See, What Happened Was (A toast to '24 - bet it's shorter than last year's)

 

Good riddance, '24 (and yet - we'll miss you)

Here we go again. It's time to toast the passing of another year. If you're unfamiliar with how this goes, see the 2023 and 2017 and 2013 versions. Not sure why I must always wait until the New Year is just a couple hours away, but it is what it is. Hey - maybe the limited time will motivate me to be brief! We can only hope.

Here's to January, another blur of year-end gift processing heroics by yours truly, conducted in the quiet offices of Beloved Employer, in the fashionable West End of Washington, DC. It was exceptionally cold. Then it was SEVENTY, and all the Metro platforms turned to weirdly-slippery death traps, for a couple of days. You should have seen DC's subway commuters, shuffling along like Tim Conway's old man persona in a desperate attempt to remain upright. It was less fun than it sounds.

Cheers, 70-degree January evening!

There was some cooking, as well. Here, because I thought they looked pretty...

Korean veggie lettuce cups. Pretty, non?

Here's to February. Cheers. Yay, February.

My tree! Look what you've done to my tree!!

Here's a sad fact. February 19th was the last time I posted to my poor neglected bloggy space. At least it was a HOBO STORY.

No cheers for March. I lost a water heater and another of my beloved uncles. Yeah, we had the Madness, but it was a bit meh. Better luck next March...

Big cheers to April, though! [Maris] and I trekked to Lake Erie, where we photographed lighthouses for the first time in 13 years - and covered bridges after an even longer drought. We also hung out with family from all over, and oh yeah - there was a total solar eclipse...

I'm ready!

No photos will ever do justice to the experience of witnessing this with one's own eyeballs, but here's what the old Nikon saw...

See ya in a few, sun...

[gasp]

I'll have a corona, thanks.

See? It's all downhill from there. Trust me - it is. Cheers to May for baseball, a nephew's hope-filled high school graduation, and a teeny turtle...

Let's lose to the O's in 12!

What the hell, man? Put me down!

I don't remember anything about June, except that we had a little outbreak of weak Maryland and Virginia tornadoes, and they were too close for comfort. So, no toast for you, June.

Mostly cheers for July. The Olympics were fun. Helping a relative move for the third time in five years was not. Biden dropping out of the election put a bit of a charge into a lot of people. DC was kind of abuzz, really. Otherwise - hazy, hot, and humid.

Cheers, August. You too were hazy, hot, and humid. 

"It's too freakin' hot - even on the white part of the car."

September. meh. Thanks to [Maris]'s employer, we got to experience ballpark amenities to which we're hardly accustomed - and a great view of our scrappy young rebooting Nats...

...and keep 'em comin'

Still not really baseball, to me, but fun!

Predictably (unless you don't know me - hi, I'm Joe!), I can almost always raise a glass to October, because OBX gluttony and sloth vacations are the BEST...

First, fancy drinks. Food not pictured.

Don't wake me for sunrises that don't look like this.

I fell asleep again. What day is it?

Visible aurora in Kill Devil Hills, NC. WHAT??

Mostly, November can just go eff off and die. It knows what it did. Even if I was utterly ignorant of politics and democracy and autocracy and oligarchs and all that stuff - to feel the energy in DC on the 5th, versus every day since is just criminal. We'll see how it all unfolds. As Yoda said, "Always in motion is the future." *sigh*

Finally, let's give December her due. Here's to you, final month of 2024. We got all kinds of busy with trees in convertibles (they know me at the fire station, now), and we took [Maris]'s gnomes to work, and we rocked out with our old friends the Trans-Siberian Orchestra...

Sometimes it's unseasonably warm for this. Not so, today.

First Class, all the way...

"Morale here must be through the roof!"

"Get some big donations - we wanna ring the bells!"

Trying to match Chris' energy...

A lot like the eclipse, it's hard to adequately photograph.

((devil horns for these two on the cranes))

That's all, folks. Raise a glass to 2024. Whether you're saying "good riddance," or "OMG you're gonna look like paradise, a few weeks from now," cheers to you, and you, and you - wherever you are. Enjoy yourself - it's later than you think.

And I'll leave you with these gentle reminders...

(probably)

"We're ready. Keep your hats pointy, everyone!"

Good Night, and Happy New Year!

That Thankfulness Thing - Attack Of The 2015 Edition

Oh yea, oh yea, oh yea - The Court of Thankfulness is now in session and will come to order. Honorable Justice 2015 will preside. For your reading pleasure-- I SAID SIT DOWN.  Thank you.  Now, for your reading pleasure, here are no fewer than thirty (30) things for which the writer hereby declares he is thankful - and you, dear gentles, should be well-grateful that some of them are very, very brief in their depiction. (way more brief than 2012, 2013, and 2014)

To wit:

1. Baby bear Bei Bei, at the National Zoo. He is a treasure, and [Maris] and I cannot WAIT to meet him.

    

   Mei and Bei, November 2015.

