I used to rant when stores broke out their Christmas merchandise the day after Halloween. Now those seem like the good old days.
As my nine loyal readers know, I don't think the Christmas season should start until the day after Thanksgiving. As much as I love yuletide cheer, I don't think we need more than a month to celebrate - and shop for — Christmas. That's three weeks and six days more than any man needs.
I don't know what it says about me that watching a dream come true involved me donning a sheep costume and getting mounted. I'll leave that to mental health professionals. But I will say that seeing characters I created come to life before my eyes, to the delight of audiences, was a thrill.
Looking back, it’s a miracle we children of the 1970s survived the decade.
Our playgrounds were built on blacktop. No wood chips. No rubber base of recycled shoes and tires. If you fell from the jungle gym, you bled. Oh, and those metal slides so hot we could’ve fried bacon on them? We blissfully slid down them in Garanimals shorts, losing only a few patches of skin in the process.
I figured having a newspaper column written about me would result in readers learning things about me they didn’t know. Turns out I learned things about MYSELF I didn’t know.
What I learned is that I’m sitting on a gold mine. Well, it might be a fool’s gold mine.
It’s a crushing blow when you learn that an institution you hold sacred is nothing but a sham. For some, it was the tooth fairy. For others, it was the wizard of Oz or a balanced federal budget or chiropractors. For me, it was between-innings sumo wrestling.
You know the kids are home on summer break when you start running out of the food you bought yesterday.
Last week, I went to the cupboard in search of a sweet treat for dessert, and found Thing 1 and Thing 2, who had been out of school less than 36 hours, already had devoured the entire box of snack cakes I had purchased the day before.
Researchers studying chaos theory should leave the lab and try coaching fourth-grade basketball.
If you want a good look at how random elements affect dynamic situations, look no farther than a basketball tournament for 10-year-old boys. Check out a game sometime: You’ll find 10 beginners attempting to play basketball, but succeeding primarily in developing a hybrid of rugby and amoeba soccer, where everyone keeps stealing the ball from one another and at any given time half the players are laying on the court crying. You’ll also find two sets of coaches popping Advil like Skittles.
Who knew awarding the winter Olympics to a summer resort town would result in problems?
So thought the International Olympic Committee, apparently, when it awarded this year’s Games to Russia eight years ago. I’m sure no rubles exchanged hands over this deal, which resulted in Sochi getting picked over Salzburg, Austria. You know, a place that actually has winter.