Thanksgiving is Only a Dress Rehearsal for Christmas

Getting together with family over the holidays can be a joyous thing. Unfortunately, for most of us, it really isn’t that joyous. On the continuum of human interactions, family gatherings fall somewhere between frozen pipes in the basement and major dental work. It isn’t that we don’t love our family. We do. We, as Julie Christie told Warren Beatty in “Shampoo,” are in different places now. In-laws, parents and cousins are from Mars and we live on Neptune. We want to be with our family for these special times, but after a few days, hours, minutes, we all resort back to sibling competition reminiscent of Lord of the Flies. Every year we look forward to family get-togethers but we can't wait to get packed and leave just in time to get stuck in traffic jams on the interstate.

Given that we will once again be traveling soon to be with family, I thought I would offer some helpful tips to survive these special gatherings.

Frozen in Time. I just recently I turned 54 and my mother still talks to me as if I am about 16 years old. The noted psychologist, Alfred Adler, contended that your personality is dictated by when you were born in your family. First-born children have dramatically different personalities than middle children. I guess his theories have merit. However, I believe your personality is more dictated by when your parents freeze their perceptions of you as children.

When your mother scolds you for eating an additional piece of pumpkin pie or asks you about a high school friend that you lost track of about 30 years ago, just keep in mind she is talking to that pimple-faced, angst ridden teenager that she raised many years ago. And not that bald-headed, overweight, angst ridden baby boomer you are today.

Patience and understanding are helpful here. Telling her that you are old enough to manage your intake of calories really will not make the situation any better. I suggest eating the pie, apologize for doing it, and tell her that your high school friend just had a sex change! It’s tough being frozen at 16. Just remember your younger siblings are frozen at ages that put them in greater peril.

Don’t Play Charades. This probably is my most obvious and self-evident tip but it still is worth repeating. Charades is a very bad game for family gatherings or when you are partying with the Taliban. In either instance, it will end badly.

Keep the Television Volume Up Very High. Again, this is an another obvious but helpful suggestion. With the TV on at a high volume, conversation is limited. Watching minor college football games such as the Rid X Bowl, TV Guide Bowl or the famous Poulan Weed Eater Bowl are great ways to pass the time. Conversations tend to be short, sports-related, and void of difficult and uncomfortable subjects.

Please don't watch holiday specials with music. Someone will ask to change the channel. Once that occurs, everyone believes they should have control of the remote. Remember Jack in Lord of the Flies? Let's avoid this from happening altogether. Watch sporting events only.

Have an Unlimited Supply of Red Wine Available. This is particularly important if you are hosting family. I know that drinking to excess never is a good thing. However, for short periods of time at family gatherings, it has significant medicinal qualities beyond fighting heart disease. It helps take the edge off when you mother reminds you that are too young to be drinking so much!

Come with a Cold, Leave with a Cold. This falls into the category of avoidance. You need this crutch if you cannot drink lots of red wine. A rip snorting cold offers some latitude at family gatherings. It permits you to go to bed early and stay in bed longer in the morning. If you really want to have a cold in full blossom when you arrive, make sure to do some volunteer work at a pre-school about a week before the holiday. Don’t wash your hands! I guarantee at least a 10-day virus of real misery. This is just enough to get through the holiday family get together!

I hope these tips will make your next holiday gathering a more tolerable experience. We love our families. We just need some help to survive those special times we have together.

Parody Sometimes is Very Difficult


"You know its kinder funny. I spent a big chunk of my twenties avoiding this place. It isn't as bad as I thought. Its kinda like Crawford-humid, hot, lots of brown people and they really make good BBQ."



This is a Current Events Quiz for all my readers.

Please examine the picture carefully and circle the appropriate response.

O This is a picture of President George Bush speaking to the Alabama Air National Guard Reunion held in Ho Chi Minh City.

O This is a picture of President George Bush leaving a Vietnamese Restaurant after having a big plate of Phad Thai.

O This is a picture of President George Bush asking another member of his father's entourage to join his Cabinet. (He is so old he is made of bronze.)

O This is picture of President George Bush applying his principles of "Stay the Course" in an effort to win the Vietnam War.

