Ways Christmas in July beats Christmas

The stockings aren’t hung by the chimney with care and St. Nicolas is no where in sight.

You can stand in our doorway and demand figgy pudding until you’re blue in the face. You can go. You won’t get some.

No Black Friday sales stampedes, no wrapping, no in-laws, no Savior-thanking hoo-ha.

Merry Christmas in July! It’s the secular essence of the holy day everyone loves for all the wrong reasons.

It’s only 153 days until Christmas. That means it’ll only be about 54 days until our area retailers begin cramming Christmas down our throats. It’ll be sales, displays, carols, and mercenary goodwill before they even put out the Halloween candy.

For me, it’s all gone from “Oh! Holy Night!” To “Oh! Holy Crap!”

Just thinking about Christmas in October through December raises my blood pressure.

And I’m not talking about the sacred parts, which I enjoy. I love when duties ease and there’s time to bask in soulful understanding about why Christmas really matters.

That lasts about 30 minutes. Then it’s back to strategizing party visits like Ike did on D-Day.

That’s what makes Christmas in July such a subversive pleasure.

I started doing it for the girls about five years ago. I thought it could be a sort of surprise poor-man’s Christmas, which makes perfect sense because I’m a very poor man.

What’s great is the expectations are absolute zero. In fact, as I type this our daughters, ages 11 and 6, don’t even know it’s Christmas in July.

In about 20 minutes, I’ll begin blasting Bob Dylan’s 2009 oddball Christmas carol collection, “Christmas in the Heart.” I love Dylan, but hearing him sing, “Here Comes Santa Claus,” “Winter Wonderland,” and “Must Be Santa” in July is perfectly surreal.

Heck, given his nonsensical interpretations of his own hits, any more hearing Dylan sing “Blowing in the Wind” is perfectly surreal.

The jarring sounds will cause such a clatter, the girls will storm out of their rooms to rage. Their instinct will be to shout at me for waking them and, even worse, waking them with Bob Dylan.

Then -- hallelujah -- they’ll see the Christmas in July card table, the “Merry Christmas in July!” cake surrounded by all the newspaper wrapped presents that include the plastic DVD crate containing the video store rental of the classic “A Christmas Story.”

It’s Christmas in July!

It’s so unexpected.

Part of that is because I don’t do it every July 25. Not having it every year allows forgetful loved ones to be surprised when it suddenly reappears without any typical holiday hype. That’s the beauty of Christmas in July. You make up the rules as you go along.

For instance, one year I bought for a centerpiece a lovely mistletoe and roses floral arrangement. This year I didn’t want to risk feeling stressed, so I instead used my Pittsburgh Pirate ballcap.

It’s nice, too, for Val because for traditional Christmas she does nearly all the shopping, all the cooking, all the cleaning and all the fretting.

Really, with me doing all the drinking, it’s a wonder it bugs me so much.

So I get her a nice bottle of wine and a card thanking her for all she does.

You know what the best part of Christmas in July is?

Telling people you’re shopping for Christmas in July. You get a real charge out of sharing the idea with people. They seem so charmed.

I think that’s because we could all use a little more year ‘round Christmas, but none of us wants to go through any more Christmas to have it. So it’s nice to take maybe one day a year to have a little Christmas without all the hell and the hassle.

It’s nice, too, because it’s a momentary break from having to think about gun violence, pedophiliac coaches and the national heartbreak of “Twilight” actress Kristin Stewart hooking up with snakey director Rupert Sanders.

It’s a nice respite.

And, you know, for just one day it really ‘tis the season.

NCAA slams Penn State

I indulged in a momentary my-school’s-better-than-your-school gloat this weekend after reading my dear alma mater claimed yet another national championship.

Yes, as re-posted Sunday, Ohio University was again named by the No. 1 party school in America.

“We’re Not . . . Penn State! We’re Not . . . Penn State!”

A friend said this weekend I’ve been strangely silent on the Penn State scandals. I apologize for giving that impression and think I’ve been current.

I wrote about my November first impressions here, and here in January where I wondered why Paterno had a closed casket and if he wore to his spiritual destination those big dorky glasses.

I said briefly here that I think they should have left the Paterno statue intact, but they should have added a statue of a small, frightened little boy being ignored by the Paterno statue.

Sure I could have written about it more, but I’m reluctant to spend an hour or so a day engaging in topics that make my skin crawl.

But today everyone’s talking about the devastating NCAA penalties and I feel compelled to share my thoughts.

So here you go: I’m glad I went a school where no one knew the names of who coached what and the only asses that got kissed where the ones that belonged to the bartenders bestowed with the power to cheapen or accelerate our inebriation.

What do I think about the NCAA, renown as it is for boneheaded logic, demolishing the football program’s near-term viability and vacating 111 of Paterno’s wins from 1998 through 2011, the span during which Paterno knew about Sandusky’s heinous crimes and allowed them to endure?

I think, “Touchdown! Yes! Let’s go for 2!”

If I could find a big foam finger with “NCAA!” etched on it, I’d be waving it around. I think it’s a good first step in dismantling a national culture of elevating to god-like status men who coach Division I college football.

I wholeheartedly approve of anything that will diminish the deification of big time college sports.

How the NCAA even exerted jurisdiction in a criminal matter is subject to debate, but that Penn State doesn’t contest the penalties is telling.

Like Watergate, the school scandal was about those in power engaging in criminal activities to maintain power.

It’s about JoePa’s lust to be the best coach ever and to ensure he could keep zooming around in private jets even as he knew his once-trusted assistant had an on-going appetite for raping boys.

It’s about people looking the other way because doing the right thing could be harmful to something they cherish.

The severe penalties are reminders we need to cherish our children over our potential bowl bids.

I keep thinking about the millions of Nittany Lion fans who today are devastated that a huge part of their identity has been disgraced. They know nasty co-workers are snickering about their crushed affections.

To them, I say, “Get over it. You made the mistake of attaching your identity to something you couldn’t control. Enjoy your memories, but from now on be your own best role model.”

I’m always left out when I go on fancy press trips with other mostly male writers. Invariably, they will bond over college football while I sit there feeling like I’m my wife.

She graduated from Penn State and has joyful memories of her time there. She enjoyed going to fall football games and has her brush with JoePa story, but no one would ever know she went to Penn State unless they asked.

Like me, she has great college memories of going to a wonderful university where a small percent of the students happened to play football. But she’d never let it define her.

I’m tired of seeing tawdry behavior from people we rightly expect to inspire.

Maybe that’s why it seems I’ve been uncommonly silent on Penn State. It seemed like we were so awash in a culture that was hidebound determined to never change I just felt, gee, what’s the use?

I felt like I didn’t have much to say.

Yesterday, the NCAA spoke for me.

Reduce gun violence: Enforce 2nd Amendment

Gun violence will be reduced when America decides to enforce what is to me the key phrase of the 27-word 2nd Amendment, so revered by our nation’s gun nuts.

And that’s mostly everyone who owns a gun. They love their guns and believe their guns are essential to their soulful peace of mind.

I understand those feelings.

I feel the same way about my family.

Where we differ is I’d never in a drunken or pre-meditated rage use my wife or one of our daughters to kill someone else. The things I love do not take life. They exalt it.

It’s been three days and I’ve only read one sensible discourse on the latest spree killer who didn’t break a single law right up until the instant he began pulling the triggers.

It was by lefty Washington Post columnist E.J. Dionne. Here he describes how the NRA uses its influence to impose a de facto gag order on those who believe in common sense gun.

About that, Dionne’s absolutely right. Anyone who says these frequent tragedies should cause us to rethink our approach to spree killers is accused of exploiting the deaths and nothing gets done.

So let me offer a solution even the single-minded maniacs at the NRA will endorse.

Let’s reduce gun violence by enforcing word-for-word the 2nd Amendment.

Not only will it reduce violence, it will reduce health care costs, it will stabilize the country and decrease the amount of money the federal government spends on defense.

The 2nd Amendment says: “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.”

Let’s parse it. You’re certainly familiar with the part that reads “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

In fact, it might be the only part of the phrase most gun nuts even recognize. It is clear and absolute.

But it’s only part of it.

To me, the key phrase is never mentioned or argued in court fights over gun rights.

That is the three-word clause the Founding Fathers judged important enough to put right up front.

