One Heck of a Holiday

Here is a true statement: "One Heck of a Holiday" is a series of words that really have no certain meaning, absent the input that would come from either hearing it said in person, so you could judge the tone you heard and the images you took in of the utterer as the words were spoken.

It's not the words, it's the presentation.

And then you can't always trust the presentation.

This is why "Friends" are important. We trust friends to use easy words, with clear cut presentations,and we extend the same courtesies in return. If you've got someone in your life who is trying to pass as a "friend" but you can't always trust what he or she says or does, then that person is not a friend.

The more friends you make, the less effort you have to put into your daily communications, and thus your stress level is way below the norm. But you won't be "rich", whatever that really, really means, unless you're counting chips. Define 'rich' for me and you've defined yourself, as well.

Good night and don't drink and drive. Don't even putt.

Slouching towards 2007

I've never run to greet a new year.

If you could elevate yourself to a position a couple of AU's above the plane of the elliptic of the Earth's orbit around the sun, you would be in a position to mark the sidereal year. If you'd never been on the Earth, you wouldn't know about our solar year. And you'd have absolutely no idea what "Happy New Year" meant.

But 99.99999% of humans don't know what a sidereal year is, and don't care. Which is perfectly fine. And so I obliquely expose one of my biggest challenges, to get close enough to humanity to engage with it. But anyone having a modicum of common sense would ask, "Hey, Mr. Bananas, why should you? What's humanity ever done for you?" This isn't a quiz, and no, it won't be on the final exam.


Here's an aside of no particular interest: One of my sons drew a portrait of me. I'm taking it to the office next week, where I will scan it and then upload it to my blog. Once it goes up, I will strictly enforce the "No Autographs/No Paparazzi" rule. You've been warned. So there.

What Did you Get Jesus for his Birthday?

While you may think this an impertinent question (and of course it is!), it still does have some merit, if only to point out to all my Christian homies that Jesus is the reason for the season. It also serves to, again, point out the role that 'advertising' has in our culture. There wouldn't be "Happy Holidays!" without advertising.

I'd tell you what I got Jesus for His birthday, but He reads my blog and I don't want to spoil the surprise. If you do mention here what you got Him, use an alias, so He doesn't know it's you.

Speaking of advertising, religion has been advertising a lot longer than national cultures have even been aware of advertising. Americans like to think that we invented advertising. And we certainly did a lot to perfect and popularize it's use. We're the one who invented "FREE!!" when everyone knows that there is no such thing... Advertising only really works when you have "sheep" to advertise to. So perhaps our early national leadership in advertising had to do with the number of prosperous sheep our culture was creating. And now China and India are on a path to overtake us in this creation of sheep with disposable income. If only those markets are opened up to us!

Happy Birthday, Jesus!

Remember that song, "My Dingaling"?

Well, this song would be nothing like it...

I like to think I'm solid and secure about who I am, but I may be kidding myself. I would love to be this grounded, this secure, able to display My Dung and not feel the least bit uncomfortable about it. After all, it's a very natural process. You probably have your own dung, too!

Americans used to be a simple, good hearted people... Salt of the Earth, as the saying goes. But I think we've lost touch with our elemental humanity.

I bet you'll never see a My Dung store in any upscale mall. More's the pity...

the 40 Million Dollar Man

We've all seen stories like the one I glanced at on Drudge. Some stockbrorker executive is getting a $40,000,000 bonus. He's being "suitably" rewarded for his efforts over the course of 2006. Certainly he didn't award it to himself. So either the bonus was written into his employment contract, or his bosses, the Boss Heirarchy, looked at the figures he put up and said, "Wow, he made us SOOOO much money that we need to let him know we really appreciate it!"

Either way, it means the 40 Million Dollar Man made a heck of, a big HECK of a lot of money for his company.

So now he's going to retire and live very comfortably the rest of his life, right?

The Name Game...

Banana fanana fo fanana... Jim Croce, "I got a name"

There are very rarely people who don't have names. One of my sons and his wife could not agree on a name for their new baby for a day. So for roughly 24 hours that kid didn't have a full name. On the records for that brief period the kid was just Baby Bananas.

Are there any cultures or countries where babies are routinely born and not given names? Probably not. But who knows...

