When to Shop?

The question of the day is, when exactly am I going to go Christmas shopping? Today is the 17^th, so we are officially entering the last week. This afternoon was a natural for getting it done. I had given it serious thought until the thermometer hit 57. Everybody knows you can’t go Christmas shopping if it’s that warm. Besides, a last minute business appointment popped up out of the blue for 3 o’clock.

Tomorrow shows a lot of promise. A cold front is supposed to sweep through overnight ushering in much cooler temperatures. Thursday’s high should only be in the mid-forties. I just might be able to put on my Santa hat and slip over to the mall after lunch. The only problem is that Thursday, being the 18^th, is an even day and I’ve never had much luck Christmas shopping on even days in the teens. Plus, at some point I’ll need to get my pre-Christmas massage, and Thursdays are usually pretty slow over at Hand and Stone.

Of course, Friday is the start of the weekend so the crowds will be off the charts crazy. That leaves Monday, Tuesday of next week, classic sucker days, full of panicked rookie husbands and frantic moms on their last nerve. Trust me, you don’t want any part of that.

That means that next Wednesday, Christmas Eve is still open and available. Sure, you run the risk that the stores will be out of stuff. Sure, if you wait until the very last minute, what happens if you’re sick with diarrhea and projectile vomiting? Although these are valid concerns, waiting until Christmas Eve comes with the advantage of not having to worry about it…now. Why do something unpleasant now that can be put off until sometime in the future? It works for the United States Treasury.

126 Dead Kids in Pakistan

While we slept, Taliban gunmen stormed an elementary school in Pakistan killing 126 innocent children before blowing themselves up. A caller from the Taliban took responsibility for the attack, explaining that it was revenge for the earlier deaths of several Taliban fighters at the hands of the Pakistani army.

And therein lies the fundamental difference between conventional war and the war on terror. The telephone.

I don’t recall George Patton ever having to ring up The Berlin Bugle to take credit for kicking their backsides in Lorraine. I don’t recall him having to contact someone at the news desk in Rome to inform them that it was his Seventh Army that had just run roughshod across Sicily and beaten Montgomery to Messina. See, in traditional war army A. engages army B. in battle on hill C.  Army A. prevails. Army B. withdraws to lick their wounds and plots revenge. Later, on hill D. army B. exacts revenge…and so on until one army runs out of either men, ammunition or both.

Not so with modern terrorism where ragtag band of jihadists A. declares a fatwa of some sort against government B. with the intent of overthrowing said government and instituting sharia law. Government B. fights back and sends several jihadists to their seventy virgins. Ragtag band of jihadists A. attacks elementary school C., kills 126 children, then notifies the local press that they are responsible[Ma1] .

Our bettors from academia to the New York Times constantly preach the doctrine of moral equivalence lest we Americans get on our high horse about these barbarians. “Sure”, they preach, “terrorists are brutal but no worse than what Christians did during the Crusades! Oh, and don’t forget how awful we were to Native Americans…and what about slavery!!??” Ok.

I’ll remember that the next time I am awakened with a story of a band of angry Methodists storming a school bus full of Jewish school kids. I’ll read all about moral equivalence the next time I learn that a half dozen Baptist deacons massacred 17 innocent Unitarians on a picnic. The next time an election doesn’t go my way I will note with irony the violent protests and looting of Muslim businesses by a bloodthirsty band of local Rotarians.

I am fully aware of the manifold failings of the West in general and America in particular. We have our fair share of problems and inconsistencies. But for those who are fond of always declaring us “no better” than our enemies I have a response after reading of the massacre in Pakistan.

Go to hell.

---

 [Ma1]

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. A Review

Last night, instead of finishing up the Christmas decorating, Pam and I settled down on the sofa to watch Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer, and I must say that this once delightful Christmas tradition hasn’t aged well. With the advent of modern psychoanalysis and the emergence of political correctness, it’s a miracle that Rudolph is still on the air. Is it any wonder that my generation is so screwed up, what with 30 million of us watching this show every year? Consider:

1.     When Santa visits Donner’s cave upon Rudolph’s birth he is only concerned with his future usefulness as an unpaid sleigh-puller. Worker exploitation.

2.     At reindeer practice, the Coach is a tyrannical autocrat who upon discovery of Rudolph’s deformity unceremoniously banishes him from the team with the full support of a herd of laughing, mocking reindeer trainees, despite the fact that Rudolph was the only one who could actually fly. Classic bullying.

3.     Then there’s Hermie, the dentist wannabe, a self-declared misfit, who dreams only of extracting people’s teeth without anesthesia. Hermie’s slave-driving boss is having none of it and berates Hermie at every opportunity in front of the other elves. The message is clear…individual dreams must be sacrificed on the altar of the common good of the company. Corporatism.

4.     Don’t even get me started on Yukon Cornelius, possibly the most inept businessman in the history of Hollywood what with his geologically doomed prospecting business at the North Pole. This idiot actually thinks that by simply heaving his pick axe into the air, it might actually fall onto the ice and find gold.

