Covid-19: Madness or Mercy?

3/26/20:

 

Covid-19. Novel Coronavirus. Do I prefer the second designation? The only thing novel about it is how painfully aware we Americans have become of its existence. As a newly wedded husband, I cringe at the thought that my wife, who has type one diabetes, could potentially be taken from me by contracting Covid-19. As a healthcare worker, I fear for my own safety. I enter a different kind of Ground Zero in 2020 than the one my father dove into as a first responder in 2001. Nineteen years later, the asthma he now has as a result of his heroic efforts puts him at greater risk of the lethal complications associated with Covid-19. The irony isn’t lost on me, even as I meet him today for a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat. 

 

I don’t want him to die either. 

 

With that, I enter the fray. Sometimes I shake my head and ask myself, “What the fuck am I doing here?” I’m working this job because this was the fastest one I could get directly after my training some seven plus years ago. I needed to get the fuck out of retail, didn’t I? 

 

And for all the dreams I brushed aside, the systemic reboots I tried to make to my own life, and the lies I told myself about what a higher education was able to do for me professionally, I met the love of my life and finally married her within the last year. That might be my only real accomplishment as an adult. Luckily, it’s also my greatest. 

 

Will I live long enough to enjoy our marriage? Can I protect my wife from this Covid-19 monster? How will my knowledge or righteous rage serve me if she’s hospitalized and kept away from me “as a safety precaution?”

 

And how has our government responded? Our orange nightmare of a president decided to ignore initial intelligence surrounding the existence of Covid-19. Sources say we may be two months behind the eight ball in effective containment. New York’s Governor Cuomo has become something of a national hero, but I don’t quite see why. He’s only asking for what other governors of major American cities will eventually need. I won’t even get into the way my employer is handling things. They can spare safety equipment for doctors and nurses. These are the important people. When it comes to me, I’m just a fucking Transporter, and not in the cool, Jason Statham kind of way. That means I’m on my own. If I acquire the proper personal protective equipment (PPE) at all, it’s on my dime and my time.

 

Fuckers. 

 

Time to Breathe

The New York Times: Trump Grants Clemency to Prominent White Collar Criminals.

Bloomberg: Locust Swarms Ravaging East Africa are the Size of Cities.

And what the HELL is happening in Syria?

“It’s Like the End of the World.”

“We are counting down.”

Truth be told, if I add Brexit, the Corona virus scare in China, the trouble with North Korea, the leadership flux in Germany, and any of the other news articles I’ve either read or have been told to read in recent weeks, the world’s future – MY future looks bleak. Taking in everything I just typed out and linked to in this post, one can justify the comment “this MUST be the End of Days.”

But I’m home, sick today from work, because my cat woke me too early in the morning for me to physically and mentally endure life. Why is THAT a problem? If the world is about to end, why the hell am I worried about stupid little things like my health, or the future of the behaviorally erratic Calico in my home?

After taking in this set of foreboding events, something told me to look for information on Damascus. Perhaps I remembered my Book of Revelation readings from years ago that, quite frankly, scared the ever loving shit out of me. What was I doing? Was I continuing to spiral down in fear and self-loathing?

No.

I was searching for hope.

I had a chance to drink a cup of coffee, take a much needed breath, and keep digging (in an online surfing sense, of course.) I didn’t even know what I was looking for until I saw this YouTube video series that detailed a tourist’s experiences in Syria, starting with its capital, Damascus.

In the light of how this morning has gone, I have one more question to ask. If I can find a means to both frighten and enlighten myself in a pair of quick internet searches, what does that say about the state of information worldwide? If we’re not telling a complete story about anything that happens anymore, can we even trust our own senses?

Let’s be clear. Our Dictator – sorry, ‘POTUS’ is sick and wrong to condemn the Media for exposing his idiocy and lawlessness. And I will never again question my ability to process and express my being through the written word. But what in the name of everything sacred have we done to the very fabric of knowledge and truth in this world?

