Hello Christmas My Old Friend

I like Santa.  He’s a jolly old fat man with a snowy white beard.  He’s about giving, hope and faith.  He represents the best in all of us and asks nothing in return.  He shows up regardless of the weather, regardless of how you voted in November and regardless of whether you believe in him or not.

Christmas is the season, to paraphrase Frank Cross, when we’re all a little nicer.

Theoretically anyway.

Mom was in Omaha and Lincoln for most of last week. And her side of the family came to the house over the weekend to celebrate an early Christmas.  Plus Rogue One came out Friday.  Yeah, so Friday morning was pretty much shot when it came to cleaning up the house and making food along with all the other related holiday preparedness chores necessary to accomplish when family is about to arrive.

So that means it fell upon me to get the place ready.  I unilaterally modified that task to mostly ready.  Why?  Because I’m a simple dude.  And a lot of stuff that some people think are necessary, I don’t.  But listen, we kicked Christmas’ ass decorating this place.  It looks freaking awesome.  Our family room looks like HG-freaking-TV was here.  Chip and Joanna, when they’re not fighting off the leftwing twitter lynch mob, would be proud.  The house smells like a yuletide log filled with mistletoe and sugarplums, delivered to the house by a one-horse open sleigh driven by eleven lords-a-leaping, exploded leaving an exquisite ensemble of poinsettias, silver bells and a sea of swirly twirly gum drops.   It’s like Santa himself detailed the Seal Team 6 of elves to come get the place ready for the holidays.  So I figured as long as the house is clean, the beer is cold and there is enough food to prevent starvation, we’d be set.

Yes, there were a few things left to clean up after we got home from watching Rogue One.  But it was Rogue One.  What the hell were we supposed to do?  Wait until next weekend to see it?  Here’s a pic of me getting ready to watch.

theaterrogueone

First one in the theater baby!

Regardless, I was on top of making sure the house was ready.  Thursday night, whilst cleaning up the basement, I thought I’d get all the laundry done too.  Seemed reasonable.  However, there are three teenage girls in the house.  Things which are of deathly importance to them do not always rise to that same level with me.

So, I’m doing the laundry and various clean up related tasks.  I’m about done and getting ready to call the evening’s prep work a win and just go to bed when Rye comes into the bedroom.

“Dad, when you were doing laundry did you go into my room and take anything?”

“Are you asking did I pick up any of the clothes that were strewn about your floor?  No, I didn’t.  I asked if you had any laundry you wanted done and you specifically said no.  I chose to believe you.”

“Ok, well it was Kinsey then.”

“Wait, what was Kinsey?”

“Well, my Lulu Lemon tights got washed in the washer and they are only supposed to be hand washed.”

Quick point of context – Lulu Lemon is the brand that sells tights/leggings that are about $700.  I’m kidding but Rye did save up a bunch of money this summer specifically to buy leggings that were about $100.  Yes, $100 American dollars.  They are so precious but also evidently constructed so poorly that they can’t cannot survive a routine cycle in a washing machine and instead can only endure 19th century clothes washing technology.

“Sorry about that kiddo but I just put whatever whatever was in the darks pile into the washing machine.  I didn’t look to see what was in the pile because I figure if you guys made the rare decision to put your own dirty laundry in the laundry room I was just going to go ahead assume you were serious about that stuff getting washed.  I just unloaded the washer and hung up 3 or 4 pairs of black tights or leggings or whatever.  Nothing like that got put in the dryer.”

“Okay, well, Kinsey must have put them in the laundry on purpose.  I hate her.”

Then she went into Kinsey’s room, blamed her, and then went back into her room and started crying.

So much for there being a feeling of Christmas in the air.  But that is how the mind of 17 year-old upset about her ridiculously expensive black leggings being washed glitches when upset.  She doesn’t think that she may have inadvertently put them in the wrong pile, or absent mindedly picked them up with something else off her floor, instead she tried to pin the blame on me.  When it was obvious that wouldn’t work, she seamlessly transitioned to blaming her sister, for no other reason than malice, for trying to purposely ruin them.