2. Another MLB playoffs without atlanta and with almost no yankees.
3. Halloween - and its décor. 
4. Celebrating five years at the Humane Society of the United States. This is my longest tenure at a job since I left Erol's Video in 1992. I know!
5. Our neighbors - the ones whose first dogs ever are pit bulls (poor dogs) - have packed up what we assume is their meth lab and (hopefully) moved away. Now, the wishing for good renters to replace them begins...
6. We and our loved ones have not been the victims of a terrorist attack. Yet.
7. [Maris] hit five years, too!
8. My brother's 20-game plan at Nats Park. Love that Section 405 - close enough to Ben's Chili Bowl, and right next door to the Dogfish Head beer tap.
9. Legs. Yes, again. Also, not objectifying women.
10. Lionel trains. It's about time. Only been playing with them since about 1975.
11. My father-in-law. He left us this year, rather abruptly, and we all miss him, but are thankful to have known him.
12. Bryce freakin' Harper. Youngest man ever to win a unanimous MVP vote. Maybe not an easy guy to like, but we love him nonetheless.
13. Black-footed ferrets. More on these little cuties later, if my book ever makes its way beyond the walls of my house...

    

    ...but which one is Bingo?

14. Finding out that the young lady to whom I was assigned as "spiritual steward" has turned out to be utterly secular. My work here is done.
15. My first year since 2008 without a novel to show for it. Wait. No. Not good. Not sure I'm thankful for that.
16. This Mortal Coil. Such moody music. (nostalgic sigh)
17. Marriage equality. Because really, who F-ing cares if everyone has the same rights? Oh wait - we all do (should).
18. Richard Blade. Best DJ since Weasel.
19. The littlest of my 8 nieces and nephews. Cuz she's just so darn cute!
20. The return of Bloom County. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for Berkeley Breathed's comeback, and my relief at finding that reconnecting with his world has been effortless, like picking up a 20-years-dormant conversation with an old friend.

    

    (c) 2015 Berkeley Breathed - used without permission.

21. Dame Judi Dench. (swoon)
22. While we're at it - Bill Nighy. (equal and opposite swoon)
23. The fact that Bubba still talks to me from his grave in the backyard, and that his answer to "how are you" is always, "still dead!" See also: Bubba Drives Away
24. Smart phones. When they work, they represent more power and connectivity than even the flying cars people promised us - right there in our pockets!
25. Bubbles, because bubbles.
26. 10-Cane rum. May it rest in peace - or better still, come back to life. (Moment of silence)

    

    In memory of the finest of the sugar cane rums. Our mojitos will never be the same.

27. Attacks of the galloping dumbs, especially when they strike my entire country at once. We're experiencing one right now, and hoo boy, is it ever super-fun!
28. [Maris]. Words fail.
29. Writing. Not everyone can do it. Fewer still can do it at all well. Apparently, I has write good. Food for (my) thought...
30. White noise. Oh, woe unto those around me, should I ever lose my white noise.

This post features double-barrel inclusions of the current Studio30Plus prompt, "Attack." Please check out some of my long-lost bloggy brethren (and sistren) and their bits of written cleverness and mirth!



 

Hither, Dither, and Yawn

Can you see where the weekends are?

Hither I come, returning to my cyber home, undoubtedly looking as dusty and bedraggled as I feel.  Over 27 July days (nights, mostly), I churned out 50,980 words for National Novel Writing Month - Summer Camp Edition.  I hear you - and the answer is yes.  Something is very much wrong with me.  I enjoy the pressure that these novel writing months put on me.  I'm quite comfortable being wordy.  Obviously.  And wordy I was, including 12,000 words during the final weekend.

So.  Over the past eleven days, I haven't written a word, and I haven't looked at what I wrote in July.  "Undead Drunk" is like a strange dream I had - full of booze and sex and snark - and a few zombies.  I've rested.  I've relaxed.  I've watched a lot of baseball.  I'm watching baseball right now.

But here's the thing:  What I should be doing, as always, is something else.  I now have SEVEN first-draft novels, and a couple of them might actually have potential.  I should be doing rewrites and edits, and reading "Getting Published - For Dummies."  Failing that, I should be writing something else - something new, something that, if not marketable, is at least a worthwhile exercise.  Failing that, I should be reading any of the half-dozen books in my to-read pile.  I should be finding a Jayson Werth garden gnome on eBay for my brother, who got to the Nats game too not-early-enough, on Tuesday, and missed out.  I should be working on my legal defense strategy for any of the myriad of lawsuits pending against me over that TV pilot I supposedly stole from Patton Oswalt and George Barry.  I should be trying on shorts.  I should be having someone take a look at that bullet wound.  It only grazed me, but it's awfully angry-looking - I'm worried that it might be infected.  Of course, I should also be shopping for new carpeting.  It's been over two weeks since the neighbors' washing machine flooded *our* dining room, and we ripped out the carpet in a fit of pique (And because we knew it was the only way to get us to replace the stuff.  We've been talking about it for a couple of years, now.), and there it sits.  Stupid concrete slab ghetto townhouse.  I should be figuring out what I want to do with this blog.  The Hobo Posts probably deserve their own blog, but that just sounds like work.  I suppose I could also be reading all my wonderful bloggy friends' stuff, and leaving them warm, supportive, and constructive feedback.  I should be emailing my handful of wayward friends.  I should be sleeping, perhaps.  [Baseball is over.  Stuff happened - what can I say?]

