The Post-Holiday Post

Well, it’s over.

I hope none of you are the kind of people who want to commit suicide the first of the year. It’s sad, but January is a seriously depressing month for average America. Why? The answer lies in our twisted thinking.

Too many human beings live for nothing. I don’t feel like bringing up a quasi-scientific debate or a religion-celebrating harangue, but honestly people, if all we did was evolve from monkeys . . . what’s the point of life? There is no point. That’s why corporate America lives for weekends, holidays, and vacations. People pour themselves into an imagined, forecasted event. They spend all their money preparing for the event, psych themselves into an anticipated lather, but when it’s all said and done; when the carbonated fizz of expectation has misted away to reveal the brownish reality . . . so they jump off of an expressway. The dream didn’t pan out. The vacation wasn’t long enough. It wasn’t fun enough. I’m broke because I spent too much on presents. I drank to much. Can that be all there is?

Yes my friends, if you evolved from a monkey then that’s all there is. But, if you have a higher purpose in life you can revel in the fact that there are a million more important things in life to pour yourself into than a 2 week vacation over Christmas. Enjoy the time off, but don’t contemplate ending your cousin-to-a-monkey-life because the sole goal of your existence didn’t seem as glittery up close.

It’s 2008 people! Make something of your life! The weekends will come and go, but it’s in the day-to-day grind (in the little things) that your life will find true meaning. If you don’t live for the weekend you’ll enjoy it that much more.

Happy New Year! 

Pancakes

My Dad is making pancakes this morning.

I love my family.

I don’t readily align myself with people who flounder in the choppy waters of gender-stereotyping . . . usually because they’re wrong. What does this have to do with pancakes and family? Let me explain.

Right now I’m sitting in the basement of my parents house typing this blog. My parent’s home is made out of paper, so I can easily hear my father in the kitchen making pancakes. But he’s not alone. My mother and my sisters are also in there. But they’re not talking about superficial dates or freckle-deep anecdotes. They’re talking pure philosophy. They’re debating theology. They’re hashing out ethical dilemmas over a smoking pan of Dad’s Special Pancakes.

People say that women communicate “face to face” with questions and conversation. They also say that men communicate “side by side,” sharing common tasks and projects in an attempt to bond. Though stereotypes are generally true, I seem to know all the exceptions, and I think you know a bunch of them too. My dad doesn’t have to be flipping pancakes to debate my sisters about movies themes. He and I don’t have to be fishing to delve into taboo topics like relationships.

All of my male friends can sit around for hours just discussing. Learning. Growing.

But right now it’s my family. In fact, they’re so involved in their topic they can’t hear the phone ringing. One second please.

**************

Well, it wasn’t that important. My cousin called to tell us he’s coming over.

But I promise you this, when he comes over he’ll slip seamlessly into the ongoing debate and flaunt his opinions and theories without missing a beat.

That’s my family: Stereotype-breaking, constantly-communicating, pancake-flipping, wonderful people!

I love them.

Christmas Eve!

I couldn’t possibly scrawl my feelings for Christmas in a single weblog. Even though there are no pages, just endless streams of digital parchment, I don’t think my mind could interpret into words the billions of emotions and abstract webs of fascination and delight I experience at this time of year.

So here’s one little anecdote to leave you with this beautiful Christmas Eve.

I’m with family right now. My sister and I, though professional and reserved in our respective corners, are like match to fuel when we’re together. The fireworks of raucous laughter and incessant playing are contagious, nigh intoxicating. Now I just need to figure out who the match is.

The extended branches of my family get together on this most glorious Eve to celebrate the birth of our Savior. The sweet fellowship, food, and festivities will extend deep into the latest ebony, littered with rainbow lights and a deep, pale moon.