O All the above.

Making a Difference...That is What It is All About!

Various pundits and political talking heads have already deconstructed the 2006 elections. They know what really was behind democratic victories in the state legislatures, Governors' mansions, Senate and House of Representatives. Most contend it was Bush's failing policy in Iraq. Some believe it was H. Dean's 50 state strategy. Others point to the ongoing nosebleed of corruption. For all their pontification, I believe they are missing one of the key masterstrokes that led the democrats to victory. It was me. I take full responsibility for the democrats rising from the ashes! Let tell you how I did it.

First, I was angry at the Bush/Cheney cabal. No, I mean really angry. Anytime one of them or their minions appeared on TV, I immediately grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Meet the Press, CNN, C-Span, Imus in the Morning, wham, they were gone! It didn't matter. I had complete control of the remote. Not only did channel changing make me feel better, but it also left them without an audience to spin their vile lies and deceit.

Second, I read plenty of the liberal blogs on the net. I mean plenty. Jesus General, the Daily Kos, and ArchPundit needed an audience to push the republicans out of power. And they got one with me! I always nodded my head in agreement and grinned whenever I read their analysis or gossipy tidbits about Kenny Mehlman, Teddy Haggard or Kathy Harris.

Third, I like gay people. Unlike the social conservatives who hate the sin and the sinner, I would have voted against a ban on same sex marriage if the initiative was on the ballot in Ohio. Unfortunately, it wasn't this time. But I still would have voted against it.

Fourth, I never, I mean never watch Fox News. Brit Hume and Bill O'Reilly have nothing on me. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there, does it make a sound? If I don't watch Fox News, then I don't have to yell back at the TV.

And finally, I actually volunteered to help out election day. The local democratic challenger's campaign gurus (average age 19) had me out canvassing for votes for most of the day. My job was to knock on doors and remind the right kind of voters to get to the polls. I did my job very well. I knocked on at least a hundred doors. Ninety-nine of those houses had no one home. I left doorhangers. You know most democrats work for a living. They are not home at 9 AM watching Jerry Springer. My preferred democratic challenger lost but the democrats won almost all the state races and the senate seat. I know it was those doorhangers that made a difference.

You see the evidence is very clear. Rahm Emmanuel can talk smack all he wants. I know I was the deciding factor in this past election. Me and my remote!

Surf and Turf

Early this morning about 3:30 AM, our dog Sparky started barking out the back window that looks over our water garden. My wife and I got up to see what he was barking at. We thought that it was again, Mr. Ricky Ricardo, the neighborhood plant thief that has been arrested and released more times than Jack Abramoff.

No, this time it was not cuddly, cute baby raccoons that some folks want to domesticate. This was a raccoon that was bigger than most VW Jettas. It jumped into our water garden and proceeded to swim around dobbing for our fish. Apparently, this has been a rather lucrative feeding ground for him (better than the Georges Banks off of New England). At times he moved from his regular doggy paddle to a truncated breaststroke! We tried to chase him off with loud noises, lights and dog barks, but he seemed very content seining for his fresh water sushi.

We finally got him to leave after several visits. The last time he jumped in and was standing up trying to catch fish. Our garden is about 2 feet deep!

Ladies and gentlemen, these raccoons are NOT cute or little. The one in our garden is either regularly visiting Floyd Landis's doctor for some injections or he is getting very fat and sassy dining on garbage and fish in our hood.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE keep tights lids on all garbage cans. Do not put our food for stray cats or dogs. Good intentions provide nourishment for rats and Landis injected raccoons. I recommend everyone should purchase supercans. These have lids that are attached and lock. Varmints cannot get into them. Additionally, raccoons carry rabies and other diseases. I do know that a neighbor who lives on a nearby street had to go through the entire rabies injections series because she got bit while she was attempting to get her dog separated from a rabid raccoon.

Remember the next time you see a brown VW Jetta with black accent stripes parked on our street, give it a poke. Don't be surprised to see it roll over on its fat belly and smile. Our neighborhood is better than the Golden Corral. We offer surf and turf!

Precious? You Bet!

