DID YOU EVER GET A PUPPY FOR CHRISTMAS?



If not, then you have been abused. I know a couple of attorneys pretty well that might like to represent you in your lawsuit against your parents and/or spouse. Please contact me and I will provide that information.

But it's an obligation. At least once. These two chocolate labs pictured couldn't be broken up either. So if you find two like these, then you have double the fun this Christmas.

What I miss most about not having a dog is our conversations. Mostly, well, almost always just one-sided, I would tell my pooch all kinds of things. Sometimes they were so stupid, but he never cared. In fact, he seemed to enjoy my discourse.

Secondly, a good dog is never in a bad mood. Now some dogs are always in a bad mood. They're just looking for someone, preferably another dog to at least bark at. But what they prefer is the taste of dog blood. I'm dismissing those guys. But a good dog understands. Even when he's getting scolded. And he's there for you when you need to vent.

Thirdly, I miss our walks. Although I never mastered teaching a dog much of anything, I always wanted to walk one without a leash. If I had a pup like that, well I'd still be in the dog business. The closest I had was a poodle, gray and not too big or too little, that I would let out of the house when we lived on South 24th St. in MTV. He'd run around the neighborhood, sometimes even venturing onto 23rd St. before returning while I stayed in the house and yelled for him to come back. He always did, though sometimes I had to yell pretty loudly for him to be within earshot.

I would let him know about it when he returned, but he knew it was worth all the adventures he'd had, all the other sensory explosions he'd witnessed, all the territory he'd marked.

But now I'm only a dog acquaintance to Max, Monty, and the other neighborhood dogs I encounter daily. Only one walks with his owners sans leash. They offered to give him to me. I refused, but it was hard. He's not a pup anymore, but it is very near to Christmas. I just might not say no a second time.

I QUIT

And in this entry whose genesis was last night's dream, I'll tell you how.

When I started college, I was 17 years old and not at all ready to leave home for Viet Nam. I chucked my plans to attend Murray State University and instead chose MTV Community College on the campus of MTV High School. Long story shortened, I started smoking and drinking coffee. I had to prove that I was no longer in high school, though almost all of my classes shared high school facilities.

I smoked Marlboros just like Paul Hornung for 23 more years. Yet it seems so strange to me that I ever smoked. I always was very sensitive to smoke, yet I indulged smoking one plus pack per day, nearly two on weekends. But here's how to quit.

First, there is no weaning away. There is no medication or gimmick. Just quit. Yep, cold turkey.

I had finished talking to my mom on the phone. I stubbed out my last Marly. I announced to my wife, "I just quit smoking." I continued, "Just leave the pack, my lighter and the ash tray there by the phone, but I'm done."

And I was. About 5 days later I threw out the evidences of my smoking career. Never have I had another. Never the urge.

The second smokeless night I was awakened by a cold sweat. I guess it was the nicotine oozing out of me. But that was it.

I started jogging. Up to 1,200 miles one year. Two years of 1,000 more. I guess it took that long for my lungs to get cleared out.

If you're hooked, you can do it. Hey, if Mr. OuttaControl can do it, believe me, you can too. Besides never, ever starting to smoke, the only thing I'd do differently in my approach would be to take it to God first. Stupidly, I didn't, thinking I was in control and would let God handle the more important stuff. Not realizing He was in it all along and He is concerned and caring about every detail in our lives.

Don't wait a couple of days for the New Year; do it now. Or if you must, then celebrate January 4--the day I quit.

SIX LINCOLNISMS FOR BARACK

I know some faithful readers tire of my picking at the President. For that, I apologize, but before I quit my criticisms for the year 2009, I quote six "You cannots" from President Lincoln which I pray our current office holder would adapt. Like the saguaro pictured, captured by our daughter somewhere between Tucson and Phoenix, one is the most important and I leave it for the last for effect.

#1 You cannot help the poor by destroying the rich.

#2 You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong.

#3 You cannot further the brotherhood of man by inciting class hatred.

#4 You cannot build character and courage by taking away people's initiative and independence.

#5 You cannot lift the wage earner up by putting the wage payer down.

And #6 You cannot help people permanently by doing for them what they could and should be doing for themselves.

Those statements made by Mr. Lincoln so many years ago parallel my political ideology to a tee. That's why I'm a staunch Republican and simply disagree with nearly every thing our current Commander-in-Chief stands for and represents.

I still love my country; I still pray for my President Barack Obama. And, yes, I still do a lot of things that I'm uncomfortable doing. But I sincerely pray that he take Lincoln's words to heart.

