I found the above graphic somewhere, a few days ago, and it made me both chuckle and frown. I chuckled for an obvious reason: it’s funny. But I frowned because judgmental is misspelled. I always notice stuff like that, and it’s a curse. ‘Cause it happens all the time — people can’t spell for shit — and it’s disappointing. Oh well.
There’s a guy at my job named Terence, and I should start putting together a collection of the various ways people butcher it in emails. Sometimes his name is spelled two different ways in the same message. “Good afternoon, Terrance. I want to thank you for taking care of this problem for us… (blah blah blah), Anyway, thank you again Tarynce.”
Sweet sainted mother of Blue Moon Odom! His name is at the top of the email, right next to the word TO. The correct spelling is right there! Just aim your eyeballs four inches to the north. Sheesh.
We’re going to put up the Christmas tree tonight, or so I’m told. The older boy is home from college, and we waited so he could participate. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been emotionally destroyed if we’d gone ahead without him. But, we try to do the right thing. We really do. Now we’ll probably be annoyed as he rushes through it, continuously texts his buddies, and hustles out the front door. Ahhh, it’s a treat, I tell you.
We’re deep into Bourbon Season, and I haven’t had a drop of the stuff yet. But putting up the tree might change all that. I’m feeling the urge to start the evening with a slug of good ol’ Maker’s Mark. Yes, that’s definitely on the agenda.
Bourbon Season… That seems like a tradition from another lifetime. I’m so tired now. Bourbon Season seems to have come from a time when there was energy, and endless possibilities. A different time. How’s that for uplifting?
“I have to go to work,” he said.
“Huh? In the morning? Why?” I answered.
“I don’t know. They called, and need me.” I detected a hint of attitude.
“Well, I can’t be without a car all day. Give me five minutes and I’ll drive you.”
“I have to go!” he shouted, now openly dishin’ the ‘tude.
“Fine, just go!” I said, and waved him off, dismissively.
“Gawd!” he said as he left the house.
I’d been up for roughly three minutes at this point, and was directly interacting with the boy for the first time since Thanksgiving. I went into the kitchen, annoyed and hoping there was some coffee ready. When there wasn’t I growled like a dog, as the younger boys passed through the room.
“What did I do?” he asked, defensively.
“Not about you…” I started to explain. But he disappeared up the stairs, also hollering “Gawd!” Yes, I am the spreader of joy.
I put some coffee on to cook, and noticed Andy was doing a piss-prance by the front door. Wonderful. I guess I’m the only one who can take him out?
I slipped into some shoes, and we ventured into the yard. And at some point I stepped on one of his frozen prior-turds, it rolled, and I almost fell down. I felt like one of those Canadian log-rollers, from the early days of ESPN. There were a lot of log-based “sports” during the early days of ESPN.
And that’s how the first ten minutes or so of my Saturday went.
It got better, though. The older boy called and apologized. He said he was irritated because his manager kept calling, woke him up. and pressured him to come in RIGHT NOW. And the younger boy and I went to lunch, after I’d reclaimed my car, and had a great time. So, all’s well.
More later. But before I go, here’s what’s currently playing in the bunker: a classic from the old Peaches Records days.
OK, the tree is up, and we polished off a tub of Heluva Good dip while decorating. It’s a holiday tradition, as well as confirmation of our commitment to healthy living.
What’s your stance on dips? I don’t think I’m a fan, until somebody busts some out. Then I’m fully invested. There are many things that get built-up inside my head, only to disappoint. But with dip it’s the opposite: I’m prepared to tolerate the stuff, and end up loving it, instead. Do you have any feelings on the subject? Are there any other foods that consistently over-perform? Tell us about it, won’t you?
This afternoon we went to a Chinese restaurant for lunch, and this is what was inside my fortune cookie:
How is that a fortune? And what the shit does it even mean?! Is it somehow profound, and I just can’t see it? Help me out, my friends. I’m baffled.
And just so you’re up on all the important news, here’s what’s playing in the bunker now: