First and foremost, I must apologize to those of you who have started reading this in hopes that it has something to do with marijuana. It does not and I am sorry. But at least I was upfront about it. Now all you Deadheads in all those tie-dyed shirts (which I like) can go back to deep-frying your Twinkies and watching Gilligan’s Island re-runs.
Not that I do not feel that a public forum on the criminalization of a glorified weed with real-world medicinal applications and far less thought warping power than say bourbon or scotch is appropriate. It just is not going to happen here. However, stay tuned. You might enjoy it anyway. And if you must smoke, please do so in the privacy of your own bathroom. Preferably in the shower with the vent fan and water running. Why you may ask? No reason. Other then I get a kick out of the thought that some of you might actually try this.
Also before proceeding, you might want to laminate this page, as I am not overly confident in its sizing characteristics (the ability of paper to repel water...you are welcome.) No today’s meanderings concern Christmas and more specifically Christmas Present Shopping. But please don’t tell your significant other. Or they might actually take your paper leaving you standing in the shower with a wet joint…a soaking pack of matches…and nothing more to read then the cream rinse bottle.
Nevertheless, as you stand there dejected and wet contemplating your life choices, you may eventually find yourself also considering gift ideas for some of the most important people in your life. People, who deserve something a step or two above those obligatory last-minute gifts you give to the local mail carrier, or sanitation worker (trash man is so 70’s) or even your local paper mill employee/friend? (A couple of totally unrelated random factoids, I happen to work in a paper mill and…I also like cake!). Certainly, the sanitation workers are under-compensated and I am all for preventing someone from say going…POSTAL!
But it seems to me that maybe Christ-Mass has gotten a little off the rails. And that what was originally meant to be a small introspective affair in recognition of great individual sacrifice and the subsequent salvation of humanity. Has somehow gradually morphed into a self-serving Wall Street driven capitalistic debauchery fest, ripe with such notions as regularly implying that the only way to truly show your unending appreciation and love during such a joyous (and apparently lucrative) Holiday Season is by gifting your inner circle with for example a new Buick! Just think of the Joy and Cheer you will be spreading on Christmas morning at all the bankers and dealership houses as their poor little Timmy’s and Tina’s hobble down their stairways to bask in the glow of their parents…Record-Setting! Once in a Lifetime! Holiday Season Inventory Liquidation Blowout Sale where every vehicle came with an absolutely FREE Holiday Apple Pie! ...I know right.
But since a handful of new automobiles (and pies) are not in my or my immediate families’ futures, and after months of endless mind-numbing commercials, the best I had managed to come up with within my budget was blanketing them with Shaggy and Scooby-Do Chia Head Dolls. Which the commercials assured me would be a big hit.
However, given further thought of what had initially sounded like a cute and unique idea quickly began to feel like a cheap and un-thoughtful cop-out. I mean really. How many times has anyone actually yearned to possess a clay pot in the shape of a fictional cartoon character or any other character for that matter? Which will with proper care and in due time…sprout weeds with absolutely no purpose other than requiring you to eventually discard their by then lifeless brittle remains? Besides what kind of plant is a chia?
Certainly, if it were in the hemp family I might have the above-mentioned full attention. But the manufacturers assure me that no matter how much you smoke it you will not develop any type of a buzz, other than from oxygen deprivation. Which means you could basically accomplish the same thing by sticking your head inside of a paper bag for five minutes. (Please do not try this at home: especially on a full stomach of deep-fried Twinkies).
In fact, for all, I know this whole Chia “shtick” could be some elaborate scheme to import subversive miniature drones into the country. I can see it now some mysterious big head Brainiac sort of fellow, sitting on an elaborate world domination throne. “Whoa-e-o-oh-oh! E-gore! First the Scooby…then Shaggy and once combined with the sheep, turtle, and the unicorn our army of miniature clay figurines will be complete whoa-e-oa ha! ha! Ha!”
No, this year I had to do better. This year I needed to figure out just the right presents for the people I truly love (some because it is the law) because while they have always graciously done the obligatory ooh’s and aah’s when opening their gifts. Two days later, I would often find them sheepishly standing in the return isle of our local shopping center, holding something that looked suspiciously like the Ronco slicer-dicer I had just given them behind their backs. Of course, there is always the cold hard cash approach but that always seems so impersonal unless it is large sums of money or very small children. Ooh! Ahhh a whole five dollars…geeze Uncle Mike, thank you...snore. When did this all get so darn complicated? Whatever happened to the fruit and candy thing? Or ooh, ahh, jam for the bread father…you shouldn’t have…it’s too much?
Honestly, one of the best life lessons I ever learned was from my mother in law who when babysitting my oldest child would just open up the pot and pans cupboard and then give him a wooden spoon. Now the racket was a force to be reckoned with. But he would literally drop expensive store-bought Thundercat action jeep-hellio-rescue playsets to spend hours parading around their house with a colander on his head while beating a spaghetti pot and mumbling something unintelligible that always seemed to end with Bro-o-o-m. And do you know what the kicker was? He would usually goad someone (read me) into joining him.
Sitting there on the floor with a pot on my head as he just a toddler, would smack the side while again mumbling the broom thing, it dawned on me that perhaps the greatest gifts do not come from Buick or even Wal-Mart.
So maybe this year I might try giving the people that mean the most to me what just might mean the most to them, my time and undivided attention. A partner in crime, if you will? Even if it turns out that that person’s idea of a really good time includes repeatedly ringing my bell! Broom, br-o-om indeed. But then again what do I know I’m just a smuck.