How long do you think it's been since a human being went through life without a name? How many humans went all their lives answering to "Hey, you!"? I doubt it made any difference in their lives. Think about how many generations of humans there have been in the roughly 180,000 years homo sapiens have existed. When did 'talking' become something normal? Wouldn't the first names have been nouns used to identify familiar objects? Do I have a great-great to the Nth power great grandfather named Clod, whose sister was named Ashes? Who invented the name Jane? Or Bob? Or Kim, or Chan or Ali, etc., etc.?

There is a school of religious thought that propounds that all of us are offspring of a God, with that Jesus guy, whose birthday approaches, being a brother of ours. Do you think that this heavenly father gave us names as we were 'born' or created or jury-rigged, or whatever He did back before the foundation of the world? If He did, did He keep a record, or does He just have all our names memorized? And will He one day tell us what our first, and the really important name, is? Will each name be as pretty as the next, or will I get stuck with something that rhymes with something funny? Is my real name Horace? Are numbers or symbols involved? Which brings up a point... When He's just hanging out with His homies, what language does He speak? Maybe it's latin, but I'm guessing it isn't.

Wouldn't it be Great if Self-Mortification Worked?

I missed all the Lupe Parties here in SoCal yesterday. I feel bad about it. And luckily, there's something I can do about it. I can wear sack cloth and ashes for an hour or so and thus make it up to her.

"Her" is Lupe. December 12th is her day. Her full name is La Virgen de Guadalupe, but those closest to her call her Lupe. I first learned about her when I was "traveling" in Mexico for a Church which shall remain nameless. I was using an alias, a totally phony name, so as to protect the innocent. Back then I would only answer to the name, Elder Bananas.

So the first year that I was there on Dec. 12, I happened to be carousing in Mexico City with another guy named Elder. It was his second Dec. 12th and he knew where the action was. So we took a cab out to this cathedral and got some decent grandstand seats and bet on the races. The contestants on whose performances we were wagering matchsticks were penitent Lupe-ites who were on the last leg of a miles long journey from the starting line to the cathedral. And they were traveling the many miles on hands and knees. So the object was to pick out two penitents and then bet on which one would reach a certain point before the other.

The game for the Lupe-ites was to gain forgiveness by this particular painful display of devotion. Lupe would see the pain you were in and intercede with her Boss to get x number of sins expiated. Not a bad deal when you think about it. I wish we'd had digital cameras back then. I only had one roll of film with me and I didn't really get any great shots.

Any way, you Lupe-ites out there, I hope you had a fine Lupe Day yesterday.

Time for the "Best Of" Awards!

Brought to you by the First Day of the Rest of your Life, now on sale at Kohl's.


Best President to listen to no one while keeping his fingers crossed that God would make everything work out okay: Abraham Lincoln. (Sorry, that was a trick question that relied on you thinking that I meant "Best Of..." for things that happened this year.) During the first half of the Civil War, the NY Times/CNN Polls consistently showed that over 63% of the Free State civilians wanted Abe to cancel the war and pull out of the South. This doesn't really compare with the Iraq quaqmire, but it does go to show that the American People can be short sided. After all, what could possibly happen if the Mid-East is given over to Fundamentalist Al-Wackos who would rather see you and your kids lying dead in your drive way than subscribe to Penthouse magazine.

Best Mono-manical Woman to want to run the country: Cindy Sheehan. Yeah, you thought I was going to say Hillary Clinton. But I think more than power, she'd rather have money. And who can fault her for that? But Cindy, now there's a true fruitcake who could give the Al-Wack 'freedom fighters' lessons in spite & venom.

Best Price Gouge calmly swallowed by a Consuming Public: The sale of electrical power. You thought I was going to say gasoline, right? But that's just the market place doing what market places do, find the highest level the public will pay. But when it comes to electrical power, the purveyors are just out and out incinerating the public and then hosing off the ashes and picking up the lose change that was in our pockets. The 'potential' to create electrical power is everywhere: wind, rivers, the tides, the sun, thermal sources, renewable consumables and fusion. We should be phasing out the old sources, like coal, natural gas, oil and nuclear fission. Electricty out to be less than 5% of the typical family's budget. But we just sit back and let ourselves be ripped.

Best Celebrity Vagina: The votes are still being counted. As a sidebar, and not that I'm at all interested, but how come no wanna be male stars are getting their piggly-wigglies photographed? Where's the justice?

Best Reason to Live: this one is a tie amongst many, many reasons. My own personal favorite: How will Michael Jackson die? And will it be an open-casket funeral?

What's a couple of your favorite reasons for staying alive?

