounds in the 70s, don’t fret. You can catch them later this month playing in a bowling alley just across the border in Madison, Wisconsin. Really!
Who’s up for a short road trip? I know the promotional blurb above suggests ordering a cheeseburger, but when I eat at the Bowl-A-Vard Lanes, I prefer their coq au vin or lobster thermidor to satisfy my palate. Highly recommended!
But this isn’t supposed to be a post about songs with weekend in the title. I need to have Friday on my mind as I write this post, which leads me to …
If you couldn’t tell, my blog post yesterday about favorite Wednesday songs was written on a moving train. Did I really have to specify that the train was moving? Who sits and writes on nonmoving trains? Anyway, I went back in and cleaned it up a bit today before diving into my favorite song with Thursday in the title, of which there is none. Ugh! Two days in a row now with no obvious favorite song choice. Who knew this would be so difficult when I started out this week of blogging about fave songs for each day of the week? Let’s get to Friday and all the fun weekend songs.
There are some popular songs about Thursday like this link to a Jess Glyne tune with over 53 million views. But I promised a deeper dive into the music. Just like on Wednesday, I’m heading back to the mid-60s for my Thursday song. As I listen to this tune now, I can imagine some new age, indie artist named Noah in 2022 singing this. Instead, it’s a new age, indie dude named Donovan from almost 6 decades ago.
It’s just a mere wisp of a song, but so pretty with a timeless vibe to it. I think people in the 1500s would have dug it, too.
I’ll end this post on a sad note with an RIP for Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac fame. She had a voice like an angel and was a songwriting genius.
Despite having easy choices for Monday and Tuesday song faves, I find myself with no obvious choice for a preferred Wednesday tune. I do recall really admiring the political lyrics to this Macklemore creation post-2016 election.
But it’s not a song I would choose to listen to for enjoyment. I think my Wednesday song would have to be this one, if only for how beautiful it sounds.
Oh, those harmonies! Not my favorite S&G song, but it will have to suffice for my Wednesday tune. Back tomorrow with a strong song for Thursday … I hope.
I have a very busy week planned with doctor’s appointments, a trade show, dinner with a German business supplier, an off-site business meeting, my birthday, my wedding anniversary, and a Christmas party. Whew! I’m tired just typing all that. Despite adding a new Mite Be Funny placeholder post, I may not have much time to blog. So, my plan is to reveal my favorite “Days of the Week” song every day this week in short blog posts. I will try and dig a little deeper than obvious choices. For example, my fave Monday song is not the excellent “I Don’t Like Mondays” by the Boomtown Rats, but this gem from The Jam.
Isn’t that a great Jam gem jam? Start thinking of Tuesday songs. I know I am.
I really thought I would find it easy to move away from weekly Mite Be Funny cartoons. But it turns out that it’s not as easy as I thought. It’s not like I have a need to create dumb cartoons about dust mites. However, what I found is that the Sunday Mite Be Funny cartoons served as fixed reference points on my blogging timeline. For example, I may look and see that it’s been 2 days since a Mite Be Funny cartoon, so I know I should generate a new blog post. Without a recent Mite Be Funny cartoon, I found it sooooo easy to just not post since I had no frame of reference to determine if I am blogging frequently or not. I liked to see 2 to 3 blog posts between weekly Mite Be Funny cartoons. Without those Mite Be Funny cartoons, I’m a bit lost in the blogging wilderness. My conclusion is that I might need mites in my life. So, here you go …
Once again, I feel the need to remind readers that the title is Mite Be Funny with two possible meanings:
It could mean that the cartoon might be funny.
It could be a declarative command, “Mite, be funny!”
I realize neither applies to this cartoon this week, but at least I now have a placeholder post for my weekly posting reference. Back to regular posting, thanks to the mites.
I like to think that it was my generation which popularized the Drinksgiving holiday on Thanksgiving Eve. But that was before there was even a name given to it. It wasn’t Drinksgiving to us. It wasn’t even known to us back then as Black Wednesday or Blackout Wednesday, names which seem to have recently given way to Drinksgiving. We didn’t have any fancy-schmancy moniker for the night. It was simply “that night before Thanksgiving when we go out after work and drink ourselves stupid and sick.” And we did, or at least I did in my 20s before 30 arrived with children close behind, and their unbearable weight crushed my partying spirit while robbing us of any potentially expendable partying funds because babies supposedly require expensive diapers and formula. *sigh*
Anyhoo, tonight’s the night to party. I was planning to regale you with stories from my Drinksgivings past, but honestly, I have absolutely no memories after uttering that first word to start the Drinksgiving holiday celebration, “Bartender!” But please, celebrate in a smarter fashion than we Drinksgiving Pilgrims did. If you drink, don’t drive. Just find a spot to lie down and sleep it off.
Jim Flanigan Looks at the World 