A few days ago, I woke up to find several potted plants gone from my little backyard. Most were caladiums and cannas that were looking pretty good! Apparently, someone either crawled under or climbed over our wooden fence to get them. Over the past few months we have been battling against a known plant thief who has been making the rounds stealing potted plants of all shapes and sizes from decks, backyards, and front porches. I left to go grocery shopping at Findlay and returned to discover more caladiums and cannas gone. During my time away the botanic burglar made a command performance and taken the last of my summer finery!

Naturally, I called the police to make a report. The 911 operator asked me if the plant thief was in my house. I indicated that he was not. She asked me if the value of your plants that was taken more then $5,000. I paused for a moment and thought. This must be a trick question. If I say no, does she tell me to go Home Depot and buy some more? If I say yes, I am sure her response would be, "No, they're not!"

I was flumexed. The best I could come up with was, "Well, they're not worth $5,000 but they are precious to me." Precious? I haven't used that word since I told my first girlfriend when I was about 9 years old that the ring I gave her had a precious stone.

Her response was in a polite but impatient tone, "Sir, the police cannot respond to your call unless the intruder is in your house or the property stolen is more that $5,000. You can go to District Four on Monday and file a formal report."

"But I said, he, he has been here twice, stealing my cannas!" "Sir, unless he is you house or stole property valued at $5,000, police cannot respond toyour emergency."

I hung up the phone and immediately called Dispatch at District Four. I asked the Sergeant on Duty if that is standard policy about the $5,000 threshold to get a police response. She said, "Who told you that?" I said, "the 911 Operator." She responded, that's not true, I will connect you to the call center."

The call center operator said, "Unless the property stolen is worth $5,000 or more we do send out a police officer." "Well, I said, those caladiums and cannas were precious to me!" I don't believe I was anymore convincing.

Ultimately, a police officer did come out to my house. I showed him the bare spots where my caladiums and cannas once resided. I also told him our precious those plants were. He try to exude some empathy standing in the midday sun in a Kevlar bullet proof vest with a belt full weapons ranging from the not so deadly to the very deadly.

His final words to me were before he got into his cruiser were, "You know my wife really likes her plants too." Somehow that wasn't giving me much solace.

The story did have a happy ending sort of. The perp was arrested later that day climbing over someone else's wall to grab plants. Unfortunately, he was released from the Justice Center that evening.

The good news is he hasn't been back. Nor have my caladiums or cannas miraculously reappeared. If there is a moral in the story, I guess it is this. Never tell a 911 operator that your plants are precious. It really doesn't work. The good news is it will be mum season soon. I wonder what colors the plant thief prefers?

F'boy Tom Goes to the Ballet

Yes, I went to the ballet recently. It was Giselle! I wish I could say it was a life-changing event. It was not. I wish I could say I now have a greater appreciation for the ballet. But I don’t. You see I am one of those cultural arts dullards. The ones that wives drag to the ballet, symphony, and yes, even the opera.

We walk into auditoriums and take our seats throughout many cultural arts venues in Cincinnati. We tend to drink and eat too much before any event. This gives us the sustenance we need to survive 2 and half hours of sautees, demy plies, or pirouettes. A few carbs and martinis in the system always make it easier to snooze in the exceedingly small auditorium seats designed for people Mike DeWine size.

When I am not snoozing or looking out in blank space, I spend time asking myself who else goes to the ballet? Why are they here? I have come to the conclusion that there are five kinds of people who go to the ballet. The first are dolts like me, dragged there by wives or significant others. You can always tell who they are. They tend to slouch over and their eyes start drooping about 10 minutes into the first act. We just don’t get it.

The next group is comprised of people who I don’t believe have anything else to do. They try to look like they are cultural arts afficiados. They scour their programs. They applaud after every “jeté en avant, grand.” They even chat with each other about the aesthetic qualities of the production. Don’t kid yourself. It is all a big lie. They would rather be home watching reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”

The third group are people who have unusual hairdos. I think the ballet attracts people who feel they can finally be themselves and wear their mullets. bobs and various artificial attachments. At Giselle last week I saw guy who wrapped his hair around his head like some coonskin cap. It sort of floated or bounced off his head as he got up from his chair at intermission. Another women had these long hair additions that made her look more like an older, taller American Girl doll than a women in her 60s. I normally don’t see these folks at a Reds game.

