Holiday Newsletter for the Modern World

Dear friends, relatives and co-workers who are not on the HR “watch list,”

Merry/Happy Whatever-You-Do-And/Or-Don’t Celebrate! Welcome to our family’s annual holiday newsletter!

We know it’s 2017. We aren’t Luddites. We are on all the major social media platforms (including Anxietizer, D-Nouncer and, of course, TimeSukk). We dutifully document by word, photo and hashtag every meal and movement (even THOSE movements — bless our poor parakeet’s IBS) because, as our youngest child says, “Thank you, Kardashians!”

But the physical act of writing a letter, putting it an envelope and paying a deep-in-debt quasi-government agency to deliver it oh-so-slowly is so comforting, so cathartic, so old-school uncool America. That’s why I’m writing this by hand with a piece of only the finest Appalachian strip-mined coal available from Williams-Sonoma. If it was good enough for Lincoln’s homework, it’s good enough for you! So pardon the smudges, and here we go:

Killing Them with Random Acts of Holiday Kindness

The holiday season is a time of traditions: some beautiful, some hokey, most with the best of intentions unless they involve “The Chipmunk Song.”

In our home, the one tradition we deal with even more often than that screeching novelty tune is the call to “be nicer to one another.” It is usually made by my wife and often punctuated with me yelling “dammit.” (Her request tends to come when I’m in midst of testing burned out strings of Christmas tree lights.)

This year, as reliable as a Starbucks’ holiday cup controversy, My Love made her annual plea for more civility almost no sooner than we had disposed of the Thanksgiving turkey carcass. However, her request contained a twist.

A Higher Education in Going Broke

These graduates spent so much on their education that they could not even afford pants. (Photo by Melissa Johnson on Unsplash)

You’ve undoubtedly heard about the rising costs of higher education in the United States.

As the parent of “rising” high school senior and a man with a "falling" income who is fresh from a two-day, three-university, 600-mile tour of prospective Northeastern institutions, I CANNOT say this is true.

Only because the astronomical price tags have left me completely speechless.

Muggle Conjures Up Wizardry for Surviving 20 Years of Marriage

The world celebrated all the make-believe magic it could the other week, the 20th anniversary of the publication of the first Harry Potter novel.

In the real world, I celebrated how I made my wife believe I’ve been worth staying married to for 20 years.

Now that’s a real magic act.

And Piles to Go Before I Sleep

Write what you know, they say, which is what I’m doing as I wedge this post in between today’s fourth and 45th load of laundry.

Life may be short but laundry is eternal when you have two teens involved in things such as high school sports and taking a bazillion Snapchat photos of themselves, the latter of which requires changing outfits like spastic cable remotes change channels. Which reminds me of an old joke:

Worst Commencement Speech Advice Ever

Another year of high school commencement ceremonies cometh and goeth, and againth I was not asked to speak at any of them.

Graduates, count your blessings.

I say this because, unlike the school benefactors and politicians whose words you didn't pay attention to because of your preoccupation in learning the whereabouts of the nearest keg party, I would have brought to your lectern one vital thing: experience. (And also the knowledge that it's a lectern and NOT a podium, but that's another speech.)

Green, Green Lawns of the Uncool Home

Is anything as inseparable as a dad and his lawn?

Maybe a dad and his grill.

Or a dad and his beer.

Definitively a dad and that pair of underwear from 15 years ago with the air-conditioned crotch that’s just too dang comfy to toss.

But let’s get back to lawns and #LawnGoals because that is what the good people at Cub Cadet are paying me to write about here.

Old Buzzard Devours Sweet Bird of Youth

My friends, go mark your calendars: My farewell tour starts tomorrow.

I’m not going anywhere. That's obvious by the fact that after all the years and all the awards won writing this junk that I’m now making less money than I was when I started this venture. (I have a degree in journalism, people, not personal finance.) Instead, I am embarking on a year-long goodbye to my youth because, about this time next year, I turn 50.

Hit Rewind: Uncool, Cassette Tapes on Comeback

I’m musically hip again.

Maybe not my musical tastes so much, but my music listening format is definitely hip again.

As hip as something can be after it has been declared so by that bastion of all things pop culture, The Wall Street Journal.

Baseball's Annual Opening Day Panic

Professional athletes -- baseball players, in particular -- are known for having very specific and downright odd pre-game rituals. Hall of Famer Wade Boggs, for example, always ate chicken. Contrarily, he wasn’t particular about whether it was cooked by his wife or mistress.

Fans have their rituals, too. Here’s what has happened in the past 24 hours, just as it has for the past decade, leading up to my family’s annual excursion to see today's New York Mets home opener:

Youth Baseball and the Old Men Who Coach It

(Photo: Insight Imaging: John A Ryan Photography via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA)

Baseball requires intense preparation, starting well before the first pitch is every thrown. For this weekend's opening day of the local Little League where I coach, this pre-season demanded an unprecedented amount of ground work.

I’m not talking logistics or the political maneuvering. I mean literal “work on the grounds.”

Alarming Issues in the Bedroom

I’ve had some problems with my wife in bed.

It started when she would never get out of it. At least not without repeatedly smacking the snooze button like she was tenderizing a cheap cut of beef or quieting a protester at a Trump rally.

Your Valentine’s Day Side Effects May Vary

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. For single folks, it’s a day for love and romance; for us marrieds, it’s been there, done that, now hand me the damn remote. 

If only we had paid attention. If only we had heeded the long-term side effects, printed in microscopic lettering on the back of those pink and red Hallmarks, that alerted us to the chances that love may eventually cause children.

Blogger Makes America Grate Again

Note the location.

The people love me. LOVE. Some say I'm the most popular blogger ever. Tremendously popular. So popular that I had to hire my own press secretary to deal with the attention. Here's a transcript of his first press conference.

Enter the Stand-Up Blogger

Word from the world of health news is “sitting is the new smoking” sans the nicotine buzz and toasty aroma. That is why I’m writing this standing up, all clear headed and spring fresh.