I heard that phrase on the news the other day: So-and-so was “a victim of a senseless crime.” And you know, I don’t think that’s true. By and large, I’m not sure there are that many senseless crimes, no matter how bizarre. Just because it doesn’t make sense to us doesn’t make it senseless. Think about it, if someone chops up some co-eds, eats their eyes, and wears their entrails like a hat, I have to imagine it made sense to the guy at the time. We may not understand it, but the dude definitely had a reason. That’s not really a spur of the moment kind of thing.

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And yes, merry Christmas, not “season’s greetings” or “happy holidays” or any of the other twisted and tortured PC-approved phrases. Just a good ol’ merry Christmas. Why? Simply put, that’s what my family and I celebrate, so that’s what I know.

That has always amazed me about this time of the year. The one time that’s supposed to be about coming together, peace and brotherhood, giving and sharing, and instead everyone seems to get their panties in a bunch if you use a holiday-specific greeting that they don’t personally use. It’s supposed to be a time of togetherness, not further divisiveness. And it’s really all so pointless.

If I’m walking down the street and you wish me a merry Christmas, I’ll respond in kind. Wish me a happy Hannukah, I’ll wish you one in return. Happy Kwanzaa? Right back at ya. I’m not going to be offended or upset that you wished me a joyous holiday that I don’t personally celebrate. Because when you get right down to it, no matter what label you slap on it, they all really say the same thing: I wish you well. I wish good things for you and your loved ones. I wish that you all are happy and healthy, with many things to celebrate. I hope this time of year is filled with warmth and love, surrounded by those closest to you. How can you possibly be upset by that? It’s not exclusionary to wish someone a merry Christmas (or Hannukah or Kwanzaa or whatever), it’s inclusive. It’s sharing good feelings and warm wishes with a stranger. And you’re going to be offended by that?

So lighten up, folks. If someone wishes you a holiday greeting that doesn’t match your personal religious beliefs, or even if they play it safe and offer up a generic “season’s greetings” and that bothers you, don’t get haughty and indignant. Just smile and respond with whatever greeting you prefer. And have a merry Christmas.

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The SBM and I went out for dinner on Saturday night. When we paid the check, the waitress replied with a hearty “Merry Christmas!” I thought it was a bit early for that nonsense to start, but figured it was a fluke. Corporate policy or something. The next day we went out for groceries and both the cashier and the bagboy offered up a “Happy Holidays!”

Now, is it just me, or is November too soon to start wishing everyone a merry Christmas? Just because Thanksgiving is over is no reason to start assaulting random strangers with holiday wishes. Second week in December, fine. Third week, better. But just because one holiday has finished, you don’t need to immediately launch into the next. We’re not wishing people a “Happy Fourth of July” as soon as Easter finishes. You don’t break out the “Happy Halloween” the minute Labor Day wraps up.

I appreciate the sentiment; let’s just make it a little more timely.

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If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, first, you have my thanks and, second, you have my pity. But you also have the knowledge that I have no love for small children in restaurants, unless they’re actually being offered on the menu. Normally, it’s the screaming, the wailing, the shrieking, the constant drilling cicada-like screeching small children seem to be legally required to create when surrounded by food. But last night, the SBM and I went out for a quick dinner and I found something that might almost be worse: giggling.

The table next to us had three children, ranging in age from maybe four to eight. I’m no good at guessing children’s ages, generally just lumping them all in the “too stupid to know any better” age group. Well, these three were definitely that stupid and all had apparently just ingested about fourteen Cokes apiece, because they spent the next forty minutes giggling non-stop. They’d knock a coat on the floor and giggle. They’d tell each other jokes and giggle. They’d sing off-key Christmas carols and giggle. They’d play hide and seek around the table and giggle. Giggle giggle giggle giggle giggle.

The parents, of course, were blissfully unaware of any of this, tuning it out with their built-in parental defenses and calmly enjoying their dinners and chatting quietly. In fact, the only time they acknowledged the over-excited and hyperactive trio was when they ordered each one an ice-cream dessert, thereby ensuring their sugar levels would reach stratospheric heights and the giggling would reach Biblical proportions. We paid the bill in a hurry and fled for the safety of the night.

 I know some people say that the laughter of children is like music, but that’s only because they’ve never sat next to it for the better part of an hour.

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Driving to work the other day and pulled up behind a car at a red light. It was a new Toyota Corolla, red, still had the temporary tag in the back window. Shiny, clean, this thing had been off the dealer lot for maybe two weeks, three tops.

The back was covered with bumper stickers.