The security of a free state, they said, depends on “a well-regulated militia.”

What’s well-regulated about today’s gun owners?

We put more restrictions on needle artists who tattoo our hillbillies.

Gun ownership should involve mandatory participation in a local militia that meets at least once a month to drill in fitness and firearm safety measures.

Sound like another expensive government intrusion, a way for jackbooted thugs from the ATF to round up your guns?

Have the NRA run it.

I have great respect for true sportsmen and can see logic in aspects of even some of the nuttier positions espoused by the gun lobby. No one would be better running a national militia program aimed at gun safety.

The NRA would regulate who gets and who gets to keep guns.

This stipulation might very well have prevented the Aurora tragedy.

Glenn Rotkovich is the owner of the Lead Valley Range in Byers, Colorado. He refused to let killer James Holmes join his gun range after hearing a “bizarre,” guttural and unintelligible recorded phone greeting. Concerned, he told employees Holmes should not be allowed to fire weapons until he personally checked him out.

Oh, how I only wish the NRA would sanction that kind of hands-on background check playing a role in who gets lethal weapons.

If Holmes tried to obtain a weapon, he’d first be directed to a well-regulated militia outfit and screened by a man like Rotkovich. And let’s for the sake of argument assume Rotkovich, a gun range owner, is pro-guns.

It’s so simple.

It would also reduce the number of deaths by people who own guns because guns make them feel tough. You read about them in the news every weekend.

They shoot fellow bar patrons after getting into cross-tavern staring contests, road rage over perceived slights at traffic signals, and come home and rain gunfire on their angry wives for gently suggesting maybe they should find a job.

Tough guys? Monthly NRA-sanctioned drills and fitness programs would discourage them from wanting to own a gun, preferring Saturday morning couch comforts to sweating out TGIF hangovers at the local high school track.

Gun owners would be more fit, more civic minded and could be used to help provide national security. It could be like an adjunct National Guard, a proud national organization that is strengthened, not weakened, by being well-regulated.

I admire the previously cited Dionne column, but believe he’s wrong in one key aspect: The NRA doesn’t need less influence.

It needs more.

It needs more power, more responsibility.

Please, please, NRA -- for God’s sake -- take some responsibility.

Re-run Sunday! Ohio U. No. 1 party school again!

Now, how did you expect I'd react to the news that Ohio University was once again the No. 1 Party School in America? Write something scholarly?

Heck no. I'll, of course, re-post this boozy love letter to the place where I became, for better or worse, who I am.

It’s probably because of my years at Ohio University I drink responsibly whenever I should and irresponsibly whenever I can.

It’s a vast over-simplification to say, but the only thing I can recall learning with any clarity there from 1981-1985 was never mix Ouzo and beer. In the same glass.

We used to do that all the time and, guaranteed, whenever we did someone was bound to lose their pants.

You can’t spell bourbon or ouzo without OU.

It was a fountain of knowledge where I went to drink.

Those were some of the T-shirts they sold on campus when I was there. I still see variations of them when I go back once every year or so to see the old gang.

We fly or drive in from all over the country and get two or three rooms at the diviest hotel down near the Hocking River. In a town where big guys are called “Tiny,” the hotel on the lowest point in southeastern Ohio is called The Highlander.

Tell someone who attended most any other college a group of 40 somethings are going to go back to the university they all attended in the 1980s and many assume lecherous activities will ensue.

They think the guys will slip off their wedding rings and spend their nights chasing around the comely innocents.

This is wrong on multiple levels. First: I never met an innocent at OU, not to be confused, please, with Ohio State University in Columbus.

Second: most of us are too fatigued and too wise to chase anything anymore.

Third -- and this is key: there’s not a soul within a 50-mile radius more important to us than the dozen or so people clustered around those tables tilting from too many pitchers of beer.

It was after leaving Athens I began to understand games were for people who were inept at the art of conversation.

Why would you engage in any distraction that kept you from learning more about the people sitting right next to you?

Those were some of the things that crossed my mind when I learned Ohio University was named by the Princeton Review as the No. 1 Party School in America.

It’s a chicken and egg sort of question, but I didn’t go to Athens because it was a party school. But I did go there because at the time the Ohio drinking age was 18.