Within the framework of Western Relativism, the world’s technological evolution has far outpaced our spiritual evolution. If this continues, we cannot hope to survive.

I must leave a better legacy.

 

A Friend and Guide..

I constantly marvel at the choices I make.

I started this past weekend with a tough decision. I had to choose whether or not to drop a potential job opportunity that I’d pursued for the past two weeks. 

The opportunity seemed to manifest at random. An employer that I’d applied to work with more than two years ago threw me a lifeline after a particularly nasty day at work. 

At least, that was my initial impression. 

In my experience, temp agencies are “middle men” who seem to solve problems for employers and potential employees. For employers looking for cheap, but reliable sources of labor, agencies are willing to headhunt in order to get the very best of candidates. For employees looking to switch careers or for those still seeking work, these agencies seem to close the gap between joblessness and the sense of fulfillment that comes from a worthwhile, lucrative career. 

I should have retained the lessons of my youth. Staffing agencies never close that gap completely..

But when a temp agency sends its best headhunter to talk up a lucrative but insecure work contract, it can look damn fine next to a less lucrative job where poor leadership rules, and a permissive workplace culture supports dysfunction.  

I had my moments of clarity. My current managers remind me, with plentiful examples of their uselessness, why I seek employment elsewhere. 

I found it easier to lose sight of the contract’s subtle details when I was busy quelling disasters at work. In fact, It wasn’t until the end of a brutal workweek that I finally had a chance to breathe and to look at the fine print. The sinking feeling in my gut told me everything I needed to know.

Dear Sir – You’ve asked me to leave a consistent job with a steady tour, union benefits, and medical insurance for a four month temporary contract with your agency that offers more pay, but demands that I essentially be “on call.” While offering no benefits and no medical insurance, the contract tempts me with the “possibility” of permanent placement with the employer to which you will sell my soul.. send me after my four month probationary period concludes. 

I just got married. We recently moved into a nice new apartment together. We love each other.

Thanks, but no thanks. 

Chloe walked with me when I called the headhunter. She nuzzled my leg when I backed out of the interview I would’ve had two days from now. She purred in my ear when I stuck to my guns, and she licked my cheek when I silently swore afterward. 

I still miss you Chloe, my furry friend and guide. 

 

 

 

Rules of Engagement

In light of this douche’s acquittal, this needs repeating..

Voodoo Drummer

-Friday, January 27th, 2017

“President” Donald Trump signs an executive order re: immigration at 4:42 pm Eastern Standard time. This order “indefinitely barrs” Syrian immigrants from entering our borders. The order also suspends all refugee admission for 120 days, and blocks citizens from seven Majority Muslim countries from entering the US for approximately three months.

The order takes effect. Almost immediately, chaos ensues. At airports around the country, hundreds are detained and questioned. Thousands more are left wondering about friends and family, stranded or turned away before they could reunite with loved ones who were simply traveling abroad. Across the world, millions are outraged.

I am outraged. Aside from the Anti-Muslim bigotry inherent in such a ridiculous order, there is more to be concerned about here. This is in direct violation of the US Constitution’s first amendment. For those who’ve forgotten it, here it is in bold print.

Amendment I…

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40 and Confused By Cats (or just not good at “adulting..”)

I turned 40 last September. I had a good birthday, thanks to my new wife, Kaitlin.

Some will know this is big news for me. For the rest of you, this blog has been inactive for two years. I no longer know how to change the images on here. I’ll learn.. eventually.

People look at me and they see a man who is forty and doesn’t look it.

People spy me walking down the street and they probably see a man who does what he has to. But they don’t stop to ask me why. The rub of it all is I have this “fuck off aura,” as one of my college friends once put it. Let’s face it. I’d never let them ask anyway.

