Christmas or Whatever

Many of you don't know this about me, but roughly ten years ago I earned a best actor nomination for my role as the loving son opening Christmas presents from a crazy mother. A. O. Scott of the New York Times said that my performance would redefine acting standards for the industry. Entertainment Weekly's Lisa Schwarzbaum noted that my emotional performance caused her loins to moisten. And perhaps the most complementary review came from some asshole with a website claiming that I had more acting chops in my little finger than Freddie Prinze Jr. has in his little finger. Thanks guy with a website. That really means a lot to me.

As you might have guessed, my mom was a bit out of touch with younger folk like myself, and, from as far back as I can remember, failed to ever get me anything meaningful and rarely got me anything I needed. The performance in question was especially remarkable considering the gift: a white sweat suit and white knit gloves with sparkles. On the outside I made my chin quiver like I was about to weep and told her I loved it. I even wore the outfit through dinner (gloves included) and may have performed the second act of The Nutcracker before dessert. On the inside I was worried that my mom had lost her mind or was pranking me. Unfortunately, it was the former, not the latter: decades of drinking and smoking more than two Christopher Hitchens' worth of boxed wine and generic cigarettes can really fuck up your shit.

While those problems are a distant memory for me, new problems related to giving and receiving Christmas gifts are filling my head with new ones. For example, buying anything for my wife is difficult because she already has a roof over her head, food in the kitchen, and a car to go to the store to buy more food when she cooks all of the old food. What more could a woman need? Well, apparently this woman needs more because she asked me to make an effort in the gift-giving department. This year I bought her a new broom and dustpan and had her name etched into the broom handle. I know, I know, I'm a real catch. Anyway, she told me that the broom and dustpan were a step up from the year I bought her a blue and gray striped men's sweater, as if I was shopping for a color blind Freddy Krueger.

Regardless of the good and the bad surrounding Christmas, perhaps the best thing I can say about it is that it's over -- until next year anyway. But that gives me plenty of time to hone my acting skills. Another nomination would be nice.

Great use of scotch and cigarettes; even better use of words.
1949-2011