By the time the masses (approximately 30 some people) fade into the cracks and crevices from which the appeared, the remnant that’s left will try to find a relatively comfortable place to crash while we await Christ’s Day. All the beds will be packed and sleeping forms will invade the most unlikely places, including the bath tub. This reminds me of one particular prank I played on a sleeping cousin, cuddled dryly in the basin of my parent’s tub. Sigh.

My place of honor, reserved for the eldest boy, was wherever I chose. My choice? Push out the chairs and throw down a sleeping blanket . . . I’m sleeping under the dining room table. Why there? Don’t be silly, everyone knows the answer to that question.

So there we are. A house full of family, every nook and cranny nooked and crannied, me in my kerchief under the table . . . and Christmas waiting on the door step.

My narrative could continue long into the New Year, but I only wanted to share with you some of the sweet eccentricities of my family. I know most of you share in my unique love of quirky family traditions, and I’d love to hear about them. Tell me what crazy things your family does for the holidays.

Until then, this is Kevin Olsen signing off from under the dining room table. Merry Christmas and God bless.

First Snow

Last night a silent army of snow parachuted into my front yard. By 2:00 am their platoons had covered the southern front. By 7:00am my car was ambushed. My apartment was surrounded. I smiled.

I love the snow. I hope this band of frozen infantry brings billions more troops my way. I’d gladly desert the armies of summer to frolic with Jack Frost and his soldiers. Christmas should be white. Winter is for snowmen, sledding, and snowballs.

I’ve mentioned before that I spent a transient span of my life in the Carolinas. While there, living as a nomad, I was consistently amazed at there attitude toward snow and ice. Their mentality is “if you can’t beat them . . . hide.” Within moments of a snow-advisory every Wal-Mart is stripped of its bread and water. Gas seemingly evaporates. Canned food joins the ranks of the White Eagle as an endangered species.

Next thing you know the storm hits. But we’re not talking about a “Rudolf get your nose fired up” kind of snow, I mean a light flurry of snowy dust drifting over the abandoned street. Where are the Southeners? In their homes surrounded by eggs, toilet paper, and candles . . . just in case. And since they don’t own snow plows, most poor souls wait indoors until the “white” disapears. Only the truly adventerous risk the harsh conditions of the southern winter. Unfortunately, about 75% of those who take to the roads end up in a ditch somewhere. Only the most successful manage to get back home, where they quickly pour sand all over their porch to keep from slipping.

But here in Chicago, by 7 pm last night the trucks were out casting their salt like seeds in spring. By midnight the roads were clear and the backup units kept them that way throughout the evening. By morning the landscape looked like a white checkerboard criss-crossed by asphalt lines. The commute ran as smoothly as usual, and a casual perusal of school closings told you that they hadn’t.

I love snow. I might sound crazy, but I think it has something to do with my inability to grow up. That’s why I live in the North. I love Chicago!

Black Friday

There was a short time in my life that I worked in food service. Uhg. One of the most memorable experiences I had was working the day after Thanksgiving . . . otherwise known as Black Friday.

It was awful.

I worked at a mall and our store was so full people were sitting in the common spaces of the mall eating our food. And it didn’t stop. Not only did we open at some ungodly hour, and not only did we have to work an ungodly long shift, but the people ever stopped coming in!

People are crazy the day after Thanksgiving! And the funny thing is the sales aren’t all that great!

The term Black Friday was originally used by people in the retail industry to verbally represent the horrors of that day. What’s really funny is that retailers have started using that term in their advertising! What kind of a message does that send to your customers?

Black Friday or not . . . I’m not going shopping today. 

No More HO?

When the idea of “political correctness” was introduced under the infamous Clinton Administration I laughed.

Today I cried.

Yahoo News featured an article discussing how Santa Clauses in Sydney, Australia aren’t allowedto say “ho, ho, ho” anymore. Instead the faux Kringles are required to say “ha, ha, ha.” http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20071115/wl_asia_afp/lifestyleaustraliachristmasoffbeat

Their argument? That the term “ho” is too close to the United States’ version of “hoe” (slang for prostitute) and may be “offensive to women.”