I lie to my wife every time I tell her I don’t want to talk about work. She rehearses for her dance performances, sometimes late into the evening. By the time she gets home, I’ve kicked multiple dead horses, burned an astounding number of bridges, and asked myself the one question I think every man asks himself at some point in life.

Whatever happened to my dreams?

I never come up with a real answer. Sometimes, when I can’t stand the thought of people or work or my own creative ennui, I have a beer to try to forget.

Inevitably, I remember that I’m forty. Instead of enjoying a beer buzz, I’ll fall asleep on the blue easy chair in my living room. My problems don’t go away. Stout beers make me barf now. They didn’t used to. Ugh.

I’d say, “fuck forty,” but the anger isn’t worth the energy anymore.

By the time my wife gets home during those late nights, all I want to do is go to sleep. How sad.

This is the woman who convinced me to bring a cat into our home. Twice. I wasn’t ready for a cat either time.

The first cat, Chloe lived with us for six years. She grew on me, and I guess I gave her a reason to trust me over time.

“Six years wasn’t really enough time for her to be with us,” my wife and I often say to each other past the lumps in our throats.

I wonder what Chloe would have to say to that?

The second cat is named Zara. Or “Zara Rey Hines-Vargas” according to my wife and fellow Star Wars fan. This cat is growing on me too. Or is that the latest welt on my arm from one of Zara’s random tantrums?

That’s one difference between sweet Chloe and salty Zara. That, and one has never been de-clawed. Guess which one?

 

 

No man, no nation..

So much in our world has changed since the purported “election” of Donald Trump as the President of the United States. The hard-earned civil rights gains for women, homosexuals, black Americans and other marginalized people all appear to be on the verge of destruction. Our understanding of global warming and the impact of humanity on the planet is muddied by the interests of corporate fat cats who sacrifice the fate of the lower classes for increased profit margins. World War 3 may be close at hand, as those with a Christian bent are becoming edgier and edgier regarding the fate of an increasingly bombed-out Damascus. People lose faith in our government as our now limited news media coverage bombards us with headlines regarding the latest gaff, appalling remark, or tweet made by the leader of the free world. Mere months of this man’s presidency have felt like years to many weary Americans.

 

And life was hard before this farce of American government began eating the last crumbs left to us of the American dream. Full time work for the average adult living in the United States is needed for most of us to survive. Yet the promise of higher education is met with a shrinking job market and staggering student loans for many college graduates, more and more of whom are forced to compete for part time jobs that offer no insurance benefits. Some college graduates turn to the armed forces or civil service work to try to make up the difference, but for various reasons, that is not an option for most. Those of us lucky enough to attain full time work struggle for the time and energy to do anything else on the side, and we are met with stoic advice from the older generations who tell us “this is life,” and who welcome us to adulthood with sardonic smiles and knowing head nods. Baby Boomers get older, and they expect us generation X kids to take on the immense burden of their care with such limited resources that we can barely support ourselves. Yeah, thanks but no thanks.

 

I am often forced to make tough choices regarding my dream to become a fiction writer. And because of the nature of my own full time employment, less and less of these decisions ever seem to lead to my sitting down and enjoying the process of writing a manuscript, let alone having the time to research potential publishers for the manuscript I’ve already completed. Real life problems, depression and a sense of loss further complicate things, and I am left wondering if there is a light at the end of this increasingly long and dark tunnel.

 

But the thing that seems to help the least is technology. The Internet has all but destroyed real communication; It allows bullies to employ the cloak of anonymity to troll and abuse other users. Political discourse becomes little more than obsessive fact checking and online name calling, and people would rather “unfriend” one another on Facebook rather than meet face to face to come up with real life solutions to the growing problems in inequity in Western Culture. Finally, the Internet allows users to accept accolades for which they never worked, to claim false kinship to others with whom they’ve never spoken, or to attain misleading or false information about important subject matters that lead to more questions than there will ever be answers. In this increasingly relativist culture, we’ve allowed technology to take away our ability to even look one another in the eye rather than at our mobile phone screens.