I learned later on -- surprise! -- it had a great school for journalism. Hey, I liked to journalize!

If anything exceeds its reputation for being a party school, it is its reputation for grooming dynamic journalists.

Media big shots Roger Ailes and Matt Lauer graduated from there. Legendary actor Paul Newman dropped out of there.

My academic achievements fall somewhere deep in the middle of that spectrum.

I remember when I went for one of my first post-graduate interviews. It was at the Nashville Banner. The managing editor, a fine southern gentleman, saw Ohio University on my resume and asked if that’s where Woody Hayes coached.

No, sir, that was Zero State in Columbus.

“How long were you on the school paper?” he asked.

One year, I told him.

“What’d you do the other three years, drink beer?”

Yes, sir.

“Good. I did it for four.”

In a world where crabby tight asses seem to make all the rules and then more rules regarding the original rules, convivial folk will always have a way of finding one another.

I got that job and it was instrumental in launching a career that has led me to friendships with some of the world’s most fascinating individuals.

Athens was where I became who I am.

So cheers, Ohio University. I’ve been under your influence for 30 years now.

And gloriously under the influence for many of those years.

And it’s all just been one hell of a good time.

Safety lessons from spree killers, '12

I’m re-posting, as I always do after most headline-making rampages, my 2009 piece about what we’ve learned from spree killers.

I’ve been doing this at least once a year for the past three years. The only thing that ever changes is the body counts.

Neither side on the gun control debate ever offers anything fresh to end the carnage. One side thinks we’d be more safe if everyone had guns; the other side thinks no guns is the solution.

I tried most recently in 2010 to find some middle ground with this idea a friend calls “The Barney Fife Amendment.”

The thrust is everyone gets to carry a loaded gun anywhere they want: churches, airplanes, hospital birthing units, courtrooms, etc.

But you only get one bullet.

If you use or lose your bullet, in addition to any existing laws, you need to go before a judge to explain what happened to your bullet before you get another bullet.

I resort to absurdity when my cynicism over deadly stalemates overwhelms my optimistic nature.

So there’s nothing new here. Feel free to skip if it starts to sound redundant. After all, the ever-numbing news of spree killers has become all too redundant, as well.

Safety Lessons from Spree Killers

What we’ve learned from recent spree killers:

• It’s unsafe exercising in places dedicated to strengthening and prolonging life (George Sodini, LA/Fittness, Pittsburgh, August 4; three dead).

• It’s unsafe to be an armed, on-duty police officer responding to routine calls (Richard Poplawski, Pittsburgh residence, April 4; three dead).

• It’s unsafe to be an aspiring American, an immigrant drawn to our shores by the promise of a better life (Jiverly Wong, American Civic Association, Binghamton, N.Y., April 3; 13 dead).

• It’s unsafe to want to live out your golden years at a remote retirement home (Robert Stewart, Pinelake Health and Rehab, Carthage, N.C., March 29; eight dead).

• It’s unsafe to attend a place of worship (Terry Ratzman, Living Church of God, Brookfield, Wisconsin, March 12, 2005; seven dead).

• It’s unsafe to shop (Robert Hawkins, Von Maur Department Store, Dec. 5, 2007; eight dead).

• It is unsafe, for the love of God, to be an Amish schoolgirl (Charles Carl Roberts IV, West Nickel Mines Amish School, Bart Township, Pennsylvania, Oct. 2, 2006; five dead).

All told, the random teachers listed here killed 47 people they’d never met and wounded hundreds more. The anecdotal tally could be higher if we included the dead who learned too late it is unsafe to go to places like work or school, but we already knew that.

None of these other-wise law-abiding individuals committed a single crime until the second they pulled the triggers on their legally purchased semi-automatic weapons.

Want to be safe?

Get a job in the U.S. Capitol.

It is there that each and every one of the more than three million annual visitors gets marched through state-of-the-art magnetometers before being allowed entry.

Want to be less safe?

Continue to live without complaint amidst the carnage and under the laws our elected officials continue to pass.

Twitter = Wit confetti; my tweets of the month

Wicked storm has me fearing for my life in my 2nd story office. Might hide in basement. Happily, that's where the bar is. And #Bucs are on. Safety first!