5.     Then there are the many misogynistic missives flying through the dialogue. When Donner decides to go out looking for Rudolph, (months after his disappearance), he dismisses the wife who wants to come with him with the classic, “This is man’s work, dear.”

 I could go on like this forever, but you get the picture. Try to imagine what this show would look like if it was produced today. Santa would be a black woman. Rudolph’s deformity would be AIDS. Hermie would finally be able to come out of the closet, and the Island of Misfit Toys would be a place where everyone was an illegal immigrant without health insurance cowering in their safe spaces, the ghastly specter of global warming creeping ever closer, until Santa's solar powered sleigh comes to their rescue.

Too Late. You're Screwed...Conclusion

                                      ---Conclusion---

Matt: Well, for those of us who have kids, (little kids), it would be better if we ate earlier.

Doug: Wait…was that an insult? I know when I’ve been insulted!!

Christina: Yes, I agree. We need to eat as early as possible.

Paula: Yes! If we wait until 3 o’clock, Ron will be in full nap mode.

Doug: Well, I take a pretty mean nap between 2 and 4 lots of times, but…it’s Christmas Day people.  Everybody just needs to take some NoDoze and drink some of Ron’s coffee.

Bill: Somebody in this family needs to run for office.

Paula, Doug, Donnie, Linda, Jenny, Christina, Jenny, Becky, Lauren: Wait…what??

Patrick: What about the music? Nobody has mentioned anything about the music.

Ezra: NO SING!!!

Kaitlin: None of this matters, as long as I get to be with the most handsome man in the world. Did you guys know it’s out first Christmas together as a married couple??

Ryan: Gag!!

Jenny: Who is bringing the apple cranberry casserole? Is that Pam’s dish, my dish or Mom’s??!! It’s SO CONFUSING!!!!

Sean: Hey Patrick, I think we should do a reggae Christmas music theme this year.

Patrick: Uh…no offense Sean. Dale and the Z-Dubs can’t compare with Johann Sebastian Bach even on your best day!

Ron: And what about the nutmeg, hmmm?? Where in the world am I going to find Rhodesian nutmeg with only 13 days until Christmas?

Ruaridh: Can I bring a bottle of Scotch?

Donnie: Only if you want Nanny to come down from heaven and wipe the floor up with you.

Doug: Ruaridh, one word…FLASK

"Too Late. You're Screwed."

Inside the two week window of the Christmas season, and a silent panic begins to settle over the Dunnevant house. We have sped by a half dozen signposts that we had told ourselves would signal “go time.” Each signpost has been ignored. Today, Pam passes the critical signpost marked, “Last Day at Work.” The next sign, off in the distance, simply says, “Too Late. You’re Screwed.”

My Sister Linda just sent out a family e-mail beseeching the rest of us to begin engaging in a meaningful dialogue about Christmas Day. America often is similarly harangued to start meaningful conversations about race. But unlike America, we actually follow through. The emails have been coming in fast and hot.

Linda: Ok, this year I am NOT going to be the cruise director.

Doug: Sorry. That was a lifelong appointment.

Linda: Well…what about the menu? Remember that year we did Italian food?

Doug: I am trying my best to forget. When I walked in the house and smelled lasagna I remember thinking, “what the heck? Is this Columbus Day??”

Linda: Yes, but it’s so much easier than turkey with all the trimmings. You men just don’t understand!!

Doug: I understand enough to know that if God wanted us eating lasagna on his birthday, Jesus would have been born in a manger in Venice.

Linda: Well…what about the time?

Doug: I’m cool with 1:30

Pam: Since I will have all of my kids home, I would really prefer not having to rush out of the house so early. I think 2 would be better, actually 3-4 would be even better.

Doug: Like I said, I think 2 would be better, actually 3-4 would be even better.

Paula: Bag the Italian. Turkey with all the trimmings. I’ll have Ron bring a ham.

Christina: Ezra naps from 2-4.

Jenny: Yeah, 2-4 doesn’t work for us either. Bennet chops the heads off of bad guys and saves the world from Kryptonite from 2-4.

Linda: Well, we might have to do a second seating table out in the piano room. Any volunteers?

Paula, Doug, Pam, Becky, Lauren, Donnie Paula, Ron:  NO!!!!!

Ryan: I’m fine with the second seating table…as long as I can watch Sports Center.

Doug: I say put all the Pups out there, cover the table with gummy worms and Cheetos and lock the door.

Ron: Wait…I’m bringing a ham?

Paula: Yes, dear.

Ron: Well thanks a lot for the advanced notice!! I’m not sure I can find all the spices I will need to get a ham ready for Christmas. I mean, the special Tahitian cumin I use takes three weeks to ship!

Paula: Nobody cares about Tahitian cumin for crying out loud! Just make sure there isn’t any blood on the plate.

