I’ve spent the last four days immersed in the bosom of my family and expressing heartfelt gratitude for all that makes life so rich.
Man, am I thankful that’s finally over.
I truly am thankful for all life’s gifts.
But I’d be untrue to myself if I spent more than 48 hours expressing earnest thanks. The soul-supple yin of gratitude needs its bitter yang or it’ll die from diabetic shock.
I read the newly single Demi Moore tweeted what a pity it is that we have just one day out of 365 to be thankful. Why not, she wondered, be thankful 365 days a year?
Well, because I live a world where I’m reminded Demi Moore has access to a Twitter account for starters.
If they made a sunscreen to ward off life’s annoyances it would have to be about SPF 995.
So here’s a little list of stuff I’ve needed to get off my chest when saying so out loud would have struck a disharmonious note.
Better make sure the coffee’s warm. This could take a while.
• NFL officiating: What they need to do is get rid of the instant replay and all but two of the officials, one for each side of the ball. Then ask the players to play under the honor system. If a player feels he was too aggressive, he should raise his hand and assess himself a 15-yard penalty.
• The Euro: Either rise or fall, but stop all the waffling. If you’re going to collapse and drag the world into an apocalyptic depression, let’s just get on with it.
• Our dog: His frequent yips still make me feel someone’s just attached the 400-watt defibrillator paddles to my chest and is about to yell, “Clear!” Snickers is 18-months old and still peeing on the carpet. I’d say, “Look, if that dog pees on the carpet one more time, it’s either me or him,” but I know I’d be annoyed watching the dog and the girls enjoy Christmas morning with me on the cold side of the frosty window.
• I’m annoyed honesty in prayer is frowned upon. Everyone freezes at the Thanksgiving dinner table when I ask, “All right, who wants to say the prayer?” Of course, no one does and it’s left to me. So I mumble some Sunday School sort of prayer about being thankful for the food, the family, the need to help the lonely and less fortunate, blah, blah, blah, when I’d like to at least mention, “And thank you, Lord, for the men and women who make this Tennessee sipping whiskey that’ll help me get through another two hours of sitting here at this table with my father-in-law.”
• The march of time annoys me. I don’t know whether it’s the pending holiday involving important people making naughty/nice lists, but my darling daughters are loving Daddy these days. They out of no where will pop up onto my lap for cuddling and tickle time. Can’t they stay 11 and 5 until at least the year 2017?
• The “Some Girls” re-release. The 1978 Stones classic is one of my favorites. Play it all the time. Now, they’ve re-released it with premium pricing and 10 extra songs. I heard one of the vault songs, “No Spare Parts” and was blown away. I have to have it. But do I need to spend $14.99 on songs I already have? And it annoys me when I have to stoop to cherry-picking selected cuts.
• Dull things annoy me. It’s wood chopping season and my trusty Stihl MS 270 needs new choppers. It’s tedious sawing wood with a machine inefficient for the task. Still, I’d rather spend two hours in the woods with a dull chainsaw than 10 minutes alone with a dull bartender.
• My Twitter account: The thing, I think, sparkles with wit. Yet, bone-headed moron Ashton Kutcher’s account has 8,551,759 followers and mine has a measly 106. What does a guy have to do to get that kind of following? Oh? Really? Okay. I’ll pass.
• My inability to start a movement. I have the perfect solution to the really crabby mood the nation’s in right now: Everyone take the afternoon off and let’s all go see the new Muppet movie! Saw it yesterday with the family. It’s wonderful! And just why are there so many songs about rainbows?
• Black Friday violence on principle annoys the hell out of me, but I’d rather see bargain shoppers getting pepper sprayed than sidewalk-occupying philosophy majors.
• Facebook’s certainly annoying. I read recently Mark Zuckerberg was barnstorming the country to hire 700 new Facebook employees. If he was really smart, he’d fire 700 employees. The more Facebook improves the worse it gets. Nothing can change that trajectory.
• I annoy myself. Because, God help me, I still care what happens with those kids, Demi and Ashton. The sentimental old romantic in me hopes Demi reunites with Bruce but, this being Hollywood, I won’t be disappointed if Bruce and Ashton wind up together -- at least until Rumer’s old enough to date Ashton without it all looking so unseemly.