GIVE ME A BREAK!

Wow, I don’t normally get my mistletoe in a knot like that, but c’mon people! The only women who should be offended by the word “hoe” are prostitutes– who should really be more offended by their own lifestyle anyway. God forbid we do something to make them feel like their illegal, immoral occupations are bad. Secondly, would a lady-in-red really be offended if a plump Father Christmas wished her a merry “ho, ho, ho” while his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly? I don’t think so. She’d probably think he was asking her for a job.

Lastly the article reported how children may be frightened or offended by the term. The idiocy of such a bleeding-heart-asinine-over-sensitive-political-correctness makes we want to lose my fruitcake.

Honestly people . . . what kind of lower intelligence would imagine that the ancient Christmas greeting would make a person blush or reduce them to tears? At what point did our governments become soooo concerned for the emotional stability of the population that they stopped using the brain God so graciously gave them?

Political correctness be hanged! Ho, ho, ho and Merry Christmas!!

Thanksgiving: The Forgotten Holiday

I was at the mall this weekend and was reminded of a depressing trend in our nation.

It seems Thanksgiving is being forgotten.

The whole mall decorates for Halloween, but the moment All Hallows Eve is over you can’t walk through the mall without dodging elves, hearing Jingle Bells, or struggling with red/green color blindness. Orange becomes red, bats become garland, and Frankenstein becomes Santa. By walking through the mall, listening to the radio, or watching TV an immigrant might believe there was no holiday at all snuggled into the 4th Thursday of November. So what happened to Thanksgiving?

I’m sure part of it has to do with the fact you can’t really “sell” Thanksgiving. On Halloween you sell costumes and candy. On Christmas you sell everything else and candy. Honestly though, on Thanksgiving it’s hard to sell anything other than turkey. Maybe that’s the reason. We live in America, you can’t sell thankfulness.

Or maybe it’s the religious aspect of it. The Pilgrims escaped the dictatorial church of England and traveled to a country where their religious beliefs could be practiced without persecution. Our country was founded by people who believed the Bible, had faith in God, and strove to live a Christian life. In fact, the first Thanksgiving was held because they wanted to thank God that they didn’t all die that first winter. I guess I can see why the average American would want to forget that (note: this phrase is dripping with sarcasm).

But what about the good reasons! The Pilgrims, regardless of your religious bent, are the fathers of our country! Their the fathers of millions of people in the US. I happen to be one of them. My ancestry goes straight back to Elder William Brewster. By marriage I’m related to one of the guys who instigated the first Thanksgiving, and there are millions of people like me. C’mon, whatever happend to family unity?

Then there are the selfish reasons for Thanksgiving: you get a day off of work, you get holiday pay, it’s an excuse to over-eat and have family and friends over, and if you have stock in the turkey industry you might make some money!

Why is Thanksgiving disappearing and how long will it be before it’s gone? For me Thanksgiving is an amazing time . . . read Moriahjoy’s aricle if you want to feel are warm and snuggly; I did (http://moriahjoy.wordpress.com/).

Thanksgiving is beautiful and wonderful . . . don’t let Thanksgiving fall out of favor like the dreaded “sweetest day!”

An Unrelated Rant

Okay. So this has nothing to do with my blog, but I’ve got to say it. DON’T GO TRICK-OR-TREATING IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DRESS UP!!!!!!!

It’s bad enough most of the kids are bundled up in so many layers that you can’t tell if he’s a mummy who likes to ski or an Eskimo vampire, but don’t defame the holiday by shaving the essentials!

My inspiration for this rant came while I was out driving (looking for the ritzy side of town and Mr. Moneybags). I saw a gaggle of teeny-boppers on cell phones who apparently thought they’re too cool for costumes but not for free candy. If they came to my door I wouldn’t give them a freaking M&M! Well actually, if they came to my door I wouldn’t be there; I’d be trying to find some random kid I could take trick-or-treating so I could convince Mr. Moneybags I wasn’t a over-age freak who had no right to be begging a candy bar.