                                                  --- to be continued---

Palpable Anguish?

First Columbia School of Law, now Harvard.

The cream of America’s academic crop have demanded dispensation from their upcoming exams due to, among other things, the “palpable anguish” looming over their campuses as a result of the national crisis brought on by the Ferguson and Garner verdicts. In a letter to the Dean of Harvard Law, the “traumatized” and “visibly distressed” students reasoned that it was far more important for them to “stand for justice rather than sit for final exams.” Apparently, Ivy League law students feel that their obligation to do their school work ends whenever the American Justice system disappoints them. When did our nation’s future lawyers become such delicate flowers?  How would you like to be represented by a lawyer unable to rally himself out of his “palpable anguish” at being overruled by a judge?

As a public service, I would like to describe what real “palpable anguish” looks like outside the cloistered ivory towers of academia.

Palpable anguish is what Harvard students felt every day during the Civil War when their fathers, uncles and brothers were being slaughtered on battlefields from Shiloh to Antietam, the future of the country hanging in the balance. The only time classes were cancelled at Harvard was when the school ran out of students.

Palpable anguish was what my Father’s generation felt the day that Pearl Harbor was attacked plunging this nation into an existential fight for its very survival. The only college students who were allowed to skip their exams were the ones who either enlisted or were drafted into the fight.

Palpable anguish was what every member of the armed forces felt when the twin towers came down and they were swept up in the endless war on terror. Despite their “trauma” and being “visibly distressed” they showed up for work.

Palpable anguish is what parents feel when their child is given a cancer diagnosis. Real life gives them no dispensation from having to work even longer hours to pay the bills. Real life doesn’t allow them a month to contemplate the flaws of our healthcare system. They show up at work and soldier on because that’s what adults do.

Palpable anguish is what I feel when I read about a collection of pampered, and privileged Ivy Leaguers making demands of their schools that previous generations of Americans would never have made. Such trauma! Such anguish! How can they possibly be expected to take an exam when a couple of white cops just got acquitted for killing a couple of black men? Oh, the humanity!!

Here’s a news flash for the delicate flowers of Harvard Law. This world is a very disappointing place at times. And yes, the American justice system is sometimes unjust. Crap happens. And sometimes the crap that happens makes you angry. But, disillusioned or not, you still have to show up for work the next day. You buck yourself up, screw on a happy face and go about your business. The real world doesn’t stop to give you time to sort through your angst, to process your feelings.

Get over yourselves!

Not a Good Week For Rape Victims

Misc. observations on yet another cold, rainy morning:

1.     It hasn’t been a good week for alleged rape victims. First came the collapse of the UVA/Rolling Stone story. Now comes a retraction from Random House over the star of Lena Dunham’s memoir, Barry the campus conservative and rapist. It seems that there really was a “Barry” at Oberlin back in the day and he was the campus conservative. Trouble is, he has lawyered up and is fighting back by loudly claiming his innocence, so much so that now Ms. Dunham claims that his name wasn’t really Barry. Here’s a little advice for all of you aggrieved feminists out there. There are enough real rapes out there. You don’t need to manufacture fake ones. When you get caught, it damages you and everything you stand for, not to mention legitimate victims.

2.     Over the weekend Pam and I went to see the Grand Illumination downtown with Gordon and Leigh Ann Fort. It was fun. While there we took two pictures, one of Gordon and Leigh Ann and another of the two of us. We would have done a selfie of all four of us, but couldn’t manage the mechanics. Later we posted both photos on Facebook. As of this morning the Dunnevant photo has 15 “likes”. The Fort photo has 75 “likes.” The Dunnevant family self-esteem is at all-time lows as we consider the appalling state of our popularity.

3.     It has been fascinating to watch the evolving tactics of peaceful protesters around the country over the Ferguson and Garner incidents. The latest rage seems to be something called a Die-In, whereby protestors gather at some high profile place and then lay down on the ground as if dead while photographers snap pictures. Interesting. I have never taken part in an organized protest in my entire life. It’s not that I have never been outraged by anything. I get mad as quick as the next guy. It’s just that it all seems so pointless. In a couple more weeks all of these protests will be over and cops and black men will still be enemies. Maybe it does serve the needs of the protestors by giving them a way to demonstrate their frustration which is fine and good. I just can’t imagine being part of a crowd of angry tax-paying businessmen marching on the IRS headquarters on April 15^th. The very idea of laying on the sidewalk with my pockets inside out pretending to be dead-broke seems preposterously silly to me. I mean, it might make me feel better, might even be great fun, but I still owe them the money.

 Lucy is about to lose whatever sanity dogs come with. It has been cloudy, rainy and disgusting outside for what seems like forever, robbing her of her favorite activity…destroying my backyard. She has had only one digging session in the past week and the withdrawal symptoms are starting to become debilitating. Poor girl has taken to sitting at doors and windows and letting out long mournful whines. It’s a dog’s life.