Jon Stewart

If you know me, you know how I feel about network media.

I couldn't pass sharing these two videos.

Language warning. They bleep it out, but still, you know what's being said.

Might have to copy and paste the links. Worth it, I promise. Still laughing.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-october-12-2009/cnn-leaves-it-there

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-march-4-2009/cnbc-financial-advice

Thankful

As the year draws to a close, I thought a moment of reflection was in order.

The 2009 top ten things I'm most thankful for:

#10) Glad I didn't invite Kanye West to my son's football awards banquet.

#9) Never turned to John and Kate, Tiger Woods, and David Letterman for marital advice

#8) The words Sexting, Public Option, and Birther never entered my lexicon

#7) Jennifer Garner

#6) Refused to don a face mask or drink the swine flu cool-aide

#5) Co-writes

#4)Decided to forgo parenting advice from Octomom and the balloon-boy parents

#3) Did not get around to writing a check to Bernie Madoff

#2) Opted out of that weekend trip with Governor Sanford

#1) My family

Oops

Driving into the parking lot, I saw an old friend from work pumping gas. She had retired a few years ago, and I don't see her much anymore.

Never one to miss an opportunity to say hello, I rolled down the window and shouted, "Hey old lady, shouldn't you be at home quilting or something", an inside joke my friend would have found hilarious.

Turns out, this wasn't my old friend.

Nope. Complete stranger. She was looking me over like she was trying to decide if she needed throw down and kick my butt or run away.

Run away. That's the option I chose. I threw her a wave and offered up a "sorry, wrong person" as I drove right back out of the parking lot, never stopping. I needed gas badly, but I needed to escape her dread gaze of doom even worse.

My bad...

Ideas

"I got an idea." Four of the best words ever spoken.

Even when compared to "Jennifer Garner is here", "time for your meds", and "your giant burrito sir", it ranks among the top.

Ah, the idea.

Voiced only at the confluence of confidence and disregard, it emerges very infrequently, often times tentatively, furtively. Rare. Prized. Fragile, formed on substances that can quickly dissolve once exposed to light and oxygen vaporizing right before your eyes.

In a room, they are regarded like heirlooms, presented with reverence and care, white gloved. We desire them to be liked, even loved. Like parents, eager to show them off, yet deathly afraid of how they will be received. Giddy when selected. Hurt when rejected, certain the others just don't get it. You quickly pack it back away careful not to bruise it. After all, we're given only so many, never knowing when, or if, the next one will come. Given.

The good ones can't be cultivated. Like synthesized diamonds, they shine, but the people you care about knowing will do just that, know. More born then made, they are a currency to be traded, valuable only to a select few, worthless outside the smallest of circles.

Today I am an idea merchant, wares displayed in the store window for all to see. Dutifully, I will tend them. Browse all you want, hold them up to the light, flick the rind to check for ripeness. Buy or place them back on the shelf. It doesn't matter.

I have inventory. I feel rich. For now.

Fa La Blah

At the risk of sounding a little Scrooge like, I must confess to a deep seated dislike of Christmas carols.

I like spreading cheer as much as the next guy, but there's just something about a bunch of people on my porch singing off key in the freezing cold that gets me. I'm cold, they're cold, it's late, yet they feel compelled to sing. Not just the tunes everyone knows, but every line of every Carol, making sure to hit every verse, even the obscure ones that no one knows.

There are the mortified faces of the teenagers who never thought their parents would make good on the threat to head out and sing, who constantly swing their heads back and forth making sure their friends are nowhere near. There's the gray haired soprano that simply refuses, even for just one merciful second, to sing in unison. And there's always one dude in a top hat and scarf festooned with candy canes and tassels. Where do you even get a top hat? Seriously?

Please, all ye merry carolers, take your wasseling down the street or I'm going to get all kinds of King Winceslass on you.

When on my front lawn there arose such a clatter.
I threw open the door and said what blankety-blank is the matter?
There stood a rag tag mob grouped on my stoop
Singing at the their top of their lungs all sounding like poop
I said for the love of all things Saint Nick
Your crooning and mooing is making me quite sick
I give you a clap for your spirit and cheer
But ya'll got to get up on out of here
Here's an idea that would be really neat
Move on two houses further down the street
Once you guys are finally out of sight
I'll sigh Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night!!