 

We’ve allowed quickness of our fingers to outshine the profundity of rational thought. Want proof? Why don’t you look up Donald Trump’s latest tweet. I’ll wait.

 

Where do we go from here, kiddies? I’m typing this now both as an exercise in catharsis, and as a chance to let certain people know both where I stand on some of the issues of modern living, and why I’ve been so out of touch with my Internet “chums.” We’ve seen history being made with this latest president and his impulsive, often reckless decisions. As Americans, we’ve also had a chance to put things right. But we don’t understand the laws that govern this nation. We’ve lost track of what our government officials do to us behind closed doors because we let this buffoon shut most of the media out of his very public office. We’ve forgotten who we are as a nation, and as human beings. Because I love this country, I am terrified that the United States of America will no longer be the great nation that it once was. I’m already not the man I thought I’d be. It would be a shame to see this nation follow suit.

Rules of Engagement

-Friday, January 27th, 2017 “President” Donald Trump signs an executive order re: immigration at 4:42 pm Eastern Standard time. This order “indefinitely barrs” Syrian immigr…

Source: Rules of Engagement

Rules of Engagement

-Friday, January 27th, 2017

“President” Donald Trump signs an executive order re: immigration at 4:42 pm Eastern Standard time. This order “indefinitely barrs” Syrian immigrants from entering our borders. The order also suspends all refugee admission for 120 days, and blocks citizens from seven Majority Muslim countries from entering the US for approximately three months.

The order takes effect. Almost immediately, chaos ensues. At airports around the country, hundreds are detained and questioned. Thousands more are left wondering about friends and family, stranded or turned away before they could reunite with loved ones who were simply traveling abroad. Across the world, millions are outraged.

I am outraged. Aside from the Anti-Muslim bigotry inherent in such a ridiculous order, there is more to be concerned about here. This is in direct violation of the US Constitution’s first amendment. For those who’ve forgotten it, here it is in bold print.

Amendment I. Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Federal judge Anne M. Donnelly, who used to serve in New York as a Manhattan Supreme Court Judge, challenges Trump’s executive order, granting a temporary stay for refugees and others. In her words “irreparable harm” would be caused by sending the travelers home.

Irreparable harm. Those are tough words. But we are living in tough times. As such, I’ve had to look at those two words and wonder if Judge Donnelly’s countermand was too late not to have caused irreparable harm to the way American citizens must now view their own country. Trust issues, anyone?

If I want proof about how bad things have gotten within Trump’s first ten days in public office, I only need to remember how recent conversations with friends, coworkers, and strangers have gone. Walking down the streets of Harlem these days, it seems that the tension is thick enough to cut with a chainsaw. People don’t look me in the eye here, which isn’t surprising given that it’s New York City, but many of the ones who do look wary or fearful. Many more appear angry.

Words are also a problem. Now it seems, everyone must be careful what they say. The media is being slowly silenced by a man so hell-bent in preserving his fragile little ego, that nothing bad can be said about him without consequence. Kellyannne Conway promises that journalists who say anything pejorative regarding Trump “will be fired.” Trump continues to malign CNN and other networks that express concern over his heavy handedness or his apparent inability to comprehend the consequences of his own actions.

And now, it seems, citizens don’t know how to talk to one another. I know I’m having trouble. I square my shoulders now when I engage in political discussions at work, for there is a good chance that emotions will erupt like Mount Etna. My home life has been invaded by tense discussions regarding Trump’s latest gaff or executive order. My personal life has ceased to be about the pursuit of happiness. Once again, I am pressed into making the choice between taking in the news of the day, or ignoring it for the sake of my sanity.

As a Hispanic American, I know it won’t be long before I am asked to produce “proof of citizenship.” I won’t deny the temptation to smash the face of the person who will inevitably do so, but there is no doubt that person will be an officer of the law. My father was one of those. I will never besmirch the honor of his service. Yet despite my father’s exemplary career, he has already come under scrutiny for being “the other” since Trump’s election. Now, it seems, the closet bigot is free to come out and play among us all, like a demonic bully child on a playground primed to be “great again” as it gets whitewashed with hatred and ignorance.

I cannot allow that.

But there is something else I cannot permit. I will not permit the others who oppose Trump to judge me for the confidence (or lack thereof) with which I pursue resistance. I’m still unsure what form this sort of resistance is supposed to take in the face of such tyranny. I say tyranny because I am sure that this is the monster with which we are faced. An emboldened idiot has taken office, blindly signing away the liberty and happiness of American citizens and immigrants, appointing self-serving bigots with seemingly corrupt agendas to surround him and shower him with inane praise. “Good job, Putin Puppet. Now, let’s release the hounds on these peasants.”

But what will happen when Trump goes so far that there is no turning back? Has he already gone that far? It’s not even been two weeks, and I am already terrified at the prospect of what’s to come. Will there be a KKK rally here in my home city? How many more hate crimes will be committed around the world that mimic senseless Mosque attack in Quebec?

When will I have to consider obtaining a conceal and carry permit?

That’s right. I’m considering it. Some of you same idiots that fight tooth and nail to defend the second amendment while threatening to shoot yourself some beaners are forgetting one simple truth. Not all liberals and Trump opponents are pacifists.

Think on that.

I’m not into marching or rallies. I never was. But mark my words. The true patriots of America have often been the dissenters. Without dissent, people will not have reason to rethink their potential ignorance of gravely important matters.

I wonder if those who voted for Trump are starting to understand how bad this might get. When will they scream to the stars in penance for what they’ve done? I’d invite these fools to wait for the inevitable “I told you so,”but that would be my own hypocrisy shining through. I am deeply sorrowful for the sharp decline of our Nation’s values. International friends and acquaintances are asking me “what happened?” to my own country. I can’t even give an honest answer. The truth is more horrible than any horror fiction I can concoct. Yet I know I mustn’t give into the sorrow. And neither must anyone else. The moment we the people give up our desire to do the right thing, I’ll know to look for the mushroom cloud on the horizon..

What I’ve Done (Official Video) – Linkin Park

Frankentrump..

So. What happens tomorrow?

Whether or not you can accept that the Forty Fifth President of the United States is none other than Donald Trump, truth is, he’s set to be inaugurated tomorrow in what is sure to be both a momentous and contentious event in U.S. History.

If you’re having a hard time with this fact, that’s okay. I’m having a miserable time grappling with it myself. I fought with myself and my poor memory for years old passwords just to regain access to a blog I’ve not written in for more than a year in order to express that.

Than again, maybe that’s not good enough for some people. I’ve heard it all before. “If you really believed, you’d be out there in Washington for the Million Women’s march,” or I’ve heard “well then, you should have put your vote toward Bernie like all the other cool kids.” The best one I’ve heard yet is “man, our votes never counted anyway, fuck all this happy horse shit. Life goes on, bruh. Life goes on.”

Yes, life goes on, and so often, the best lies we’re told are rooted deeply in the truth. All of the things I mentioned hearing from people in the last paragraph are lies. But they are pretty good lies when you think about it. The power of hindsight lets us all suddenly don our wizard’s hats and wax like Albus fucking Dumbledore about our country’s future. But the reality of it all is that every last one of us is scared of losing something deeply important to us in the coming four years. LGBT rights, women’s reproductive rights, access to healthcare, racial equality, and so many other things seem to be up for grabs in this brave new world of uncertainty.

I once heard some advice from a respected writing mentor, and it’s something that I still keep in mind even when I’m blogging. “Your writing works best when you write what you know.” When I heard that bit of wisdom, I didn’t like it, especially as I was struggling to become a legitimate fiction writer. I still read and write fiction, but nobody can relate to a good piece of writing, fiction or otherwise, if they can’t find something that reminds them of their own lives and experiences. At least, that’s how I’ve experienced success in my own writing.

