X

At 8 years old, my son isn't sophisticated enough nor has he had the experience yet to use the Internet/text message shorthand.

However, his experience with simply Googling pictures of fake wrestlers and playing video games has developed in him a secondary language of sorts.

When we quit something or get rid of something, we "X-out of it."

I love it.

"Tyler just X-ed out of doing his homework."

Or something like that.

So I guess today our cat is at the vet having his balls "X-ed" out.

I feel bad for the little guy -- because he's actually pretty likeable as far as cats go -- but there's already one cat for every satellite dish in this neighborhood.

In fact, I almost X-ed one out with my truck on the way to work this morning.

It's The Season ('Tis Is So Two Weeks Ago)

This is such an awkwardly funereal time, these few days -- not after Christmas -- but after it finally has to be over.

I drive to the dump and there's a mountain of Christmas trees, still green from the owners who teased them with water that they were actually going to live inside their living rooms.

There's no good way to get rid of a Christmas tree. No way that isn't unceremonious given everything that you had made them out to be. We can say we're "recycling" them. I choose to burn them, at night, almost in effigy as if they were personified.

We treasure these living things. We're willing to have them inside our homes in spite of the fact that they could help our homes burn down. We water them. String electric lights around them. Put stuff under them. Smell them. Write songs about them.

"Oh, Christmas tree ... Oh, Christmas tree ..."

They're dying from the moment we cut them from the ground, which happens to be the same moment we take notice of them.

Yeah, nobody wants to hear about Christmas. If you look at it in terms of the Earth revolving its way toward another winter solstice light festival, we're about as far away from Christmas as we can be.

We'd rather hear about Christmas in July than Christmas a week after we tear open presents to show how much Jesus loves us.

As I unwound my Christmas lights from the porch today, it struck me as interesting how we put an end to things.

It struck me as interesting that I might not know whether someone with their lights still strung is a lazy, low-class redneck or whether that person is theologically aware that the Christmas season, by strict definition, begins on Christmas and ends 12 days later.

(I guess that's all in the timing. You can't know for sure until summertime, "they" say).

It's something we all do together. And we disagree less with when we start it than when we end it.

I particularly enjoy the time after Christmas until New Year's when there's still snowflakes and college marching-band holiday music on Sportscenter. That has a little to do with being on vacation, but more to do with having an opportunity to enjoy what you couldn't enjoy because you were so ... anxious.

In any case, I suppose it has to end somehow.

And I think you know Christmas and everything that goes with it is over when there's only one carton of egg nog left in the grocery store and it expires on Monday.

It's The Leading Cause ...

I'm going to start a new New Year's tradition.

It's called the "New Year's Admonition."

The first one comes courtesy of my all-time favorite piece of public-service literature, something I picked up ten years ago from the lobby of the administrative offices of good old Jasper County, S.C.:



Awesome.

I'm thinking I'm going to use my no-interest-finance card to bankroll an animated feature film starring Brrr-nard.

It would be wacky and fun.

Dear ...

I'm going to call a temporary, Christmas cease fire with Santa Claus...

The war against Santa Claus has made progress.

My 5 year old writes letters to Christmas itself.

Unfortunately, it's hard to persuade Christmas on this one when you live in South Carolina.

Peace, y'all.

Suck It, Santa

You want to know why Santa Claus can suck it?

Other than because he's a gluttonous, sanctimonious, judgmental, materialistic slave driver who gives more to rich kids than poor kids even though he's supposed to give kids stuff because they're good?

Other than the fact that he's our children's first -- and fraudulent and shallow and unreliable -- introduction to faith in a higher power, during a time when parents are trying to teach children the spiritual nature of things only for them to find out it was all a big trick to satisfy their parents' desire to provide for their children as they'd like a higher power to?

Other than another million reasons why?

Here's reason 2008:

"Daddy, can I have a Hannah Montana bicycle for Christmas?"

"Well, sweetie, I lost my job last month and we just can't afford one right now, but I'm going to get you a little something to have under the tree."

"Thanks, Daddy ... but you don't have to worry ... I'll just ask Santa Claus for one."

Anyone who wants to dine on Santa Claus' freshly strewn entrails with me as his fat ass is stuck in the chimney, bring a pair of pliers and a blow torch.