The fourth group are the season ticket-holders. They are the real mystery to me. They pretend that they actually go to the ballet more than once every decade. For whatever reason, they can watch a whole season of “pas’ de rois or quatre.” Since I only attend once every decade, I am not certain they actually go to all the productions. My theory is they give their tickets to the second group of folks, the ones who have nothing else to do.

The final group are what I call miscellaneous. They include young girls, friends visiting from out-of-town, and people who believe going to the ballet or opera really makes you a better person. Young girls can be excused. But their mothers cannot be.

Friends from out-of-town go because you can’t think of anything better to with them while they are visiting. Most of them end up snoozing within 10 minutes not because they are dolts like me. They are just so tired because you make them sleep in guest room on a mattress that you moved in there 10 years ago!

And what about ballet goers who believe that the arts are good for them? That too will pass just like a bad case of heartburn. If they really want to improve their lot, they should take glucosamine and condriotin daily and floss in the morning and at night.

I know I am being far too critical of the ballet. George, Margot and Rudolf are far better people than I ever could be. They get it and I don’t.

I wonder though. Have they ever sat through an entire production of Giselle in seats designed for Linda Hunt with a half of pound of pasta slowly digesting in their stomachs? Next time I go I promise not to snore. I will also bring my own hair attachments.

Baby Boomers Should Know Better

On an impulse I went online and ordered tickets to the Michael McDonald and Steely Dan concert at Riverbend last Tuesday. Let's just say I am over 50 and have been a fan of Mike, Walter and Donald for many years. I must admit I frittered away many hours listening to the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan on my old victrola when I was younger, much younger.

Today we send out alarms about the power of video games and the hold they have on our youth. I confess that listening to music on good stereos was a primary occupation for me for about 2 or 3 years during my foggy 20s.

Anyways, I thought it would be great to hear those guys again. I remember the last time Steely Dan was in town and it was fun evening. I purchased lawn tickets for my wife and I and arrived about a half hour before the concert started. As we walked in to find a comfortable place to plant our beach chairs and I could not help but notice others with the same intentions.

My first impression-everyone looked old! And then I it dawned on me. I am old too! The last time I saw Steely Dan was in Cincinnati was in 1993. All the concertgoers putting blankets down and milling about were 13 years older. We all are getting comfortable for an evening of wheeze rock. That realization put me a sour mood for the next few minutes. I kept waiting for promotional giveaways and fliers for Preparation H, Cialas, or Nexium. Fortunately Riverbend and the bands' promoters had the good sense not to do that. However, I did some interesting examples that reminded me how old I was.

Several concertgoers came wearing t-shirts from Steely Dan's 1993 tour. Think about it. How many of us can actually fit into t-shirts purchased a decade and half ago? I know I can't. There were other fans that tried and failed miserably.

I saw a woman wearing another t-shirt that read, "I'm with the Band." That was a cute joke 20 years ago, but wheeze rockers should know better. If she was with the Band, she either was their equipment manager or their trailer cleaner. I think there is a natural expiration date for groupiedom. And believe me, this lady expired a long time ago!

Trying to squeeze into old concert clothes is getting harder and harder. Fortunately most of the other attendees wore more age appropriate attire. I know I just don't look good in tie-dye or beads anymore.

The other personal grooming faux paux that was evident among a few male tickets holders was long hair. Or should I say miserable attempts at long hair. I think one of the central planks in New Gingrich's 1994 Contract for America was a clear promise to outlaw mullets on men over 40 years old. Mullets on old guys just don't work. There are just too few hairs hanging below random balding spots all over shiny domes. I know it is an ugly picture. I can't help it. I just report the facts.

There was one piece of final evidence that reminded me that I was truly attending a wheeze rock show. I saw hundreds of older white guys slowing getting out of their beach chairs to dance when they heard their favorite melodies. Inappropriate clothes and stringy mullets are bad. But ladies and gentlemen white guys over 50 can't dance. We couldn't when we were 20. Somehow we got away with it with youthful exuberance and major supplies of unjustified overconfidence. This display of unscripted and spontaneous "getting up to boogie" was probably the last glaring reminder that I am older than my parents. Flabby hips and boning knees were moving in all directions. Wives, embarrassed by the their husbands' "nonrythmic" dance steps, hid their faces.

