Reid About It

Happy New Year to all. It's been a pretty draining couple of days, and I'm currently stranded for New Year's Eve with my beloved family. As usual when I'm back in this enviroment, I get pretty introspective.

To be honest, 2009 was a pretty awful year in many ways, but it's ended very well for me. I have a great marriage, a beautiful daughter, and a new job I love. I've got people around me that are supportive, and a team at work that gets me, and takes the pressure off of me so I can be creative.

Normally here I'd be throwing out some resolutions for the year, which of course I would promptly ignore. None of that this year. There's too much life to enjoy to waste time on quickly-forgotten to-do lists.

Happy 2010, everybody. May we all get what we never even thought to wish for.

-- Reid

Hope everyone has had a Merry Christmas by now, and I wish you many happy, easy returns. A few days before Christmas, I went to Wal-Mart for a couple of things and found both some gift ideas and some questionably comedic fashion. It was well worth the trip.

This t-shirt was on a rack at the front of the store, emblazoned with the slogan "If You're Naughty, I Won't Tell Santa." However, take a good look at the shirt. I'm not sure if it shows up in the picture, but the "Naughty" on the shirt appears to be smeared with red streaks. That's not chocolate, folks. It appears to be blood.

I have to disagree with this one. "Naughty" at Christmas should be mischievous and playful. "Naughty" covered in blood is not playful naughty. If I find you blood-stained at Christmas time, I will not call Santa. I will immediately dial 911, then get around to filling your stockings with coal later on.

At the front of the store was this sign, tagged to the bathroom door. I saw it said "Wet Floor," so I was ready for the bathroom to have been freshly mopped and slippery.

Nope. It was every bit as filthy as you would expect. It couldn't have been more disgusting if Courtney Love had been getting a Pap smear in there.

I guess from a legal disclaimer standpoint, by "Wet Floor" they mean that the floor is always going to be wet, and that wetness should not be interpreted to be dependent on the cleanliness of the floor. They mean "Eternally Wet Floor, Perpetually Covered In Urine And Other Disgusting Fluids."

Finally, a fashion question. When did it become perfectly okay to wear pajamas to Wal-Mart? I mean, I know Wal-Mart is not exactly a runway in Milan, but shouldn't you at least wear something purchased as outerwear to the store?

Look at this woman in the pink soft pants. She's dressed like she just fell out of bed and realized she needed to purchase baby formula, dog food, and douche, and knew there was only one store in the world where she could knock out every item on her shopping list.

No need to put on jeans, or even sweatpants. Just get up, grab your keys and your smokes, and go to Wal-Mart.

At least she was wearing shoes. While I was still reeling from finding the first woman clad like she was about to lay down for a long winter's nap, this woman in the black PJs sidles by me. She's not only clad in pajamas, she's also wearing a pair of Tazz slippers.

These are fuzzy slippers, but by this point they're fuzzy in a way that a HAZMAT team should be investigating.

When I leave Wal-Mart, I already feel like I should bleach myself for worry that the Andromeda Strain has attached itself to me. I cant imagine taking the clothes I wear for comfort at putting them in harms way like that.

It's snowing in East Texas. My favorite part of the day has been watching the little emo kids shivering and running from the snow. They're all hair dye and skinny jeans, and have no fat to give them resistance to the cold.

All they do is smoke and mope. They're just not ready for a challenge in the temperature.

Hope all is well with you! Merry Christmas from our family to yours!

Chaddrick finally got his promotion this year! After starting off ten long years ago as a mailroom intern, Chaddrick has worked his way up to mailroom co-supervisor! We're all proud of him, and the extra money he brings home is plenty enough to finally let him stop selling blood three times a week.

With his promotion, I was able to make the transition from self-employed exotic dancer to happy stay-at-home mom. However, after a little while I really missed the gals at work! I went back to work part-time, I only work weekends and an occasional weekday when the Shriners are in town.

Fitzpatrick is doing well, he's currently a senior at Missapeakwa Community College majoring in Apathetic Anthropology. His lawsuit involving the misspelling of that extensive back tattoo ("MOOM") is still taking longer than it should, but he feels that if he can just get an audience with a judge and show him, and explain he doesn't know anyone by that name, it'll be settled quickly.

