Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Year in Review 2011


I like to take a moment each December and look back at the previous year to assess myself. I ask the important questions. Have I accomplished everything I set out to do this year? Is my life heading in the direction I want it to go? Am I married to Taylor Swift yet? Nearly all of these questions can be answered on a sliding scale of “no” to “the law still dictates that I stay 100 yards away at all times”. But 2011 hasn’t been a bad year. So I’m going to list a few highlights from the past 12 months while resisting the urge to make things up so I sound more fascinating to internet strangers.

I started a blog
You probably already knew that, because you're reading it right now. But what you don't know is that literally tens of other people read it as well, a couple of which are outside of my immediate circle of friends. According to my Blogger stats, those who aren't my friends stumble upon this blog while searching for things such as "monster truck Power Wheels", "Grapico ice cream", "Camp Anawanna", and the one I'm most proud of - "bloated milk carton". As you can imagine due to the soaring popularity, I'm currently drafting the Where It Gets Awkward sitcom to appear on CBS, as well as a Broadway adaptation starring Bo Bice and a young James Taylor.


Both of which will take turns playing me, à la the Olsen Twins.


I became an uncle
Not a real uncle. No, my brothers and I are in a competition to see who can be the last one to produce a Lee heir, and so far it’s a dead heat. But I play dirty, and what they don’t know is that I’ve signed them up for a child through an underground Cambodian adoption service.


There was a mix-up in the paperwork, though. Meet Ralph, your new bundle of joy.


Actually, it was my best friend Cameron and his wife Cassidy who had a baby, Cohen. At the risk of sounding like a terrible person, Cohen is the first baby I’ve had an emotional attachment to. Don’t get me wrong, babies are great little poop machines and all, it’s just that I’ve always thought of them more fondly when they were in another room, or possibly on television. When people show me a picture of a child, my thought process is often “Yep, that is the newborn of my species. Although it kinda looks like an alien, but I would never tell the mother that because her tone and body language suggest I should be having a different reaction than that right now.” But little Cohen is a cute kid, and I even voluntarily hold him and play with him sometimes, until he starts crying and I start panicking and I give him back to Cameron. I guess Cohen and I are both taking baby steps! Hahaha! (Note to self: Make better jokes in 2012)


I got a job
I started 2011 as a bum who spent the previous 9 months sleeping til noon, playing video games, and lounging by the pool. It was a glorious time of relaxation, the likes of which I may never experience again, but it was also a soul-crushing time of inner struggle, the likes of which I hope I never experience again. Sometimes I would wonder what I was doing with my life, and where I was going to find employment, and then other times I laughed at my goober friends who were in an office all day while I was reading at the pool and getting a tan. But I honestly grew a lot as a person, because I found out that without structure I become a lazy, spoiling sack of potatoes unless I keep myself in check. I found a new job in January in public relations, a field I enjoy. It keeps me inside most of the time, so I’m back to ghastly white, but on the plus side it came with Photoshop.


At least I'm tan on the internet.


I bought a new car
I've already written about this, but it's important enough to be on the list. Although the overwhelming consensus was that my new car is a girl's color, and that everyone misses the Saturn. My old car suited me better according to friends, and I understand what they mean. It had personality. It had flavor. It had a piece of styrofoam where a car door should have been.


"Nathan, you are truly the '99 Saturn SC2 of people" only sounds like an insult, but is, in fact, quite an honor.




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So here's to you, 2011. You were a good year. You taught me that great things can come out of adversity, that time is a priceless commodity to be used on the people and things that are most important, that babies are still pretty gross but have redeemable qualities, and that cars start to resemble their owners like pugs and ugly people. You also gave me a platform to share these life lessons and mostly ridiculous anecdotes with strangers on the internet who just wanted to find the lyrics to the Salute Your Shorts theme song. Thanks, 2011.

And to 2012, I've got a good feeling about you. With everything falling into place, I suspect a certain someone will rethink that silly ol' restraining order, come to her senses, and settle down with the man of her dre-


RALPH, YOU RAT FINK!


Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Things That Burn My Biscuits: “Holiday” Edition


Things That Burn My Biscuits is a series composed of trivial matters that send me into a quiet fury. Sometimes I write these matters down and post them on my Facebook, and sometimes I store them in my head and wait for strangers or friends to say the wrong thing (…"NO I’M NOT SAD THE WHITE STRIPES BROKE UP! THEY ARE TERRIBLE, JUST LIKE YOUR FACE!”) Don’t be fooled by my usually calm demeanor and glassy stare, though. Inside I’m raging about the latest Grammy nominees, or the fact that pleated pants still exist. But I digress. This edition is all about the holidays, and why I want to set them on fire. If you do not want to be encumbered by my petty ramblings, please, read no further.

Using “Happy holidays” to not offend

I’m not coming at this from a Christian conservative viewpoint. I’m coming at this from a common sense viewpoint. What exactly do we mean when we say “happy holidays”? Is it “I hope you have an enjoyable World AIDS Day!”

No.

“How aboot that Boxing Day, eh?”

Nuh-uh. We’re talking about Christmas. You can make the case for Hanukkah and Kwanzaa, but when was the last time you ever saw a TV or print ad that said “Happy Holidays” and it wasn’t filled with decidedly Christmas imagery?


I’ll answer that for you. This is the first time.


It’s pretty clear Holidays = Christmas (and to a lesser extent New Year’s), so let’s just call it what it is. I realize it’s grown to be bigger than just a Christian holiday, and has some pagan influence in tradition. You don’t have to be a believer to enjoy the festivities. But if you wake up on December 25th, open presents, and deal with the crushing disappointment that for the 20th year in a row you did not receive a Power Wheels replica monster truck, then whether you want to admit it or not you’re celebrating Christmas.


I will gladly trade my Chevy Aveo for one of these.


I work in marketing and public relations, an industry designed to not offend anyone ever for any reason. If I ever tried to use the word “Christmas” in a Christmas add I would be whisked away by lawyers in the middle of the night, put in a burlap sack, and beaten with lawsuits and termination papers. But the worst case scenario in slipping “Merry Christmas” into an add is that it falls into the hands of someone who doesn’t celebrate it. Big deal. They weren’t going to shop at your store to buy Christmas presents anyway. To me, it’s just like when friends who are atheist and practice new-age philosophy say “I’m sending good vibes your way.” It’s the equivalent of their prayer. Whether I think it will do any good or not, I know that person cares about me enough to wish me well. I don’t get offended just because I don’t practice their beliefs.


“Hey there, Sally! Why yes, I am feeling better. I appreciate the virgin sacrifice, 
but maybe next time just send a get well card.”


White Christmas Lights

Okay, I don’t hate white Christmas lights. It’s just the fact that colored Christmas lights are so much awesomer in comparison that it feels a lot like hate sometimes. Every year my family decorates a Christmas tree, and every year I lobby for colored lights. The argument is that white lights are classier, more elegant. But that’s the thing, I like my Christmas trees to be the biggest, gawdiest, loudest, hillbilliest epilepsy triggers on the face of the planet. I want aliens passing by in the cosmos to know that 10 million years ago, the Lee family had the brightest, most distasteful Christmas tree ever. If it were up to me, I’d import a redwood and adorn it with hubcaps and flamethrowers.


"TOO SUBTLE! NEEDS MORE LIGHTS!" 


Cranberry sauce

Cranberry sauce is a Thanksgiving favorite here in the States and a Christmas favorite in the UK, despite the fact that it tastes like cranberries. My theory is that cranberry sauce is produced from the regurgitation of cattle that have accidentally wandered into bogs and ingested cranberries thinking they were cherries. Honest mistake, really. After all, cattle are stupid, and cherries are delicious. But I don’t understand humans who put it on their plate knowing good and well that it is a by-product of cranberries. I also don’t understand why cranberry sauce comes in two different varieties - lumpy gelatinous globules and human tissue cross section. When someone asks me which of the two types of cranberry sauce I want, all I hear them say is, “Would you like me to punch you in the face with my right hand, or punch you in the face with my left hand?” The answer is whichever is not their dominant hand, or whichever variety doesn't jiggle for as long after I poke it disapprovingly with my fork. 



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Whew! I feel better having typed all that out. I've got to keep my inner Scrooge in check. Pay no attention to my ranting and raving, because I really do love this time of year. I guess what I'm trying to say is...

Happy Holidays Merry Christmas.