At least I had a costume.

Anyway, I wanted to roll down my window and give them a good drive-by-harangue but I realized it wouldn’t communicate. First of all, who listens to the ravings of a 27 year old in a ninja costume? Second of all, I realized at the last moment how horrifyingly like my dad I would sound. I kept the window closed and glowered in the moment.

I finally found a rich gated community, but the gates were gated. Well, I was dressed like a ninja wasn’t I? Twenty minutes, and a tear in my costume later, I was over the fence and trying to mingle with the rich kids who were trick-or-treating in their own community. And then I saw them . . . a whole slew of little kids not wearing costumes! No cheap, mommy-made hand-me-downs, no expensive Spiderman costumes (with real web-slinging action), nothing. I couldn’t hold it any longer.

I guess the cops understood my reasoning cause they drove me out of the community and let me go just outside the gates. In retrospect I guess the whole thing was a tad unnecessary. If a bunch of stupid kids want to ruin the holiday I love so much (and consequently, can’t let go of), let em! It wouldn’t be the first time. Look what they did to Valentines Day! No one in first grade loves anybody . . . how dare they use the sacred “L” word.

In the end it was I who lost out. I’m sure my sermonette fell of deaf ears (no one takes a 27 year old in a ninja costume seriously) and I didn’t get that king size Snickers Mr. Moneybags was handing out. But I’ll sleep well tonight nonetheless . . . cause this Ninja can climb a mean fence.

http://kevinolsen.wordpress.com/category/candy/

Halloween Candy: Kevin’s All Time Picks

Discussing your favorite Halloween candy can be as dangerous as arguing about sports, politics, religion, or the best “Sleep Number” of all time. But, despite the controversy, I’ll be happy to share some of my all-time favorites on the candy cuisine. I am a candy addict with no plea for anonymity, so this is a glorious topic to undertake.

First off, I would have to say my favorite fare are the fruity things. Skittles, Starbursts, Gummi Worms, Laffy-Taffy, Nerds, and the countless other snacks that leave your tongue purple. I’d take Swedish Fish over M&M’s any day. I don’t even care if it’s some kind of generic lolly-pop or hard candy . . . give it to me, baby.

But I’m not going to turn down a scrumptious piece of chocolate either. I do enjoy normal things like Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Kit-Kat, and Twix, but if you want to know what the best chocolate ever made is I’ll have to throw off my patriotism for a moment. My refined chocolate-eating sensabilities prefer Cadbury (English chocolate) and Ritter Sport (German chocolate) to our domestic brands. There’s not a single U.S. chocolatly concoction that stands a chance when faced with the smooth, creamy goodness of Cadbury and Ritter Sport. Still, if it has to be from the candy cauldrons of the U.S. then hit me with something peanut-buttery: Reeses here I come! Hey, if they’re good enough for E.T. . . !

Either way, you can’t really be picky when pounding the pavement Halloween night. In fact, if doesn’t really matter what they give you. I know that shounds shocking coming from somone with strong candy opinions, but it’s the truth. It’s not what you get, it’s how much. If you’re lucky enough to brake into a rich, gated-community, and your vinal, fake booted-sneakers find the porch of Mr. Moneybags sometimes you might receive a WHOLE candy bar. But you can’t always count on that kind of generosity so just remember this ain’t no candy store: come prepared.

1. Forget the plastic pumpkin . . . I always take a pillow case, cardboard box, or fifty-gallon drum.

2. Hit every house, regardless of what they gave you last year.

And 3. Bring little kids. It doesn’t matter if they’re siblings, cousins, or some borrowed waif . . . you can always “trade” out the stuff you don’t like later and there’s no way Mr. Moneybags is going to hand a 28 year old a whole candy bar unless you’re towing a child.

I know . . . I do it every year.