We hope you'll continue to pray for our idiot son, Jeffrey, who is once again a guest of the state. Jeffery was caught sharing crystal meth with a circus geek, and violated his parole. He is taking advantage of the opportunity to expand his horizons, though, and is taking correspondence courses in Ice Cream Truck repair.

No one could be prouder than the two of us that our youngest, Leia, has finally found religion. She joined the church from Channel 39, the Southern Sword Of Jericho Gospel Assembly And Jamboree, and she can be seen on Sunday mornings playing tamborine in the band! (And she was never even musical before, I know!) Leia moved out of the bus station and into the church, where she's working as a "Special Assistant" to Pastor Billy Don Dupree. She says he's super nice, and is very "hands on" in bringing her to the Lord. He works it mighty ways!

Our niece Hildy has done very well for herself! Hildy was accepted to the West Side College For Incompehensible Interprative Dance. Hildy's signature piece, "Ponderings On Man's Inhumanity To Plants," was very well received by the board, and they were able to open their doors for her as soon as she cleared up the chili stains on her high school transcript.

Grandma Tanner is still alive and kicking, and rowdier than ever! She's staying out at Shady Daze Nursing Home again, after serving 60 days in county for Breaking and Entering of a Bloodmobile. She's met a wonderful man out there. I don't remember his name, but he's the one who insists he's Kaiser Wilhelm. He's so sweet!

Glad tidings of comfort and joy to all this holiday season!

You know which Christmas carol really bothers me? "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". Think of it, it's the rudest, pushiest carol ever. Examine the second verse.


Screw you, random carolers. Who are you to be making dietary demands of me? And to then threaten me, as heard in the third verse?



Rather insistent, of course, not to mention cloying and needy. But the next line really ticks me off.


Get your lazy ass off the couch, and get thine own figgy pudding. Don't order me around, and then expect me to deliver. Don't make me break this yule log off and wear you out with it.

I'm a buffoon. A cretin. I freely admit it. I try to have a modicum of culture, but there are somethings that just don't register with me.

I just don't get the ballet.

I went to a junior college production of "The Nutcracker" this weekend. I try and get all of my culture in small doses, by the way. I'm also going to attend a high school one act play rendition of "Rent", and my Kiwanis Club version of "Glengarry Glenross."

Anyway, it was my first experience with ballet. I sort of knew the story from its many appearances in pop culture and cartoons, so even without the appearances of the Carebears, I could sort of follow the story. Here are some of my notes from the performance.

• Everybody's at a party, including two cats and two maids. The maids dance, apparently overcome with the ecstasy of cleaning.


• Everyone drinks, and time stops. We can't go on until it starts again. Please let it start again.


• Little boys dance in puffy pants. I can almost hear the therapy bills pile up for the kids' fathers.


• The party is crashed by a stranger in black, who I kept expecting to sing "Ring Of Fire".


• The stranger brings out a giant present, with two life-size dolls coming out to perform. Unfortunately, neither one is a stripper.


• Clara gets her Christmas present, a nutcracker. Which by the way, sucks as a gift. Even if it's anatomically correct.


• The nutcracker takes on the mouse king. Since this is Texas, the battle takes place in a steel cage. A squad of soldiers chase a horde of mice around the stage. Strangely enough, the two cats are useless.


• Intermission. I go to the concession stand for frito pie and nachos.


• The Sugar Plum fairy dances. A side note in the program indicates the Sugar Plum Fairy is low-carb, and Atkins friendly.


• A chorus of kid angels come to the stage. Angels who are children unnerve the Hell out of me. If Angels are the souls of the deceased, and the angels all appear to be children, there's a bit of unsavory backstory there that I don't want to know about.

At this point, I lost interest. Luckily, a woman behind me had appointed herself the designated ballet translator, speaking in a loud tone to her family for the entire last half hour of the show.

"Yeah, that's the Sugar Plum Fairy, She's dancing around to show something. I think she's hungry. And the guy with the spandex pants is her boyfriend. Although if it were really cold, I don't think he'd have that bulge. And now this is where all of the candy dances around. This is some old, funny looking candy. Why don't they have some dancin' Twizzlers, or some big orange guys dressed up like cheez balls?"