Funny thing about me is that I only know what I see, hear, and feel.

On January nineteenth, 2017, the night before Donald Trump’s inauguration, here is what I have come to know.

People are angry.

I know that because I can feel the tension in the air when I walk past the Apollo Theater in Harlem to get to work in the morning. I hear it in the words of the young black man who accuses me of not shaking his hand because someone who looks like me would “never shake the hand of a black man in a million fucking years.” I see it in the looks of disgust on other people’s faces when I go outside with my girlfriend dressed to kill, and people give us accusing glares. I know what they’re thinking because they’ve shouted it in my face, or whispered it in not too quiet voices to their friends. “He voted for Trump because he’s white.” or “Look at the handsome white man who don’t give a fuck about the black man.”

Would you prefer it I went out and protested? Can I stand next to a crowd of black people and proclaim that “black lives matter?” Because I know they do. I’ve always believed that, even if you can’t see that unless I pull out a knife like a “typical Puerto Rican,” or curse you out in the Spanish you didn’t think I could rattle off with such a Caribbean flair. Only an idiot would judge a book by its cover, but I beg your pardon if I want to dress a certain way, or walk down the street with my head held high because I finally like who the hell I am. Do you know what a struggle it has been for me to even get to that point in my life? Oh yeah, I forgot. You really don’t want to know that, do you?

You’d rather be right than be happy.

But let me share what else I’ve discovered in my own quest for the truth. I’ve been to at least one community meeting that begged the question of “what next?” I’ve signed numerous petitions, written letters to government officials, and plotted out what to do if I witness sexual or racial intimidation or violence on the street. But none of these things are going to change the fact that the Donald is taking office tomorrow. I made my voice heard in my own way. I have two weapons available to me in this fight now. My fists and my words. I can be lethal with both. Unfortunately, it may come to the point in this country where I can be arrested for using either one.

That sound okay to you? It doesn’t sound okay to me.

Here’s something else that doesn’t sound okay to me. Nuclear war.

You can pound the streets demanding rights for every American, legal or not, and none of that will matter when you see a mushroom cloud in the distance, and you begin to feel the heat as a great wall of super radiated air rushes toward you and you begin to shit your pants.

Are we okay with that? Has anyone else been thinking about this, dreaming about it and waking up in a cold sweat? Well I have. So don’t come to me with your judgmental bullshit because of the way I look or dress. I don’t give a damn about Donald Trump, but now I’m forced to hope that he changes his tune rather quickly when it comes to foreign policy because I don’t want to have a nuclear bacon sandwich for breakfast.

And before you ask, I loathe the idea of protesting. I’ve hated it since college, and I went to a liberal arts college quite known for protests. But that’s just not me. I don’t want to pound the pavement and shout until my voice is hoarse. I don’t want to get arrested either. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that my father is a retired law enforcement officer and I already know too much about that side of things.

And who am I kidding? I may not be a pacifist, but I’m fucking scared. I’ve heard enough rumors and seen enough evidence of the tension building in my own city that I can believe that things are about to go from bad to worse. The return of the subtle racist is already underway. I’m not about to ask my gay friends to get back in the closet to protect themselves, and you’re never going to get me to believe that the Donald “didn’t mean that shit” he said about Hispanics coming to this country and bringing their problems, or “not being the best their countries had to offer.” I bet that racist douchenozzle wouldn’t even know I was Hispanic until he read my name on a resume somewhere, or mistook me for a member of the press.

But there’s so much more to this man’s presence that affects me on an everyday level that I can’t even escape when I go home after work. Every night, my girlfriend and I end up talking about what might happen when Trump takes office. And every single time we speak of him, it’s in these harsh and bitter tones, like we created a doomed experiment in a science lab and set him loose upon the world like a fucking Frankenstein. Too bad we all know that Frankenstein hates fire.

