Tuesday, June 21, 2011


Six months ago I wrote about the shortest day of the year. I don't know if I really have Seasonal Affective Disorder (or as it's known in my house, SAD Cow Disease) but sometimes in the depth of Winter it sure feels that way. I celebrate the Winter Solstice anyway. (I should probably call it "December Solstice" out of respect for my friends in the Southern Hemisphere, now that I actually have some of those.)

I'm passive-aggressive enough not to pass up an opportunity to remind Christians of their pagan roots, and the December Solstice's proximity to Christmas is always an easy target. But I also celebrate the shortest day of the year for the same reason our ancestors did, as a turning point. The worst Winter has to offer may not be past, but at least there's a measurable progression toward spring as the cold dark nights get shorter.

Now the pendulum swings the other way and we've reached the longest day. I'm not about to be pessimistic about this. Summer is just beginning, and some of the best times are had when the Sun is down...

Friday night I had to work a software deployment. It figured that just when JB was going to be out of town all weekend I'd have to stay home and work. As the deployment window was closing around 3:00am Saturday morning, I got a text message. "Are you home? Can I stop by?" That was not what I was expecting.

One thing I've learned about Joey over the years: planning anything will only lead to disappointment and frustration. Life is too short for that kind of drama. And when I finally accepted that and let it all go, look who shows up on my doorstep. How Zen.

Sunday night my buddy, Gil, and I went to dinner at a local restaurant that offers karaoke as, ironically, a form of entertainment. No, I don't sing karaoke. But that doesn't stop me from making fun of those who do. I started talking to a guy at the next table who was waiting his turn to perform.

I forgot what song he chose to slaughter, but he mentioned choosing it because it was released the year of his birth. That made him considerably younger than I estimated, as I assumed he was around my age. It might have been the grey beard. I expressed my surprise by saying, "Wow, you're a kid!"

"Why, how old are you?"

"I got eight years on ya," I said.

And I'll never forget his response: "Wow! Do you sleep in a jar of formaldehyde??"

I took that as a compliment.



  1. You're a very forgiving man after that formaldehyde comment. Though I should probably switch from Oil of Olay and give it a try. Whatever you're doing seems to be working.