Harley Davidson logo in the back window, Happy Bunny showing me his butt, Support our Troops ribbon magnet, my [breed of dog] is smarter than your honor student, local radio station call letters, on and on. And I couldn’t help but wonder, what would possess you to do that to a brand new car? Are you so desperate to show your individuality that your first act as owner of a new vehicle is to destroy the paint job by covering it with corporate logos and snappy sayings that everyone else is already displaying? Do you need that badly for anonymous motorists behind you to know where you stand on the thorny issues of motorcycle brand and radio station selection?

Congratulations on making a personal statement with your vehicle, although I’m not sure “I just totally trashed a new car” was the best choice.

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At work the other day, and the local news had a story on about cheap gas prices in the area. My coworker saw the piece and I heard him exclaim, “Man! Gas for $2.35? Awesome!”

No, it isn’t.

Think back a year. $2.35 a gallon was high. Ridiculously high. People were bitching left and right about this, demanding the government step in and regulate this somehow. The fact that gas has since gone almost a dollar higher doesn’t change this fact. And now that we’ve seen gas selling in excess of three dollars, people see this as some sort of bargain. It’s not. It’s still high, just not as high as it has been.

C’mon, people, try to remember a little more history than “last week.”

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Now that October is over, can we please stop with all the Breast Cancer Awareness? Don’t get me wrong, I’m against cancer in all its forms, as it’s rather prevalent in my family and I’ve lost several relatives to The Big C. And as a heterosexual guy, I’m against anything that harms breasts. But I really do not need to be assaulted with the color pink non-stop everywhere I go. Case in point: Went grocery shopping the other day and counted eighty-four items either with the pink ribbon on the label, a pink label, or the item itself was now pink. And that’s not fourteen different flavors of Campbell’s soup, that’s eighty-four separate items from different companies: Soup, yogurt, crackers, cereal, muffins, bread, pasta, ice cream, the list goes on and on. There’s pink Brita pitchers, pink cookware, pink kitchen utensils, hell, there’s even a pink Dyson vacuum cleaner. And you gotta really be against breast cancer to buy a $500 dirt-sucker to show your support.

One of the oddest pink items? Madden 2009 for the Xbox 360. Forgive me for engaging in gender stereotypes, but I think most of the young adult male Madden fans will likely shy away from buying a pink video game, especially one so testosterone-laden to begin with.

Again, great cause, but can we tone it down a little? I’m about as aware as I’m going to be at this point.

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Being something of a horror buff, I used to love Halloween. As a kid, it meant costumes and free candy, which is something of a miracle to a six-year-old. Once I got too old for Trick or Treat, I could always count on loads of horror movies on TV, maybe a classic being shown at a midnight screening at one of the local theaters. Costume shops would spring up, filled with gory masks and makeup. Local organizations would run some haunted houses/jails/forests and the like, full of scares and splatter. Creepy-crawlies, demons, zombies, vampires, serial killers back from the dead… great stuff.

What happened?

You go looking for a costume now and it’s nothing but licensed characters for the guys and slut outfits for the ladies (which I’m actually fine with, but it’s not very Halloween). The best horror you can hope for on TV is the really-reaching-for-it “spooky” haunted house specials on TLC. Kids don’t get to go Trick or Treating anymore, and if they do, it’s regulated during daylight hours and only to houses where you personally know the owners aren’t going to try to slip you a bar of Snickers packed with Dran-O. Instead of haunted houses we have “harvest festivals,” because Halloween is all satanic and evil, you know.

You couldn’t take all the fun out of Groundhog Day or something? You had to ruin my holiday?

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I got thinking about pierced ears the other day. I know, it’s a weird thing to consider, they’re so ubiquitous. Women have them. Men have them. Hell, I’ve seen newborn infants with them. Very commonplace. But, realize, at some point in history, someone had to say, “Hey, I know what let’s do. Why don’t you get something really sharp and jab a hole in this soft, tender part of my ear? Then we’ll cram something in there—metal hoop, boar tusk, monkey bone, something—and see what happens.” And someone else agreed to help with this. Alcohol had to have been involved.

Not only that, but other people saw it and thought, damn, that’s a pretty neat idea! I want holes punched in my flesh, too! Of course, some brave soul saw this happening and decided, that’s fine and all, but why stop with squishy ear parts? Drill a hole in my nose! And my lips. Tongue, cheek, eyebrow, wang… go nuts. Swiss cheese me. And then one enterprising individual realized, against all logic, that people would actually pay good money to have someone hammer a sharp object through their body and then fill it with something. So he could not only get a hammering fee, but then could also sell them the trinkets to put in the hole he just made. And that’s pretty much where we are today.

I’m just saying, it seems like one of those things that if you stop to really think about it, you find yourself asking, “Yeah, what’d I do that for?”

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Sounds like David “I’m Not Mulder, Dammit!” Duchovny has checked himself into rehab to combat sex addiction. Wow, a guy who’s addicted to sex. I think I personally know at least eighty-five guys who would fit that definition.

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