That was the 200th tweet from the past month at @8days2amish. A friend saw it and requested a picture, which I’ve posted above.

It’s the first glimpse I’ve ever offered of The Pond’s interior. That’s Dave, the owner, on my left, and on my right one of the seven Regular Joes, all of whom are helpfully named Joe.

The rest are all buddies who I wish were named Buddy.

The past four weeks were historic to my Twitter account because they demolished my conceit of keeping my total tweets under 1,000 as it’s been for nearly two years.

I figured 1,000 was a nice round number and I could achieve pure Twitter essence if I’d frequently and ruthlessly winnow out the weaklings as I added fresh sparklers.

But a host of friendly new followers -- one of them high profile celebrity babe Holland Taylor -- has led me to sharpen my radar for Tweet-worthy thoughts and, of course, plaster my office walls with gorgeous Holland Taylor posters.

“The great thing about your Twitter feed is it’s just you. You don’t link to other stories or engage in conversation. You just post these idiosyncratic little bolts of wit.”

I was highly complimented when Matt Stroud told me that. He’s a great writer and friend who is succeeding as a freelancer despite bearing the occupational burden of having once been a student of mine.

I was heartened to hear him say that because that exactly sums up my Twitter aspirations. I want my twitter feed to be full from top to bottom with engaging and offbeat thoughts, a VIP pass to my brain, if you will.

In the last month, I posted nearly 200 tweets. So Twitter is now officially another one of those things I used to relentlessly mock in which I’m now fully engaged.

Sort of like marriage and fatherhood.

And I tingle and think sweet, happy thoughts about you any time one of you retweets one of my posts to your followers. Same goes for anyone who refers people to my blog.

Means the world to me.

I could say more, but I’ve already exceeded 140 characters.

Here are two dozen of I think were the best of the month. See if you can guess my favorite (answer at conclusion).

• I'll bet 98% of men are content using just 15% of their brain as long as another comparatively inconsequential organ keeps on giving it 110%.

• I've never seen a white supremacist who's made me, a fellow white, feel the least bit superior.

• I’m surprised no one’s developed a bacon perfume for women. I’m sure men would find those wearing “Eau de Bacon” irresistible.

• Does anyone else wonder if all the other kids made fun of him because Jeremiah was a bullfrog?

• Some patriot should tailor the lyrics of "The Star-Spangled Banner" to the theme from "The Price is Right." It'd be very catchy

• I suppose it's immature of me to even pose the question, but does anyone know if the nation of Turkey has a national bird?

• I've lived a long time but I've never known anyone who when they were young & their heart was an open book used to say live & let live.

• Pundits refer to Ohio and Pennsylvania as swing states. But Wisconsin has the most playgrounds per capita. It is THE swing state.

• Anyone know if ObamaCare will cover the years of intense psychological care needed by Conservatives driven crazy by Supreme Court ruling?

• Global warming will be solved in 15 years when NASA engineers figure way to move Earth farther from the sun. Days will be longer, too.

• Lyme Disease leaves victims chronically fatigued. Lemon Lyme Disease leaves victims chronically fatigued sourpusses.

• Reporter #ChrisChristie called "stupid" should have responded in singsong voice, "I know you are, but what am I?"

• Now that Anderson Cooper's admitted he's gay, maybe Donald Trump will be encouraged to step forward and finally admit he's an ass.

• Scientists will in 10 yrs figure way to harness hate as renewable energy. Good: it's green. Bad: Driving someone crazy will be civic minded.

• How come a single camera lens isn't properly referred to as a camera len?

• The word "astute" doesn't sound like it should convey wisdom. It sounds like it should convey flatulence.

• Instamacy is the mutual attraction so powerful it causes consenting adults to leap into bed moments after first locking eyes.

• Despite the obvious mathematical inconsistencies, a game of 8 Ball played between two naked men is still called 8 Ball.

• Artistic people often settle disputes by drawing straws.

• Starry-eyed singles who date someone proficient in detonating pyrotechnics are apt to go out with a bang.

• Recent health research says some soft drinks contain flame retardants. They say it's bad. Is it? I'd like to be more flame retardant.

