Yule Fool

This year’s Christmas ornament project was much less severe than my crazed fanaticism in 2010 (wherein I went nuts and painted upward of 50 ornaments…holy cow!). These three are representative of the nine that were the extent of the creative effort this year, obviously influenced by my still not-so-latent obsession with the superhero of my childhood. Also, trust me, it's harder than it looks to paint the logo on a curved, glass surface.

Sweet Pin

I was trying to find a way to brag about bowling in my 2011 fall league without sounding too arrogant and this photo opportunity presented itself whilst wandering in Times Square so I guess it was meant to be. Yeah, I done good personally and PeebSteam (I know it’s sort of a self-aggrandizing name but, hey, my mates went for it) finished in first place. Of course the glory was fleeting and we are back to reality with Mojo3 (new teammates and new team name) in the winter league. The struggle continues but I anticipate further greatness. The glass is half full.

Sweet Pyn

A very sweet and, dare I say, beautiful children’s book stumbled into my lap this holiday season because I miraculously made the acquaintance of its author, Olivier Dunrea. I’m not saying Ollie isn’t sweet but, hey, who knew such a book was hidden in the heart of this shy, middle-aged bear’s gruff exterior. Now here’s a book that deserves a Caldecott award if ever I’ve seen one. It will be a Christmas crime if it doesn’t happen.

Goosed by The Times

On January 2, 2012 The New York Times daily newsstand price increased by 50 cents to $2.50. I was outraged. If you know me you know I swear by The New York Times; its content I mean, not its new price. I know, I know, an extra 50 cents a day doesn’t sound like much but, hey, it’s one of those straw/camel things.

So I’m trying a new tactic. I will buy the Wednesday, Friday and Sunday issues and forego the rest. So far it has worked out because I don’t miss the Saturday issue at all (it’s very skimpy) even though the crossword on that day is difficult enough to be interesting. The Monday issue is the second lowest in content and the crossword is relatively easy and, usually anyway, I still have quite a bit of the Sunday issue left over to go with my coffee on Mondays and even, sometimes, on Tuesday.

I have avoided subscribing to it for two reasons. First, I don’t always want it (especially when I’m off gallivanting to distant climes) and secondly, I don’t want to be put on yet another “target” list for advertisers who pay the Times for my name, rank and serial number. Being a Times reader seems to make certain corporations salivate over my perceived income, interests, tastes and proclivities.

Thursdays (today) are proving difficult but, so far, I’ve decided I can pick up a good book for reading material and Fridays can be looked forward to for its double whammy on the “Arts.” As the Thursday hours fly by I am less and less tempted to rush to the corner for my Times fix. Like any other withdrawal from an addiction it will probably take a while to settle down. I guess reading the Times is one of those habits you didn’t even know you had until you’re goosed into realizing it by outside forces. I consider myself goosed.

Hot Stuff

December 27th and it was a cold, very wet evening in Greenwich Village. We chose to have an early dinner at The Cowgirl Hall of Fame restaurant and, upon being seated, a special drink menu was proffered with several hot drinks, including hot buttered rum. Mine was really good and it warmed the cockles of my heart (whatever those are) prior to a personal-throwback meal of tuna casserole and salad. Cowgirl’s is funky that way…serving various Southern specialties and a lot of different comfort food, including an excellent mac & cheese. But this is about the rum and the drink. And it’s warmth.

My checkered past has included, at one time, what was almost a fetish for hot buttered rum. I was living in San Francisco at the time and it was made simple by a batter sold by Trader Vic’s in small tubs. All you had to do was add the rum and hot water and you had an excellent cold-weather libation. Of course you had to garnish the drink with a cinnamon stick which, by the way, was not included in the drink at Cowgirls.

Although I can’t seem to find the batter for sale anywhere, even though I Goggled my fingers raw, it’s fairly easy to make at home and after checking my spice rack I found I already had all the ingredients necessary, including dark brown sugar, which is essential to good hot buttered rum. My local supermarket provided the cinnamon sticks so I’m now home free with the proper visual.

I’m just waiting for the next cold snap and maybe, say, a Super Bowl and/or a Republican caucus for motivation. The water’s hot, the rum is ready and I’m at your service. Long johns optional.

Dearth Takes a Holiday

This year I kept track of how many Holiday Cards I sent (48). And I just counted the number received (25). I am not counting the cards I got on-line (including the one shown here) because, frankly, I consider them one step above Spam which, to me, is not much of a difference in altitude. The most annoying were the cards sent to someone’s entire on-line library (which obviously included me) with one click of a “send” button without even attempting to hide the mailing list. Not much personal contact there I’d say and therefore, to me, just this side of an insult. If the sender can’t even take the time to “bcc” everybody, doesn’t that somewhat water down the sincerity of the sentiment?

I know one should be able to rise above the need to receive as well as give but, hey, even with the ubiquity of e-mail and other personal communication devices, in my world at least, a line needs to be drawn. I’ll admit I’m of the old school (a really old school it seems)…but I didn’t start to realize the depth of the schism until about five years ago when a friend confessed to me that he would rather not get cards because of the “pressure” involved in feeling there had to be a response. Of course his name immediately dropped off my snail-mail list. Goodness knows I don’t want to apply any guilt or pressure. Except maybe by writing about it on this here peebsblog.

An interesting side note: Last year I struck up an acquaintance with a young entrepreneur who designs and markets, among other things, t-shirts and greeting cards. I like his imaginative work and have purchased some shirts and a 20-pack of holiday cards (which I sent out). Because of this we have developed some friendly chat on-line and we might even segue into being in-person friends in the future. However, he didn’t send out cards himself this season, even though it seems to me it would have been a good marketing decision if not a personal one. So he is part of the problem even though he would like to be part of the solution with his clever designs.

According to every source, the Internet is killing the USPS. I am one small individual and if, by my own statistics, almost half of my correspondents are not, well, respondents I shouldn’t be surprised. Except, HEY, how come I still get so much junk mail? Somebody has to be making a fortune on that, why isn’t the P.O.?