Normally, I wouldn’t think of criticizing television. After all, the warm, blue glow has helped sustain me for my entire life.
But over the past few months, something has started to really annoy me.
The thing itself hasn’t bothered me because I never watch it. The people who can’t stop yammering about it, sending it into the public conscious have bothered me.
It’s official: I’m sick and tired of The Food Network.
Now that the NFL has whittled the playoffs down to the final two teams, America can start to get serious about one if its greatest traditions. Super Bowl commercials.
I honestly can’t think of a more unifying part of our culture than the advertisements that fill the space between plays during the final pro football game of the season.
But the fun doesn’t just happen when the Buffalo wings come out of the oven and the beers are opened.
Super Bowl commercial season has already started, and I’m a little bothered.
Sometimes, I am so proud to live in this country, I get a little misty-eyed. That feeling came over me recently when we started on plans to renovate our bathrooms. Technically, our house is listed as having 1.5 bathrooms. That’s being a bit generous.
I’m not knocking our downstairs facilities because I love the setup. I just think calling a commode sitting on a raised platform in between the washer and dryer a half bath is a little fib.
Yes, our downstairs toilet is a real throne, sitting about a foot off the ground with a shower curtain around it to offer privacy. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Over the past week, I think I have found my true calling. I should find work as a professional juror. I have spent the last week on jury duty for the first-time ever. I had never received a notice to serve before and greeted the envelope from York with disdain when it came last month.
Now, I realize how foolish that reaction was.
I could seriously do this gig all the time. I honestly don’t know why people grumble about jury duty. Sure, the pay stinks, but the fringe benefits are fantastic.
Sometimes I wonder how I have remained married for more than 11 years. The odds are stacked against us.
First of all, Maria could care less about the NFL standings or who will be the next coach of the U.S. Men’s soccer team. How can I raise a child with someone so disinterested in these important matters?
When we go to the annual Super Bowl party at a friend’s house, she cares more about the commercials than the game. That’s just wrong.
Then there’s our problem with bananas. My wife actually thinks that it is better to wait to eat a banana until the fruit has developed some brown spots on the skin.
As a nation, we agree on so few things. We all understand that Tom Cruise is pretty freaky, and that Paris Hilton is pretty yukky and that Scarlett Johansson is pretty dreamy.
But we have something now to rally around that goes way beyond the lives of the rich and famous.
We must band together to stop Smittens.
I have received some very bad news. I didn’t contract some terrible disease or lose my job or anything like that. This bad news came in a letter from my cable company.
They have decided to add a bunch of channels.
Why is this bad news? Well, I don’t think I’ll see my wife or daughter again once the channels hit my set unless they come down to the basement to see me.
The time to Christmas shop has almost arrived. Yes, I know some people have already started. A select few crazies have even wrapped up their shopping. That’s just crazy.
Christmas shopping should not begin until we finish with Thanksgiving. I don’t see how anyone can really focus on buying presents without suffering through a tryptophan coma.
We celebrated a very special moment in our house last week. I honestly thought of calling CNN so they could break into whatever trite election coverage they had on at the moment. This was that big.
My wife played Parcheesi with me.
Bridget has developed a great love for playing board games. We have encouraged this because it’s something we can all do better and – I can’t believe I am saying this – a game of Chutes and Ladders or Mancala is better for a kid than watching TV or playing a video game.
Both Maria and I grew up playing a lot of games so we enjoy this diversion. Well, we do most of the time. Like all kids, Bridget likes to win and sometimes goes a little too far in her quest for victory.
Sometimes she learns a lesson. But sometimes she makes a little sad face and decides she doesn’t want to play anymore.
Which brings us to the momentous decision by my wife to open up the Parcheesi box.
Because of my background as an athlete, I try to tough it out sometimes. I also think I get this trait because of my four older brothers. While growing up, I had to learn that calling for Mom’s help too soon might get me more noogies than I had originally anticipated.
Regardless, I tend to not complain much about physical ailments. That contributed a lot to me waiting so long before getting my heart and cholesterol level checked out earlier this fall.
In the end, the tests showed that I was just being a big baby worrying about my heart, but I did have to start paying attention to my cholesterol.
I knew this day would come. Some of my siblings have this problem. A lot of other people do. I didn’t expect to be spared. So now I take a pill each night.
But I didn’t expect one pill each night to make me feel so old. It’s not the side effects or anything. I just feel old having to take care of a serious condition before I turn 40.
This is where my usual non-complaining gene kicks in. I know others have it a lot worse than I do, and I should be happy that I know about the problem sooner rather than later.
Still I felt old. And stupid. At least after the first night I got the medication.