I figured at that point I should probably just take a nap, and wake up for the ovations.

It seems that these days some people get upset when you say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Because, you know, that's what Jesus would have done.

I'll admit it. I usually say "Happy Holidays" for a variety of reasons.

I say "Happy Holidays" because I'm lazy, and I don't want to have to remember to switch to the next holiday.

I say "Happy Holidays" because I don't really mean it, and I only want to tell you one big lie, and then you hand me my hamburger and I walk away.

I say "Happy Holidays" because I don't want to offend Christians because true Christians shouldn't get rip-roaring, knee-walking, commode-hugging drunk for New Years, and thus don't have much fun. Ergo I don't want to mention it specifically, and bring them down.

I say "Happy Holidays" because quite often, people who demand that you mention Christmas specifically are also screaming racists, and will be upset when I mention Kwanzaa.

I say "Happy Holidays" because those same people have the same reaction to Hanukkah.

I say "Happy Holidays" because Christmas is a religious holiday in the same way that the Super Bowl is a football game. It may have started that way, but now that's only a small part of the event.

I say "Happy Holidays" because there's no need to be specific. I'm not going to delve into the background of the guy handing me my Chick-Fil-A sandwich, and try and figure out if he's Christian, Jew, or Muslim. "Happy Holidays" covers all backgrounds. Hell, even atheists appreciate it, because they get the day off work.

To my Christian friends, merry Christmas.

For my Jewish friends, happy Hanukkah.

My African-American friends, have an enlightening Kwanzaa.

To my Canadian friends, have a great Boxing Day, eh?

For my OCD friends, good Hand Washing Awareness week to you.

My musically experimental friends, enjoy your two December parties celebrating the birth and death of Frank Zappa.

For my Athiest friends, have a good Monday.

And to all of my agnostic friends...whatever, dudes.

South Florida football coach Jim Leavitt is under fire for rumors he grabbed one of his players by the throat and struck him during halftime of a recent game.

Weird, you play football and you hit somebody, you're in trouble. You're Joe Jackson and you beat your kids, they call you the best musical manager ever, and they put all of you in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Apparently, there's some kind of turf war going on between AT&T and Verizon. Something about maps, and coverage, and signals, and reindeer, and whatnot.

Have you seen the new series of commercials for AT&T, you know, the ones with Luke "The Not Quite As Funny Looking One" Wilson? He's got a stack of postcards, and he's reading a list of places where they've got coverage.

"Dallas, Texas...Phoenix, Arizona...Denver, Colorado...I lost my wallet there once..."

Are they trying to impress us with their coverage by saying you can get phone service in most major metropolitan areas?

When I'm in a city that has pubic transit and an NFL team, I just naturally assume I'll be able to make a phone call as long as I'm above ground. Face it, if your cell phone doesn't have coverage in Dallas, maybe you should think about paying more than five bucks a month for the service.

It's not making calls in Dallas and Santa Fe I'm worried about, it's Deliverance-ville, Alabama. It's Ballsac, Oklahoma. It's Spitoonville, Arkansas. It's anywhere my car might run off the road, and my phone is the only thing between me and an unfortunate intimate relationship with a bald banjo player.

Gatorade has now pulled out of the Tiger Woods business, cancelling their endorsement with the golfer after Tiger experienced the worst week of publicity ever.

However, Gatorade said they were already planning on getting out of their deal with Tiger Woods anyway, and it had nothing to do with the revelations that Tiger's been sticking it to every Cracker Barrel hostess in every town with a municipal golf course for the last few years.

Really, Gatorade? What do you think, we're made of stupid?

Why lie to us like we're Larry King or something? We know why you did it. You're not fooling anyone.

Why not just come out and say, "We've had a great run with Tiger, but we don't really want to be the official sports drink of infidelity. We don't want to have to run commercials where instead of a pro athlete drinking our stuff, it's a sweaty adulterer in a cheap motel who bangs down a bottle of the old lemon-lime, then goes back to sticking it to a cocktail waitress."