Amateurs v. Professionals

Amateurs vastly outnumber Professionals. It is said that there is a vast divide between the competent amateur and the competent professional. My personal testimony supports this. I shoot better golf scores than 90% of the world's golfers, making me a competent amateur, but there isn't a single top 1000 PGA golfer who couldn't kick my roly-poly amateur butt. As good an example as there is of what I'm talking about.

Now here's the question: Am I an amateur human being or a professional human being?

More importantly, are you?

From Those Wonderful People Who Gave Us Pearl Harbor!!

This was the title of a book written by a (brief) advertising genius. It was written back in the late 60s, I believe. Back then the title had more 'bite' than it does today. 40 years ago Japanese cars weren't all the rage and people didn't commit various forms of mayhem for Play Station 3s.

Any store that takes delivery of any PS3 todays will sell out immediately. And neither the store clerks nor the buyers will entertain ironic thoughts as one forks over cash or credit card and the other takes or accepts. Just another day in paradise.

List any white hot concern you've got today and in 50 years people will yawn at its mention. We're not 50 years from the fall of Saigon, but for people who didn't go through it, it's a yawner. And for those of us piloting those last choppers, straining to gain altitude with our over-loaded Huey's, we even have a hard time remembering who we were back then, much less the events themselves.

Just as the world reinvents itself and what matters to it, so do we, and what matters to us.

Swear to god, I once had a girlfriend who I found out was born full term, six months after her parents were married! (Cue clashing major chords, fortissimo!) It meant her parents had SINNED! (raise clashing major chords a half tone and increase volume!) Apparently I was quite the little sin nazi back then.

Now my boys are dealing with girls born of lesbian parents. Wedlock, what's that? And maybe my grandsons will be dealing with young women who were fertilized in-vitro and carried to term in donor wombs removed from cadavers and artificially maintained. It's do-able!

The Birth Certificates of the future will have to provide more room for suitable explanations and details. It's going to play holy hell with the Mormon Church's genealogical forms.

Anyway, as one who was alive (barely) during WWII, let me urge you to take the opportunity today to shove potatoes into the tail pipes of any handy Lexuses/Lexi.

Just Because I Don't Care Doesn't Mean I Don't Understand!

I credit the above very trenchant comment (and universal Truth) to Homer Simpson. (It's probably happened already: Some Ph.D. candidate getting his degree with a dissertatin based on The Simpson's impact on America. Aye Caramba, The Simpson's has probably impacted our language & literature!)

Being a normal, testosterone-driven male, I don't feel any outrage about the war in Iraq. Sure, intellectually I can perceive that it's a rather huge waste of time, talent and resources, but when's the last time you visited an inner city school? There's probably more good coming out of Iraq, per unit/value than from inner city schools.

It's very easy for various seemingly like-minded, same-culture people to have variously different reactions to the same stimuli/stimulus. Imagine all the people you work with and play with and are related to being in a big theatre together, looking at a blank screen. Suddenly there is a projection of a large, detailed photograph of two men kissing. How many people will react exactly like I would? Like you would? See what I'm getting at? And these are people you pretty much get along with, your fellow 'culturalists.'

Take this process into account when you want to start talking about coffins coming back from Iraq, or some other 'horrible' aspect of the war. And remember, just because I don't care, doesn't mean I don't some idea of how you feel.

All I have to do is imagine how I'd feel if I heard that golf courses were going to be closed so that affordable housing could be built on them. I'd be devastated!! My wife would make a pretend frown and then when I challenged her on her sincerety, she'd say, "Hey, just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand.

(The opposite of this is hearing that all all cemetaries over 150 acres were being turned into golf courses. That would really perk me up while she would start writing indignant letters to the editor.)

An Open Post to Hillary Clinton

This from a news story:

"Clinton, who easily won re-election to (her) second term on Nov. 7, 'is reaching out to her colleagues in the New York delegation and asking for their advice and counsel and their support if she decides to make a run,' a top adviser, Howard Wolfson, told The Associated Press.

"He noted that Clinton had said she would begin actively considering a run after the election. 'That process has begun,' Wolfson said. He said he did not know when she might make a decision or set up an exploratory committee."

Dear Mrs. Clinton:

I don't know you personally. Probably we'd get along fine if we were stranded on the proverbial deserted island. As long as we didn't discuss politics...

The notion of you running for President has been part of the American cultural imperative since at least 2000. Even your fiercest detractors have to acknowledge that your star has been ascending in the national political firmament; you have become a force to be reckoned with.