SEASONS' GREETINGS

Misspellings have a way of annoying an old English teacher. Not that I'm unable to share in them. But Seasons Greetings without the end apostrophe is like fingernails on the chalkboard.

For you see, its extending pleasantries for more than one season. Thus the apostrophe is obligatory. If it were only one season, then it is still necessary to place the apostrophe between the n and s. Which makes the greeting so generic that there is almost no meaning. In addition, it could apply to any holiday at any time of the year. Yet I've never heard Season's Greetings for Halloween, Labor Day, or any of the other ones.

Clarity is important. That why the House/Senate Health Care Bill runs over 2,000 pages. Hopefully, it's studied carefully and will take another 30 years to come to pass. But I digress. If you want to wish someone a Merry Christmas, then say it, for goodness sake. If it's Happy Hanukkah, then by all means. Same with Happy Kwanzaa.

Only if you have no clue what you mean should you wish someone Seasons Greetings sans apostrophe. And don't even think of Merry Xmas.

THE TOEMAN

My wife's niece (well, I guess she's mine, too, but technically she comes from her lineage) YouTubed a video of her 3 children preparing for a Christmas program at the oldest one's school. The other two are 3 and 1.

Paige, the three year old was singing Christmas songs with Charlie her big brother. Both were really quite good as they shared several without the words in front of them, but then I thought what good would that do since they can't read. Anyhow, when it got to "Frosty," Paige sang solo because Charlie was distracted and she started ahead of him with "Frosty the ToeMan".

Now I wondered if she just couldn't say SnowMan or if she thought it was ToeMan? I know that if she came from my side of the family, that the second one would be a real possibility. I've garbled lyrics since "Mr. Sandman bring me a drink".

And just what would a ToeMan look like? A melting snowman whose head had taken on the shape of a huge toe? A snowman with an inordinate number of toes? How about Frosty the driver of a truck with a huge hook on the back ready to help stranded motorists? Maybe a Snowman whose gaze was directed toward the feet?

As you can see, the possibilities are only limited by our imaginations. It doesn't matter; if Paige just can't say it, or if she has another image--it's still precious.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

The patient goes to the doctor.

"I can't sleep because I keep having the same dream. I'm inside this...well, I don't know which it is, and there's another one right next to the one I'm in."

"Just calm down and tell me more," the doctor advises.

"I'm struggling to identify, to classify, to name. Are they wigwams or tepees?"

"Describe them to me," she (the female doctor, that is: note no gender bias) suggests.

"Well, they're both tall, pointy, made of Indian type canvas, oh I can't explain. They're just like in the movies in the Old West. What are they, wigwams or tepees? I gotta know."

"Ahh, you're just two tense."

Tents, get it? Two tents.

I don't know. I've never been much of a joke teller, and I'm certain that I butchered that one. But it's a joke our son loves and I like to watch him tell it. In fact I like to watch people tell jokes that they think are funny whether they are or not.

Our pastor, who's just a few years older than our son and reminds me of him somewhat, told a funny story about cutting down his Christmas tree last Christmas. It seems he heard of this good deal where he could go to the forest (keep in mind we live in a desert, so there was some road time included) and cut his own tree for $15.

As he kept telling the very funny story of the adventure, he kept reminding my wife and me of our son. His facial expressions, his pausing, his building of suspense. I'm sure we were laughing harder than any of the other 12 dinner guests at the table, because we were making the same comparison in our minds. Bottom line: his experience was so humbling last year that he paid $12 a foot for his 6 foot tree this season. And saved money.

Sorry, Pastor Rob: I probably messed up the second story, too. I know I'll hear from our son for ruining a perfectly good joke. I guess that may be why I don't share too many On The QT.

VOTE BLUTARSKY

How could he possibly be worse than some we now have in Congress? And where's Pat Paulson?

In its heyday, Saturday Night Live boasted both comedians and satirized their political ambitions. Little did we know then that those two would look good in comparison.

Pelosi, Speaker of the House? Are you kidding me? Unfortuantely, it's real. As in bad.

Barney Frank? How did he survive after the S$L scandal? (No, that's not a typo; I purposely used the dollar sign instead of the &). Actually, how did he survive junior high?

Harry Reid? I thought that was what we used to call a scary story. Well, I guess that still applies.

Joe "The Gaff" Biden? I may always picture him cheesing with the White House intruder who crashed the State Dinner. Not a clue.

And, of course, yet another SNL alum, Al Franken. Sen. from the shameful state of Minnesota. What Jesse "The Body" wasn't enough?

I'm just waiting for the 2010 elections. To see which state Michael Moore will want to represent.