Walter Brecker even tried to get more of us up with a rallying cry, "I didn't know that Cincinnati was a partying town!" I think he coughed after his call to arms.

To their credit, Walter, Michael and Donald put on a great show. It was a wonderful evening of nostalgia and some great musicianship.

My wife and I really had fun. We didn't stay for the last encore though. It was getting late and we both were really tired. I know I shouldn't give up. I should fight that growing old mentality. I just had to get home to take off my 1993 Steely Dan t-shirt. It was leaving red marks in my love handles.

Going Postal ? Let's Hope Not!

Has anybody visited our local Hamilton County Driving Exam Station lately? I lived in central Cincinnati for over 20 years. I am very familiar with the "multi-splendid" nature of our rich and diverse city. I have witnessed the best and worst of the human condition. I must tell you that I was completely caught off guard.

The Exam Station has the most Spartan waiting room. I believe Phil, Todd or Pat (County Commissioners) don’t want any Hamilton County taxpayers to ever think they are wasting taxpayers’ pennies on comfortable chairs, paint colors selected by Martha Stewart or fluorescent lights that don't make everyone look like they have jaundice and are waiting for transplants! The waiting room had the look and feel of a Plasma Center (not that I have visited one recently).

I must say I wasn't properly prepared for the display of potential drivers that came to test their varying driving skills as well. As I sat down in a chair that was probably going to be soon sent to Abu Graib, I scanned the Exam Station. There was a woman nearly my age and my weight standing in line wearing a t-shirt that had "porn star" emblazoned on its back. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person gets up in the morning and says to herself, "You know I should put on my porn star t-shirt because I am taking a driver's exam today!" Did she think the shirt would add bonus points of the driver's exam final grade?

Another potential driver sat down beside me. She was an international student from China. She asked me a few questions. I guess she thought I might have some answers given that I was only person in the center with a tie on. She was very sweet but I had enormous difficulty understanding her. My Mandarin is a little rough around the edges if you know what I mean. Naturally, the driver's examiner butchered her name when he called it out. I looked her way and told her she was being called to take the driver's test. She nodded appreciatively and followed the examiner out the door. It would have been fun sitting in the back seat and listening in while the examiner asked her to begin the maneuverability portion of the test. I wondered how his Mandarin is these days? I did hope she passes the test.

While my son was out with his examiner, an older gentleman approached the counter and asked a question of the driver's examiner on duty. I couldn't hear all that was being said but the exchange got heated. The older gentleman slammed his fist a couple of times and slapped his papers on the counter. Everyone in the waiting room got their undivided attention even the porn star's entourage. Finally, he stormed out mumbling something. The examiner at the desk first sighed and winked at me. Why me, I don't know. He then said, "Let's hope he doesn't go postal on us!" I could only smile in return. I wondered does the concealed weapon law apply to Driving Exam Stations?

After my son passed his driver's test, we then had to get in line for his driver's license. I asked my son what he got on his driver's test. He showed me the score and said, "95 out of 100." I asked him what was the lowest passing score. He said, "75." I guess the person in front of my son overheard my question. He turned around and said, "I got a 75 on the test because I drove through a stop sign. You know I used to drive on the most dangerous road in Florida all the time. I never killed anyone." He was one of those people we have all have interacted with that engages you in conversation even though you never say anything. He answered most of his own questions. He tended to blink a great deal and fondled something in his pocket. I guess he passed the exam too.

I was proud of my son for passing the test. He really is a very safe driver. I looked back at the waiting room. Porn star and her entourage were gone. Mr. Postal hadn't returned. And Mr. Florida found someone else to talk to. I guess it was a typical day at the Driver's Exam Station. The last thing I said to my son as we got into our car to drive home was, "This is why I keep saying you got to drive defensively out there." You know for the first time in a long time he didn't disagree with me.