And now the moment is at hand when you may declare yourself and all the "what if'ing" will be over.

Personally I want you to wind up the Democratic nominee. I'm a non-religious Republican, meaning all I want for America are an increasingly smaller government, fewer and lower taxes, the right to bear (concealed) weapons and the absolute separation of church and state. With you as a candidate the chances for the Republican nominee winning are increased. If we barely squeaked by against Mr. Privileged Personality in '04, I think we could keep the White House by a comfortable margin in 2008.

One of the dependable characteristics of self-important people is their inability to accurately interpret their place in the world. You are a too far left. In your mind you're the most sensible person you know. You just can't see that you're going to scare enough Democratic Centrists so that they'll either not vote or they'll vote Republican. On top of that you're going to galvanize every single segment of the Republican party to pull together like they've never pulled together before.

Mrs. Clinton, you may be the only chance the Republican Party has in 2008. So you go, girl.

Respectfully,

Bertram Bananas, LLC

Sample Christmas Cards, if I were in charge . . .

Today's post was suggested by yesterday's arrival of the season's first Christmas Card. I didn't recognize the return address. And since it didn't include one of those oft-maligned "Our Family Bring-You-Up To Date" letter, opening the card offered no further enlightenment. So I asked my wife. She informed who it was from. She's such a fountain of arcane knowledge.

Now then... What if I were in charge of the Christmas card list? I'd send out cards like this:

"Well, Christmas is here again. It's nuts at the Post Office. But I slouched on down to buy stamps. One of which is was on the envelope you just opened. When you start to add up the time and expense involved in sending you this card (which constitutes the one and only moment I'll think of you and that annoying kid of yours in 2006) you have to wonder what's happened to common sense in our culture. Ho ho ho. With remote, detached affection, Bert."

"Thanks for being such a nice person. I see you every day at the office and you already know I like you. I'll probably be saying 'Merry Christmas' to you at least five times before Christmas Day gets here... Which begs the question: Why send you this card? Hell if I know. Stupid knee-jerk reaction to supposed Cultural imperatives, I guess. Logic certainly isn't involved. Anyway, Merry Christmas. Your friend, Bert."

"Hey. How's it going? We had some great times together in college. We were as close to inseparable as two humans can be without being conjoined. Hard to believe that was a mere 16 years ago. It's just as hard to believe that I haven't seen you since our ten year reunion. Could you tell that I hated your wife? What were you thinking? knowing you like I do, you won't ever admit what a mistake that was. But just remember, Pam and I are here for you if you ever see the light. Try to have a good Christmas. Your once best friend, Bertie."

"I try not to dwell on how long you've been a canker on the butt of my life. Sometimes when I see you I want to heave. But because you occupy the position you do and I occupy the position I do, I can't let you know that. And so I take this Happy Holiday season to send you this personal note of fear and loathing. I would take it as a personal favor from God if your compassion genes were activated and you became something other than a remorseless human being. Otherwise, I hope you get cancer for Christmas. Loath, an anonymous vassal."

See how easy it is? Got one to contribute? Of course this attitude is probably more a 'guy' thing, so my faithful readers may not be in tune with this post... And it is women who are in charge of culture.

Welcome To December

December can be a cruel month.

Late one December, when our kids were little, my wife developed a very bad case of the flu. She came down with it like around the 18th. She didn't get back on her feet until after New Years. We had no Christmas. At least not as she defines Christmas.

I bought some toys for the boys, who were both under 10, and I bought myself a golf sweater and some golf balls, so the boys and I enjoyed Christmas morning was just fine. Then we had Swanson's Turkey pot pies for Christmas dinner, while my wife was busy heaving-up watered down Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup. I kept the Christmas Carols playing loudly on the CD player so the boys and I wouldn't be distracted by the sounds that accompany virtuoso heaving.

The boys, now 21 & 17, and I barely remember that Christmas, and when we do think about it (which is every Christmas when my wife talks about it over Christmas Dinner) we don't have any negative thoughts about it. For us the Christmases sort of just run together, all blurry when we look into the past. If there was anything notable about it, it was that we were very much at peace; my wife wasn't enforcing any schedules or agendas.

Some of our Christmases have been spectacularly materialistic. Some less so. It's been very neat being nuculear (hee hee!) family. But no matter your circumstances, the lower you can keep your expectations, the more you'll probably enjoy a particular event. Men are probably better at this than women.