Category: Holidays

Random musings about holidays.

What Thanksgiving Means to Me, a Certified and Bona Fide Sh*thead

The MadchroniclerLeave a comment

Good Morning, Afternoon, Evening or night, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving Day minus two or, depending on your age and perspective, the Biggest Party Night of the Year minus one. I remember when the latter actually meant something to me. Nowadays? I have become a certified and bona fide, card carrying Sh*thead and will be spending tomorrow evening at home with my two daughters and our two cats. My wife is working until 10 PM and by the time she gets home, I will likely be three quarters of the way through a two liter of Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper. I know: Quite a crazy night I’m planning for myself, my three year old and my six month old, aye? Maybe we’ll even watch “Tangled” for the umpteenth time and eat some popcorn. Cue the dancing girls and the pulsating but outdated, Techno soundtrack. Who doesn’t love Moby in 2012?

Um…

Uh…

Okay, then. Apparently, no one even knows who the f*ck Moby is in 2012 so I’ll just skip right over that reference and move on. What, exactly, is a Sh*thead and why am I referring to myself as one? The Urban Dictionary defines “Sh*thead” as, among other things, “a narrow minded or ignorant waste of food, water, and air who usually is impolite to those with seniority and/or is sovereign; smacktard; bigot.” While that is an… intriguing definition it is not and has never been my understanding of what a Sh*thead is, nor is it what I’m referring to when I call myself or anyone for that matter a Sh*thead. So please, don’t call me a bigot if I refer to you as a Sh*thead. I’m not calling you a smacktard. What the hell am I calling you, then?

Okay. Back in 1999 I wrote a piece of what I then called “Mental Flatulence” and now call a blog entry entitled “V-D Day: An Observation.” In essence, all “V-D Day” was was me, rambling on for five single spaced, typed pages about how much I hated Valentines Day. In it, I stated that “the world is full of Sh*theads” and proceeded to categorize the many variations of Sh*thead that I had observed inhabiting my personal space on this side of the proverbial wormhole of existence. ‘Cause really, guys? If you’re going to make a statement like “the world if full of Sh*theads” and call everyone from the girl working in the cubicle next to you to the members of your family one you’d better be able to back it up with an explanation.

And I was. At the time, a Sh*thead was anyone other than me and my closest friends. There were monkey-suited Sh*theads and artistic Sh*theads. There were married Sh*theads, single Sh*theads and parental Sh*theads. There were slutty Sh*theads and Sh*theads that liked to play with your emotions. There was the worst kind of Sh*thead that would alter her or his (I need to be fair to those with different penchants then mine) entire personality to fit yours, i.e. the Chameleon Sh*thead. Back then and too this day, the Sh*thead was and remains by my definition the Nine to Fiver who gets up every morning between six and seven, showers, brushes his or her teeth, combs his or her hair, drinks his or her coffee, gets his or her kids up and ready for school, drops them off and goes to work for eight hours (minus a one hour lunch break) before leaving work, picking his or her kids up at school, taking them home, feeding them dinner, bathing them, getting them ready for bed, putting them to bed and thereafter, prepping for the next day before finally retiring to bed no later than 10:30 PM. While I don’t have a copy of “V-D Day” in front of me I remember that the crux of that composition was pretty simple: I was tired of my vagabond existence. I wanted to be a Sh*thead. I wanted to live a normal life. And I vowed at the end of it that I would make a concerted effort to become one.

Fast forward 13 plus years from when I wrote that to now and guess what? Yep. My effort payed off. It didn’t even take that long. I was already well on my way to becoming a Sh*thead when I met my wife-to-be in 2001. Granted, I was merely a fledgling Sh*thead then, still unschooled in the Sh*thead culture of early bed times and Sunday night, HBO co-viewing with your spouse while drinking wine and eating a summer salad (thank you, “I Love You, Man”). It wasn’t until recently that I was officially inducted in to the International League of Sh*theads, EST Chapter. I’m not exactly Chapter President yet, but per my latest evaluation I’m doing well. I’m targeting a political run sometime around this time next year. Maybe 2013’s “What Thanksgiving Means to me” will be a campaign piece and not just a… what did I call these “essays” (a bit of a misnomer, I know) in the header of this blog? Oh, yeah, “the sometimes insightful but many times inane observations of a self proclaimed Sh*thead living on one side of the proverbial wormhole of existence.” A guy can dream, right?

Consider my day, yesterday (not today as today was a wife-off-and-home-with-the-kids-and-the-cats day): I woke up at 6:20 AM, fed the almost six month old, took a shower, dressed, left my house at 7:10 AM, stopped and bought breakfast (which included a Diet Monster energy drink which I prefer to coffee), got to work at 8:01 AM and plugged away until 5:00 PM when I left work, picked up the girls at daycare, drove them home, fed them, got them ready for bed, put them to bed and prepped everything for today, all in the vain hope of being in bed, sound asleep by 11:00 PM which, of course, didn’t happen. That’s my life, guys, and unless I’m mistaken, my life closely resembles the  life of one of my aforementioned normal, Nine to Five Sh*theads, doesn’t it?

