A Few Questions for the New Year

Should the Doomsayers from the Mayan Apocalypse get to celebrate on New Year’s Eve?
Could Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez actually tie the knot in 2013, and will she help him pass Algebra?
Will all the band members of One Direction get a crack at Taylor Swift?
When The Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton’s kid is potty trained will it be making a Royal Flush?
What would people think if the producers of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo,” created a spin off called “Here Comes Momma June’s Chin Chins?”
Might the commercialism of Fifty Shades of Grey make my wife finally put down the whip and get back to basics?
Will the television show Game of Thrones insert even more gratuitous nudity?
When Catching Fire matches Hunger Games will you finally give it a rest?
Would it be rude if New Orleans Saints head coach Sean Payton did a commercial for Bounty Paper Towels?
Should Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps move to Colorado and just smoke pot legally?
What on earth could Felix Baumgartner, the Stratosphere Jumper, possibly do for a second act?
Can Gangnam Style, once and for all, please fall of the fiscal cliff?
And finally,
“Why you asking all them questions?”
I’m sorry, just one more.
Was that one too, vague?

Elf on a Shelf Union Averts Strike

North Pole:  In a bid to insure better working conditions in 2013, Sparky Sparkle, Union President of The American Elf on a Shelf Union, pulled a daring and unprecedented move yesterday and threatened to not inform Santa about the millions of children who were naughty or nice this year.
Mr. Sparkle, making his comments known to Santa moments before his ride, caught the usually jolly ole’ St. Nick completely off guard thinking a new contract was in the works.
Sparkle was quoted as saying, “My people are small but mighty and the hazards of falling off shelves, ceiling fans, and the like, not to mention falling off the fiscal cliff, added unexpected occurrences such as children’s Mayan Apocalypse fears, and the continuing use of our members in embarrassing, risqué, and some downright vulgar situations compel me to take this action.”
Santa was rumored as confused by such a dramatic move from such a happy go lucky creature and possibly felt it was the opening of the Hobbit movie that sparked Sparkle to take drastic action.
Santa explained, “When all was said and done, I was extremely happy I got the list in time for all the children of the United States to experience the Christmas they deserve. I also hope Mr. Sparkle and Barbie enjoy their time together.”
This and more later today…

Christmas 2012

Last night I had a crazy dream.

It was cold and dark and as I walked through my neighborhood I was scared, the weather whipping against my body felt old and familiar but not comforting, it was the pressures of life and no one was around to help me. My coat was tattered, hanging, and with my arms folded in front of me, my head was down to keep winter off my face. Pushing, I seemed to be searching for something but didn’t know what or why.
Suddenly, a gust of wind lifted my head and stopped me in my tracks. There, standing next to me was a snowman, a pleasant Christmas decoration with a happy smile, but it upset me.
“What? You’re mocking me?” I yelled. “You think everyone is happy at Christmas? Wipe that stupid smile off your face!”
I reached back and as I went to slap that carrot nose he came to life. I was taken aback. My eyes widened, frighten I stood still.
The snowman then removed his scarf and sticking out his hands presented it for me to take. I backed up instead. He then raised it, slightly, as if to say, “Here, it’s yours.”
Cautiously, I took the steps toward him and reached out, took the scarf and as I quickly proceeded to wrap it around my neck his arm moved and pointed down the street. I didn’t know what to do so I dipped my head in gratitude and walked on following his direction, noticing the cracks on the sidewalk.
The wind was still blowing and I felt better but it was still bitter cold. Onward I trekked, once again keeping my head down to spare my face, when another gust of wind blew, pushing my head again. There, next to me were more decorations; these of a Children’s choir with hymnals in hand, singing, dressed in their Christmas clothes, bundled and warm. The choir came alive and I jumped back as it began the song “Joy to The World,” the loud boisterous rendition startling me. I smiled in amusement and as the choir sang, I watched as a little girl removed her earmuffs and handed them to a little boy. The little boy then removed his gloves and handed the articles to me. Politely, he said “Merry Christmas, sir,” and pointed down the street.
Again, I dipped my head in appreciation and moved on till I came to a house with decorations in the yard depicting presents under a Christmas tree. One of the presents was lit brighter than the others and I noticed it was set apart. I walked toward it and written on the box was my name. I was shocked. I thought, “This can’t be. This must be a coincidence. I don’t know these people.”
Suddenly, the box started moving and I retreated. It shook, violently, as if ready to erupt and with a loud pop a “Jack in the Box,” popped out with an overcoat in his out stretched arms. I fell backwards to the ground. It scared the living daylights out of me.
I took a moment and on all fours I slowly crept to the Jack in the Box. I grabbed the coat but this time started running, putting the coat on as I went. When I got far enough away I slowed down, now nice and warm with my new scarf, gloves, earmuffs and coat. I couldn’t believe my luck. I was ready to find more. What more could I get? Maybe I can find that snowman and get his hat.
Walking again, now with my head up, in the distance I saw a house with what looked like more decorations. This time I ran to it, elated that I would find more. As I got closer, comprehending what was coming into view, I slowed my pace. I was humbled when I realized it was a life-sized nativity scene with a manger, Mary and Joseph beside it, the animals, wise men, all real, all alive and to my astonishment the baby Jesus lying in a manger, the light upon him blinding. I shielded my eyes and now felt not worthy to receive him.
Staring, I felt others, and upon looking behind me saw a sea of people, all nationalities, admiring the beauty of the light, the power of it, reminding me my gifts were his gifts to me. I reached my hand out slowly, wanting to touch the brightness. I was just about to put my hand in the light when I felt my shoulders shake, and heard…
“Larry, Larry, wake up, you’re having a dream.”
Noticing I was in my room I realized it was my wife.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “You were dreaming.”
“Yeah, Yeah, I’m OK… Man that was weird. I was… talking to decorations… they were coming to life. Oh man, that was strange.”
“You scared me, Larry. You kept screaming, “I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Wow… Well… I’m Ok now… Go back to sleep, Honey.”
“Don’t do that again,” she said looking into my eyes.
I smiled and trying to comfort said, “I’m alright. I’m fine. I’m OK.”
I turned to the wall and shut my eyes and while remembering the dream I thought about my life. My eyes opened again and I asked the wall, “Am I worthy?”