But I'm not.  Instead, I am dithering.  I think about all of the above and so much more.  And I think and think and think, and I come up with all manner of brilliant solutions to it.  It's like My Lost Revelation - gone before I can act.  It's not simple procrastination, though.  You ditherers know what I mean.  It's all there, but for the actual action.  Thinking about stuff is SO much easier than doing stuff.

Summer will end, and I'll not have even reread last year's novel - the one with potential - let alone edited, punched up, rewritten, fixed, sold, or otherwise pushed it toward publication.

Summer will end, and this wound will still be oozing, the legal team will have fired ME, and the garden gnomes will be gone.

Summer will end, and the house will still be in dire need of paint, carpeting, and if I'm being honest, cleaning.

Summer will end, and I'll not have reestablished connection with my very few friends, nor will I have rejoined the blogosphere - or even my teensy corner thereof.

yawn.

Summer will end, and that thumping in the closet will persist.  The thing that's not a bunny living under the shed will have had babies, and because I work at HSUS, there'll be nothing I can do about them.  So much for cutting the grass, I guess.  The Nats will have found a way to lose the NL East, but the O's will have clinched the AL East, and that will just have to do.  The 'Skins will have won all four of their preseason games, setting us up for the disappointment of another 10+ loss regular season, full of hypocritical bitching about the team's stupid name.  Yes - it's the 1890s N-word for native Americans.  If every non-native person who claims to be offended by it gave a dollar to a native American Nation tomorrow, we'd have the wealthiest indigenous population on the planet - but hypocrisy, as we know, is the greatest luxury.  Just ask the Disposable Heroes of Hip-hoprisy.

((YAWN))

Anyway.  Summer will end, and that's a shame.  But that's the great thing about not doing what you should be doing.  Fall will come, and all those things will be there, patiently waiting for you.  Well, my gunshot wound might not be patient, exactly, but still.  It will be there.  And if we still don't have carpeting, yet, then we can store perishables on the cold concrete floor, and save all kinds of money by unplugging the fridge.

((YAWN))

And there it is.  The second ((YAWN)).  I think it's time to tell you about another outrageously weird hobo, before you become as bored with all of this as I am.  Next time, that is - assuming that I'm not busy pitching "Undead Drunk" or "Falling Off The Universe" or "Buck Mope Catches The Westbound" to a big-time agent, somewhere...

Thanks for bearing with me, whilst I work this out...

Naturally, this post was prompted by my friends at Studio 30 Plus.  This week, our writing prompt, "Summer will end" came from a haiku by Laura at Bird Of The Forest. 

Four Words Of Hope And Renewal

Punxsutawney Phil has spoken, and this year, he declareth unto us that spring will arrive early.  YAY!!

Whatever, Phil.  Look - you're fuzzy and cute, and I'm sure your hometown is adorable.  I also have no doubt that February 2nd is blast for those who come to eat, drink, dance and freeze in the predawn Pennsylvania frost, awaiting your man-made "prognostication."  

We all know you're a fraud.  I've watched on TV as you allegedly saw your shadow in the pouring rain - twice.  Come to think of it, shouldn't you see your shadow every single year, what with all those bright lights on you?  Still, you're cute and the whole thing is fun and harmless.  Plus, most of us will take whatever hope we can from your prediction of a quick end to winter.

I have to admit, I have my own traditional harbinger of spring.  I share it with millions.  It's coming next week, starting on February 12th, and while it doesn't have anything to say about when or how spring will arrive (early vs. late, wild vs. mild etc.), it does declare that the wheels are in motion and the change of seasons will happen.  It comes in the form of four simple, magical words.

PITCHERS  AND  CATCHERS  REPORT

As in, pitchers and catchers report for spring training.  One does not have to give a tenth of a hoot about baseball in order to appreciate this late-winter milestone for its implications beyond "dur, sports."  Having lived my whole four (ahem - and a half) decades in the DC suburbs, with three years in Baltimore thrown in for good measure, I have LOTS of practice in appreciating these words for their non-baseball message.  For much of my life the baseball implication was simply, "Here comes another miserable season for the Orioles [and more recently, the Nationals]."  So it was natural for me to focus on the underlying "Here comes SPRING!" message and nothing more.

Until now.

This year, for the first time in many, many years, I can look forward not just to spring and its blessed warmth - and energy and salt-free roads and flowers and green stuff and the shortening of the skirts and sleeves and the lengthening of the days and the outdoor cooking etc. - but also to the baseball season.  

My Nationals are considered a top contender for the first time in franchise history, and my over-performing secondary team, the O's, should at least be competitive again, this season.  I'm not accustomed to this feeling.  I don't dread an interminable season of losing.  I'm excited for these guys, and looking forward to getting to the ballpark. 

So this year, I can add "Pitchers and catchers report" to what that furry little rodent said, and it's like the perfect storm of HOPE.