Yep. It does. In short? I got what I asked for. I now live in a house with my loving wife, our two daughters and our two cats and not on the floor of someone’s apartment. I have a roof over my head and money in my pocket. I have a deck and a backyard, along with a combination office and Man Cave. I have everything that I wanted back when I wrote “V-D Day”… back when I and my brethren all lived on a small plot of prison ground in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania known as “Madison Manor” and no one lived anyplace else. I have it all and then some. End of story. Finis, right?

Wrong. Because this blog entry isn’t about Sh*theads. I’ve already categorized them and explicated them to death via my previous writings. Nor is it about “V-D Day.” While I still pretty much despise Valentine’s Day and always will I’ve come to grips with it out of necessity, not for my wife who respects my feelings about it but for my daughters, the eldest of which expects that her daddy will be her very, very best Valentine every February 14th. Who am I to deny her that request? Were I to do so I really would be the Urban Dictionary’s walking and talking definition of a Sh*thead or one of said term’s many synonyms.

No, guys. This blog entry is about Thanksgiving. Specifically, what Thanksgiving means to me. If this is your first time reading something that I’ve written welcome. I’m glad to “meet” you though if you Googled “cats” and somehow ended up here I’m sorry and I expect that you’ll be sorely disappointed if you aren’t already. For your viewing pleasure I give you the following two pictures of my cats.

This is Pandora:

And this is Roxy:

Okay, so the second one really isn’t a picture of Roxy, but she’s about as elusive as Big Foot. Only a handful of photos exist of her and those are from the rare occasions when she wasn’t A.) Locked in the closet or B.) Hiding under the bed in mine and my wife’s room. Those of you that ended up here in error may now redirect your browser to any number of the blogs about cats that exist throughout cyberspace.

For those that are here by choice a little background before I continue: Everything Thanksgiving since 2010, I have written a blog entry entitled “What Thanksgiving Means to me by way of BLANK.” Previous installments have replaced the BLANK with the well received “Probability and Statistics” and the poorly received “Monty Python, Industrial Strength Aerosol Lubricant and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD.” This “What Thanksgiving Means to me by way of BLANK” is the third, and only time will tell whether readers actually enjoy it or run screaming in another direction. I hope it is the former though I am braced for the latter.

What does Thanksgiving mean to me in 2012? Well obviously, it means the traditional trifecta of family, food and football but is there more outside of my new, yearly tradition of not only the above, but “Punkin Chunkin,” Single Malt Scotch and midnight, online shopping? I’d wager that there is. While my family and I never embraced this tradition I’ve known others that did. Pre-gorging themselves on turkey and ‘fixins and before lapsing in to a Tryptophan-induced coma while the Dallas or Detroit game plays in the background (seriously, NFL, why not just combine the two traditional, Thanksgiving games in to one?), families go around the table and talk about what they’re thankful for. This year, I’d like to embrace that tradition myself in this, the first of what I hope will be many blog entries here on Random Musings of a Pseudo-Madman Version 2.0.

So what am I, a certified and bona fide Sh*thead thankful for this warm and sunny Thanksgiving Day minus two, 2012?

Well, guys, I’m thankful for my loving wife and our two glorious daughters, not to mention our two furry, feline children, only one of which appears more than occasionally, usually to eat something that she will, 10 minutes later, puke up on our supposedly stain resistant carpet. FYI: Cat’s mock the phrase “stain resistant.” There’s a helpful tip for any cat people that have despite their better judgement read this far either A.) Out of morbid interest or B.) Because they thought that picture of a white cat wearing a polka dotted dress was just too f*cking cute to turn away. See? Random Musings Version 2.0 can be practical, as well.

I’m also thankful for my family and my friends, both the ones that stood beside me so many, many years ago when we all lived in one place and no one lived anyplace else and the ones that stand beside me today. Even before I had a traditional “nuclear family” of my own (though our place does not have a white picket fence and we prefer cats to dogs)… even before I was a Sh*thead I had a family: Brothers and sisters that weren’t necessarily related to me via blood but were related to me via our shared, life experiences. I will always consider those people my family no matter how much time or distance separates us in 2012 and beyond.

I’m further thankful for my lone, God given talent and no, I’m not talking about an unerring capacity to sling bullsh*t or to put my personal feelings about Valentines Day aside for the benefit of my three year old daughter. I’m talking about the ability to write and, I hope, write well. Some may beg to differ with that assessment. Mine is not to question your judgement. If you find this blog entry, or anything that I’ve ever written nothing more than an inane observation of a self proclaimed Sh*thead living on one side of the proverbial wormhole of existence then that’s your prerogative. But I, personally, feel pretty good about what I consider a gift from the almighty.