Traffic

I hate traffic. Luckily, I don’t see it on the way to work. If I get to the radio station at 4:30am I consider myself late. When I head up West Park, from downtown Houma, there are stop lights still blinking yellow and I get to cruise right through them. I do go the speed limit because I often see police and don’t want them to think I’m going home after drinking. I approach major intersections and if those lights are green I get to buzz through them, too. Ah...life is good… at 4am.

When I get off of work, early afternoon, it’s a different story. Through the years Houma has grown around me. We have traffic, not enough to induce road rage, but if you’re late for something or trying to get something done in a hurry it will aggravate and get you thinking.

“Look at this idiot, slowing down for a green light,” “Turn damn it; you’ve had your blinker on for the last three miles.” And, if you live in our town, “Oh great, the tunnel’s closed now everybody is going to use the twin span. Traffics gonna back up, I’ll be late…Damn it!”

This mild rant changed on Friday.

“Oh crap, a freakin’ school bus. This thing is going to stop at every dang corner and I can’t get around it... Oh, jeez, come on kid… get to the house… Oh look, his book bag is heavier than he is… Why do schools do that?…He is cute, lugging those books…That’s funny…That must be his sister…Oh cool, she’s helping him, that’s sweet… He’s lucky to have a big sister… I got a big sister…Oh, come on kids, hurry up… Your parents are right there... Yeah, yeah, yeah, they love you. Kissy, kissy, huggy, huggy. I got things to do… Finally, y’all made it… Good deal. Everybody’s safe…Now hurry, wave to the other kids…You’ll see them tomorrow…Flaps move back…Bus starts rollin’…and I'm oughta here.

Twenty less children will not return from school today.

How dare I be so selfish?

In the beginning

The world is such a funny place,
Our lives we hold so dear,
It doesn’t matter we’re all screwed,
It’s going to end this year.

The Mayans said it wouldn’t last,

So many years ago,
So now let’s max our credit cards,
And run to Mexico.

For what we care?
We’ll be dead,
And leave this oh great land.
With my luck I’d be last on earth,
Along with Lindsey Lohan.

To be honest

I’m quite flattered,
The end I will receive.
The start it would have been fun too,
 Imagine “Larry and Eve.”

Slaying a Nemesis

People don’t mature with time. It takes incidences in one’s life, events, or lack of them that creates maturity, defining moments that slap up-side the head, realizations that can break a heart or finding a foe, a nemesis that makes one aware that this world is not all “shits and giggles.” My constant enemy appeared when I was 12 years old.

My father loved sports and everybody loved him, a star athlete, semi-pro football player, NCAA umpire, football referee, all around sports guy, and supervisor of our neighborhood playground which made him my Little League coach. I, being an adolescent singer/tap dancing, musical theatre freak didn’t always play well with dad.  Add to that fact…I was fat and couldn’t keep up. Luckily, I didn’t know it, yet.

It was the opening of football season and at that time Little League Football had weight limits. Each kid had to weigh in before the games. The kids from both teams would suit up and with coaches and teammates file into a looker room at the stadium. The official would set the poundage on the doctor’s scale, stand importantly behind it and watch to see if the arrow moved to the top. After each player got on the scale the official would say out loud “under” and his assistant would mark it on the roster. That player would be good to go.

Each year I knew I was close to the limit, dreading the arrow, stepping slowly, praying it wouldn’t move. Sometimes it moved slightly, others, slowly moving up and down, teetering, as if knowing it was my judge and jury, trying to decide if I deserved it enough. Eventually, it always came to rest on the bottom allowing me the joy of playing for my father, but that day it shot to the top. The metal to the metal made a strong “clink.” All the men looked at my dad. It was awkward to say the least and the look on my dad’s face made me uneasy but it wasn’t nearly as uneasy as when I heard, “We can remove his pads.” 

I did of course because nothing could stop my desire to play and with my helmet and shoulder pads removed I again got on the scale. It tipped a bit, slowly, but again telling my peers, “He can’t play. Everybody, look at the fat boy,” and once more all the men’s eyes landed on my father and watched as he lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his chin. But this time he showed confusion.  After a few anxious moments I heard, “Jimmy, we can strip him down.”

My eyes got big and I quickly turned to my right. My father, returning the glance, tightened his lips then let his face tilt to the floor. Seconds later he lifted his head, stared back at me and bashfully conveyed, without words, just his eyes and a slight shrug, “It’s up to you son, whatever you want to do.”

Now, you might think this is a bit melodramatic bit I shit you not, while running my first half marathon last weekend, something happened during mile twelve.  I passed a football field in front of the Bayouland YMCA and looking to my right, knowing I’m going to complete that thing, I thought of that maturing incident from so many years ago. My father would have been proud.

My father instilled, “Don’t give up”, “Finish the job”, and “Never say can’t.” I pass them on to you.