• Thought new "Dallas" plot line that former drunken whore Sue Ellen Ewing was running for guv of Texas was preposterous. Then realized, hell, Texas elected Rick Perry.

• It is entirely possible to simultaneously give someone both a rump roast and a bum steer.

• Happy 94th birthday to a man who accomplished more during 27 years in captivity than I've accomplished in 49 years of carefree freedom. #Mandela

Lots of fun word play in this batch. And I like the one about Anderson Cooper because it has, I think, a certain deftness to it and I’m fond of any topic that let’s me take a blast at the idiot Trump, as I did here last June.

But I think I have to go with the Mandela one. It’s self-deprecating and makes a point about this monumental man who is second on the list of people with whom I’d most like to have a long, boozy lunch.

Who’s first?

Holland Taylor!

Bringing civility back to political yapping

As I’ve been mostly successful in my efforts to avoid writing anything overtly political over the 18 months, some new readers may wonder about my core beliefs. Here they are in a nutshell:

I’m a knee-jerk liberal whose knee jerks most liberally when it’s in the vicinity of a Christian conservative’s crotch.

I came to this foundational position during the Clinton impeachment follies.

We can disagree about what the meaning of the word “is” is, but I believed impeaching a busy president for having a consensual affair was a silly overreaction by hate-filled conservatives who in their spare time were enjoying multiple consensual affairs.

So as the agitated country became more and more polarized through Gore-Bush 2000, WMD, The Iraq War, Gitmo, Swift boats, Tea Party birther politics, ObamaCare and right up to today’s Baingate, my knee was doing more jerking than a one-legged man’s in a three-legged race.

That’s why I was so surprised to find myself engaged in something I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoyed: a charming political conversation with someone with whom I disagreed.

It was with Chuck, our tavern attorney.

I’d better clarify that. He’s the lead partner in the bar’s unincorporated firm of several lawyers who do pro bono work for the interesting people who fall afoul of the law in various colorful ways that happen when you add alcohol to stressful situations.

They help us overcome the self-inflicted perils of our DUIs, our divorces and drunken firearm violations. They help us with our wills, our property deeds and advise us over beers and bourbon about whether it’s better to run from the cops or just fall upon our knees, break down in shameful tears and weep for mercy.

So Chuck’s a good friend -- a good conservative friend.

And he reads my blog so he know’s my politics.

Maybe that’s why we rarely engage the topic. We’ve all over the last 10 years been so singed by divisive politics that thoughtful people are reluctant to mention in public our most important current events for fear an offended listener might enliven the discussion with self-righteous gunfire.

Because there are so few examples of it on TV or in the news, we’ve all forgotten how much fun political conversation between informed opposites can be.

Chuck and I bantered about history, colorful politicians, potential Romney VP picks, Obama’s re-election chances and other hot button topics that lead to bloodshed between less refined conversationalists.

The booze flowed and for a moment he was Ronald Reagan and I was Tip O’Neill, two partisans still hailed today for their ability to set aside political disagreements and come together for alcoholic refreshment and collegial BS for when the day is done.

It’s confounding that Washington can no longer function like that.

I’m pleased because this marks a happy trajectory for me that began when I vowed I was going to be less politically antagonistic back in January 2011. It started with the shooting of Gabby Giffords and President Obama’s call for more civility in political discourse.

I did my part the very next day when I wrote this piece where I said nice things about George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin, Rush Limbaugh and other conservatives I used to routinely mock.

Sadly, I don’t think my dream of a more polite electorate will ever be achieved. Too many people are addicted to talk radio, America’s greatest obstacle to clear thinking.

The people who earn their living talking on the radio -- and there’s no denying the GOP owns the yap gap -- have a vested interest in keeping their listeners crazy so the demonization is unlikely to abate.

I’m convinced common ground will evade liberals and conservatives right up until the extra-terrestrials show up and start eating without discrimination the both of us. That will certainly help clarify party positions on illegal alien issues.

Until then, I’m fairly certain disharmony will rule.

Heck, it even happened between Chuck and I during our happy little powwow. He said Tip O’Neill, speaker of the house attributed his political longevity to his conviction that “all politics are local.”

I insisted Chuck was wrong and that O’Neill had been historically misquoted.

In fact, all politics are loco.