Donald Trump can’t even handle a twitter account. How strong could he really be?

That’s just what I know. If I wanted to write another book, I could start writing about the shit I don’t know. But I’m already writing a book of fiction that I’m pretending has nothing to do with what I truly know. Look for it one day. You’ll know it when you read it, I think. And even if you don’t, I hope you like it.

Young Frankenstein – Puttin’ on the Ritz

 

 

Not in the Spirit This Year.

Alright. So it’s been a long time. Christmas is upon us in less than four days.  To be honest, I’m having a little trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year. However, it seems I’m not the only Grinch. I’ve been seeing a lot of people in 2014 who just want to throw up their hands and say “bah humbug.”

Why might this be the case for so many of us? If you’re like me, you’ve been watching the racial tension in America build thanks to senseless violence, and the mistakes being made by people who seek the wrong kind of justice. You’ve witnessed the President of the United States reduce our unemployment rate to less than ten percent, kill off a bunch of terrorists, and actually rescue people from Somali Pirates. Yet Obama STILL comes under fire for “not doing enough” or “not bridging the bi partisan gap.” What nonsense is this? The man inherited a hot mess of almost Biblical proportions. That mess is now being compounded by ever increasing racial tension, abominable threats to US safety made by dictators who can’t take a fucking joke, and the ever ready conservatives who would sooner try to pass a 1600 page bill filled with ridiculous pork projects and hidden agendas than to enact any real change.  It would take President Obama a second term just to make some headway repairing the damage. That takes more stamina and courage than most people in this nation possess.

I wouldn’t do it. Would you? Would most of us?

Then there’s the question of money.

According to some sources, the average American adult is planning to spend an estimated 781.00 this year for the Christmas season. This is up from the 749.00 per adult that was spent just two years ago, and the 701.00 total from last year.  According to a recently released gallup survey, this could mean that Americans might spend up to 600 billion dollars this Christmas season.

I have two questions. Who is the average adult in this country, and can I come over to their house this Christmas? I don’t know these people. Most of the adults I know in my age range are working for a temporary staffing agency, living from paycheck to paycheck. The one gift I could afford this year for the love of my life is still sitting, unwrapped, in our clothing closet just above a pair of pants with a hole in the crotch, and a shirt with holes in the armpits. My God, I can just picture the Clark Griswold rant from National Lampoon’s Christmas vacation playing over and over again in my head. I recently took a silly online quiz to see how much of that rant I could actually remember from all those years ago. I scored an 80 percent. I would have gotten a hundred, but I haven’t watched my favorite holiday movies this year. Not one.

Halleluyah! Holy Shit…. Where’s the tylenol?

So what’s the solution to the “Bah Humbug” spirit that seems to be in the air this year? Thanksgiving was harsh enough. I thought people in my neighborhood grocery stores were going to murder one another over frozen turkeys and Stove Top Stuffing. I’ve seen Santa Clause visit my place of employment to give toys out to sick children in the pediatrics ward. Santa handed me a candy cane. I had to smile, though deep down, I would have traded that candy cane for a pay raise.

In my opinion, every one of us (myself included) may want to wake up and start counting our blessings. That’s easier said than done. In a nation where more people would rather vote for American Idol than the average political race, where innocent people are being hurt and killed on either side of a potential race war, and where it’s ok for the “average American” to spend almost a thousand dollars on Christmas, one has to wonder what our priorities actually are, and how we define joy. I myself don’t have the money to even pretend that money buys happiness. I can’t even define what holiday traditions exist in my family. That was somehow lost in my adulthood, and that makes me sad. Perhaps what’s missing for me is the creation of a new tradition with my new loved ones. I live with a woman and a cat somewhere in New York City. If I can’t create a unique and exciting new Christmas tradition here, I probably won’t do it anywhere else.