Now that the Olympics have started, Americans can put on display the thing they do better than anyone else in the world. Whining.
I love a good chance to complain as much as the next guy, maybe even more, but we really ramp it up as a nation when the Olympics roll around.
It seems as if we have to make fun of a sport or complain about its foreign nature if we’re not good at it. Where’s the American spirit in that?
We don’t always get a chance to confront our childhood fears. Thanks to two of my crazy sisters, I will get that opportunity later this year. I’m going to Disney World.
Well, all of us are as part of a small-scale Shea invasion. This is nothing new for my siblings, some of whom go once or twice a year and have planned this particular family jaunt.
I haven’t been to Disney since one summer in the early 1970s when I celebrated a birthday – I either turned 5 or 6, I forget – at the happiest place on earth. My memories are far from happy.
I don’t know what to do today. Well, I’ll naturally go to a Super Bowl party and eat too much. That’s a given. But I don’t know what to do during the game.
I might actually have to root for the Steelers.
I know. Things are that bad.
I had to send an e-mail to a co-worker the other day. I needed to include a funny comment, but worried that she might not get the joke. I started at my computer screen for a few seconds. She has a great sense of humor, so she would have to get the gag, but she’s also higher on the food chain than I am. I didn’t want to rock the boat.
So I did something I don’t like to do in everyday communication. I used an emoticon in a work-related e-mail.
I didn’t even really notice that the Golden Globe Awards took place last week. But when I heard about the goodies in store for those in attendance, I sat up and took notice. The audience members received a goodie bag worth more than $1,300 of stuff while the movie stars who announced the winners received a bag of junk worth more than $62,000.
First of all, wow. Secondly, why do they call it a goodie “bag?” Do the stars get a huge bag with a vacuum cleaner, an espresso machine and a pair of jeans? If so, that must be a pain to get home, even if you did come in a limo.
I came home from work the other night and found Maria in the kitchen fixing dinner. Like most nights, I asked her what she was making. This time, she gave me an answer that scared me. “It’s a surprise.”
Uh oh.
Like anyone who has lost a parent, I have gone through all the stages of grief. When we celebrated Christmas recently, I learned how hard the anger stage can really be. I’m not mad at my mother or her doctors or anything like that. I’m just mad at the world.
For the first time in my life, I will have to buy my own Sports Illustrated.
Twas the night before Christmas
And on the driveway
Cornhole players were fueled
By beer and chardonnay
If I have dedicated myself to anything over the past 37 years, it has been laziness. From my days as a child when one of my brothers had to carry me upstairs to breakfast to now when I will skip dinner because I don’t feel like microwaving popcorn, I have done all I can to avoid the extra step.
But I have seen some things lately that truly disturb me. I think our smartest people should spend their time making our lives easier, but they seem to have taken a wrong turn.
While walking around a store recently, I saw a contraption that sent me into a tizzy. I stood in the aisle and just shook my head.
Something happened a couple of weeks ago that made me dance and sing for joy. Unfortunately, it didn’t involve the purchase of a big-screen TV or a certain combination of numbers on a lottery ticket. Still, this was pretty special.
We said goodbye to sippy cups in our house.