I mean what was Kinsey’s motive?  What did she have to gain by going into Rye’s room, searching for the Lulu Lemon leggings and then sneakily placing them in the pile of dirty laundry in the laundry room.  Where’s the payoff?

After getting blamed, Kinsey comes into my room looking like the media on election night.  She confusedly asks me if I knew what Rye was talking about.  We went through a quick recap and Kinz says, “Why would I do that? That literally makes no sense.”  Aside from acknowledging her use of “literally” in a relatively appropriate way, I just told her to ignore Rye and go to bed.

Which, if I’m being honest, is my go to strategy when dealing with the three teenage girls in my house…

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Dodgeball, Star Wars and Father’s Day

Eight daycares got together earlier this week for the annual dodgeball tournament. The girls’ daycare won for the second time in three years. They were very proud of themselves. Their team won both the championship trophy and the sportsmanship trophy. This marks the 4th consecutive year they’ve won the sportsmanship trophy. Unfortunately, rampant weenie-osity prevented them from receiving both awards. I can now confirm that political correctness and progressivism have crept into the daycare dodgeball culture.

Translation? A team which did not exhibit the best sportsmanship was given the sportsmanship award.

Reason? Its not fair for one team to win both awards.

This, of course, is not only dumb, it is un-American. If you are going to present awards for winning and for best sportsmanship, the winners should…well…win. I mean what are we teaching the kids who didn’t earn the award but are given it and what are teaching the kids who earned the award but aren’t given it?

We’re teaching them to be progressive weenies.

One the great things about kids playing sports is that there are consequences. There are consequences for success and failure. Nearly all of the time those consequences are immediate and easily understood. The games provide their own incentives to work hard and succeed.

Funny thing this is that the girls were told it wasn’t fair for them to win both of the awards. And truth be told they weren’t really upset that they had to give up the sportsmanship award – even though they earned it fair and square as Riley told me. They thought, despite being told the opposite from their teachers, that it was flat out unfair. The positive out of all of this is the girls are independent thinkers and don’t take what they’re told without some healthy skepticism.

Anyway, did anybody else watch the Star Wars marathon on Spike last weekend? Anybody else think its crap that we don’t get to watch the original theatrical version instead of the digitally enhanced version? I don’t really need to see more stormtroopers in Mos Eisley for it to be a better scene. I also want to know what the hell happened to the Ewok celebration song at the end of Return of the Jedi? It was replaced by some freaky pan flute crap that belongs back in Berkeley in ’68 not the forest moon of Endor.

Seriously, what the hell is the deal with digital enhancements? You don’t see CBS going back and releasing Magnum, P.I. with Thomas sporting a digitally enhanced moustache. ABC isn’t going back and giving Captain Stubing hair. They’re not going back and adding infantry to the battle scenes in North and South. Although that would be cool…

You know what else is cool? 22 days till NFL Kickoff Sunday. Which, if you’re really honest with yourself, should be redesignated Father’s Day. The third Sunday in June is a fine day. In fact, it would probably be just fine if it wasn’t Father’s Day. If there is a day in which I want to be left alone, it’s NFL Kickoff Sunday. Especially since I got the Sunday Ticket a couple seasons ago. I mean if you leave me alone and let me do whatever I want in June, I’m probably going to fall asleep on the couch watching highlights on the NFL Network. That or something about the allied bombing raid against the Ploesti oilfields in 1943 on The History Channel. Regardless, if you did it on a certain Sunday in September, I’ll be far more likely to appreciate the gesture. Aside from maybe the release of the Red Dawn remake, I can’t think of a better day to become Father’s Day.

In honor of the NFL season being right around the corner here’s a pic of some of my mini-helmets. I’ve altered them so they actually reflect the helmets worn in 1976. Yeah, it’s cool.