Archive Page 6

27
Dec
11

The best way to get oneself out of bed

Sunrise came with an important discovery today: the best way to get oneself out of bed. Simply accidentally drop your alarm clock in the laundry basket in your closet. The trick is to do it by accident, so you don’t spoil the surprise. You may want to enlist the assistance of a helpful roommate or significant other.

When the alarm goes off in the morning, you will have no idea where the sound is coming from. Throw back the covers and look all around yourself in desperation and confusion. It won’t help if you utter a helpless and heavy “huh?” but it might make you feel better.

Get out of bed and look on the floor. Under the bed. Behind the night stand. As the sound gets steadily louder and more frantic, you will finally isolate it to your closet.

Root around in the dirty clothes, in the dark, because it hasn’t occurred to you to turn on the light.

By the time you discover the source of the awful racket, you won’t care about getting back to bed. Your boiling blood will have woken you up completely, and you’ll just head downstairs to make coffee and feed the cat, who by now has also woken up.

17
Dec
11

The 12 Ways of Christmas: the cards

[Part 4]

My family is a collection of procrastinators. It wasn’t until Christmas was staring down at us from the other end of a week that we actually pulled ourselves together to send Christmas cards.

I’d dust off the glitter from the old cards we didn’t use from the previous year, and mom would add stacks of new cards she’d picked out. We always seemed to have old, unused cards. Sometimes the old ones were a little yellowed or discolored, and the glue on the envelopes tasted funny, so we’d save those til the end. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: the cards’

16
Dec
11

The 12 Ways of Christmas: the tree

[Part 3]

Somehow the threat of danger seemed to make our Christmas tree more worthwhile.

Our family room tree, in contrast with the more austere “nice tree” in the living room, was a garish, hulking thing. A hodgepodge of lights and garland and ornaments of every shape size and color, its beauty derived mainly from its randomness. Our Christmas tree didn’t give it a shit, because all other trees cold suck it. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: the tree’

14
Dec
11

The 12 Ways of Christmas: The decorating

[Part 2]

My mom had a couple of great friends who went nuts every year with Christmas decorations in their house.

Auntie Cel and Auntie Mary had so much stuff, they had to start decorating the day after Halloween to get it all up in time for Christmas. Every room had a different theme; some rooms had more than one. There were the religious icons, the secular icons, nativities, santas and elves, snowmen and snowladies, stars, snowflakes, trees, holly, wreaths, lights, lights, and lights. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: The decorating’

13
Dec
11

The 12 Ways of Christmas: the records

[Part 1]

Not long into December every year, when I was a kid, my mom and I would start digging out the Christmas albums. We’d play them on the quadraphonic sound system in the living room. (What suburban house furnished in the ’70s was complete without quadraphonic sound?)

You could set up two or three records at a time, resting on an arm that held them above the turntable. When one side ended, the tone arm would lift up and swing back to home position, a notch in the spindle would click, and the next record would drop into place. The tone arm would swing back, drop the needle into place, and new music would begin to play. It was like magic. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: the records’

06
Dec
11

Putting the BS in BCS

When asked where we went to college, we graduates of Michigan State are often annoyed by the follow up question: “That’s in Ann Arbor, right?”

It’s as if, because we went to a big state school, it must the University of Michigan. That’s the one that counts, right? And even if you said “Michigan State,” it must be the good one in Ann Arbor, and I’m just getting them confused, right?

The prejudice runs deep, and it is hard to escape. It shows up no more prominently than in the rivalry between Michigan’s and Michigan State’s football teams. I don’t pretend to know a lot about the calculations behind college football standings (Roger Groves, a contributing writer for Forbes, explains how State was cheated yet again), but I do know a little about fairness.

When the better team in the eyes of the establishment gets more attention and more endorsements and more money, being serious about fairness matters. However, the Bowl Championship Series deciders have little interest in fairness.

I don’t know what they’re interested in, because Michigan, with a worse record than State, is playing in the Sugar Bowl, one of the five important BCS matches.

Our reward: The Outback Bowl. Steaks. Baby back ribs. Tobster tails. Bloomin’ onion. Heartburn. Heartbreak.

Continue reading ‘Putting the BS in BCS’

28
Nov
11

tweedle-dee, tweedle-douche

It has been a long day. I need a little sit-down where everybody knows your name. Funny enough, I know none of the names of the half-dozen or so fellas scattered around the bar, and I suspect none of them knows mine. So I figure I’ll make it a quick one and head home.

I’m sitting there with a lager, and a guy down the bar gets into an impassioned discussion with his companion about ’90s music. It’s ’90s music, I think. Why bother?

His friend pushes out from the bar to throw some money in the jukebox.

He calls out to the bartender to get his attention. “Hey, Vince. I have two problems,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We need a couple more drinks. And … all I have are large bills.”

He ceremoniously hands over a 50, slowly. I can see Grant’s stern, almost reproachful, gaze from six seats away. I think he must want me to see it.

Oh, Jesus, I think. What a problem. Oh, you poor thing and your burdensome cash flow. Please, honey. A 50 is not so huge.

Continue reading ‘tweedle-dee, tweedle-douche’

27
Oct
11

Hung up on rudeness

An old Asian man talking on a cell phone—I think he was speaking Chinese—entered the 23 bus heading north into Center City. He sat behind a black woman.

The second his cheeks hit the seat, she half-turned, never quite looking at him, and yelled to … I don’t know, the opposite wall, maybe, “I know you ain’t gonna sit behind me yapping into that thing at me!” Her eyes were wide, her lips stern.

Continue reading ‘Hung up on rudeness’

26
Oct
11

Off the wall

Frank is ... top of the heap?


At the corner of S. Broad and Wharton Streets in my neighborhood, a Frank Sinatra mural was recently unceremoniously covered up by a new building.

This is what it used to look like:

He had it his way for years.

I don’t happen to care about this particular mural, though I imagine many in my old-school Italian neighborhood do. And it is a bit odd to see Frank’s head and shoulders peeking out awkwardly over the top of the new structure.

Continue reading ‘Off the wall’

26
Oct
11

The Cruelest Dream

Minutes before my alarm sounded this morning, I had a dream that I was getting ready for bed.

It was a deceptively pleasant dream. I pulled back the comforter and sheets, fluffed up my pillows, snuggled in, positioned myself just so. I always sleep with one arm under my pillow. My other arm lies bent in front of me, my palm against my forehead, fingers through my hair.

I savored the coolness of the unmolested sheets against my body. When I stopped moving, I felt the covers settle like a gentle, silent, heavy snowfall as pockets of air seeped out. I was so tired. I pulled the covers tight and heaved a quiet, satisfied sigh. I was just fading off to sleep, and then…

Continue reading ‘The Cruelest Dream’




the untallied hours