And finally, I’m thankful that the world if full of Sh*theads, even Chameleon Sh*theads that, if given a chance, can and will drive a man or woman (depending on your penchant) insane. I’m thankful that I, too, am a Nine to Five Sh*thead now. There are times when I miss the vagabond lifestyle that I used to lead, along with the spontaneity and the endurance required to live it. But then I remember what it felt like to wake up on the floor of my buddy’s apartment at three in the morning covered only by my jacket with the taste of liquor still on my lips and the smell of cigarettes still on my fingers. I glance around me at the big bed within which I’m lying, or the couch upon which I’m reclining, or the office within which I’m writing a book or the deck upon which I’m enjoying a brief moment’s peace and I smile. Because really, which would you prefer if given the choice?

That’s it, guys. Finis. I’d write more, but I’ve got a date with my girls, a two liter bottle of Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper, the movie “Tangled” and a big bowl of popcorn to get ready for. Who needs Moby? Cue the dancing villainy that frequents the Snuggly Duckling and the opening chords of “I’ve Got A Dream.” Those of you heading out for the Biggest Party Night of the Year? Have a shot of Patron and a cigarette for your ‘ole buddy the Madchronicler. And have a happy, Happy Thanksgiving.

F.

What Thanksgiving Means to Me by Way of Monty Python, Industrial Strength Aerosol Lubricant and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD

The MadchroniclerLeave a comment

Believe what you will, this blog post is NOT going to be all about the once-sequel to the novel I’ve been working on for the last six to seven months, CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD. I say “once-sequel” because as of the last… oh, few days, CHILDREN is no longer the sequel to the novel I’ve been diligently plugging away at since the end of April, 2011. It’s been subjugated to Book Three status. It will still be called CHILDREN but the NEW direct sequel to ENDWORLD is just that: A direct sequel, i.e. it takes place directly after ENDWORLD concludes and not three years later. Anyone familiar with the original trilogy that is disappointed with that eventuality I’m sorry, but in light of certain… developments it makes more sense to NOT break up the continuity of the story.

No, friends. My reason for bringing it up is this: There is a scene roughly 50% of the way through the original draft of CHILDREN in which Roland err… William MacNuff (sorry; old habits and all that) is reunited with his surviving companions from the first book in a location that I will NOT divulge here (it’s ‘kinda a surprise) on a cold and snowy morning (hint, HINT: Where might it be snowing in late November?) over coffee and a home-grown breakfast. That morning has always been and will remain Thanksgiving morning, and while I only briefly allude to it in the original draft of CHILDREN I intend to elaborate upon it in the re-write. As you may have figured out, I’ve done a great deal of elaborating on THE ENDWORLD CHRONICLE already, so much so that the title “chronicle” no longer is sufficient to the scope of what I am intending. It’s more of a cycle, actually. THE ENDWORLD CYCLE, perhaps? Or is that to Piers Morgan? No idea, yet. I haven’t even formulated a title for the new sequel though admittedly, I ‘kinda like RED-HEADED STEPCHILDREN OF ENDWORLD (thank you, @mattiasmaximus, AKA my buddy Matt, AKA Matt O’Brien in THE ENDWORLD… whatever).

But I digress. That scene has always held a special place in my heart, soul and mind because of something I wholeheartedly believe in. Something that is, for me, an underlying theme of this time of year. Not just Thanksgiving but the you-know-what season that follows it (sorry, but I’m predisposed to NOT mention that particular C-word until AFTER I’ve eaten until it hurts and watched football-related programming for 24 hours). So I’ll stick with Thanksgiving, which is all about family and friends. It’s about uniting as a unit/as one to celebrate all that you… that WE are thankful for. And I have A LOT to be thankful for this year, friends. I would list everything but to do so would be ‘kinda tedious (seems like I’m using “‘kinda” a lot in this post, doesn’t it?) and I don’t want to give away any… as Doctor River Song from “Doctor Who” would say, “spoilers” before I’m allowed to. But I would be remiss if I didn’t list a few things.

This Thanksgiving more than others I feel very, VERY blessed. I have a wonderful family and wonderful friends; I’m once again “pot committed” to something that I love doing: Writing; I have a steady job, something that many around the world and specifically here on, as William MacNuff would say, “The Continent” can not claim. I have a renewed sense of purpose, something that I’ve been sorely lacking for the last couple of years. And that? That is where I’ll leave it. ‘Cause really, this little blog post is NOT meant to be a generic, “What Thanksgiving Means To Me” elementary school-style essay. After all, the title of this little ditty is “What Thanksgiving Means To Me (by way of Monty Python, industrial strength aerosol lubricant and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD).” So my approach is to look at Thanksgiving from a few… uncharacteristic viewpoints. So without further adieu…

In 1983, the almost (but not quite) defunct Monty Python’s Flying Circus (though I don’t think they called themselves that at that point) put out their last movie of original material. “The Meaning of Life” was JUST THAT: A series of sketches about the meaning of life. Everything from birth through death. While the overall movie itself was, for me, a bit LESS hysterical than the previous three (others may think differently), there were a few parts that had me in tears of hysteria. And I’m NOT referring to “Find The Fish” which was, to employ an Anglophile term, “bloody awful.” I’m specifically referring to the one minute long skit about suicidal leaves. Those of you reading this that HAVEN’T seen the movie or more specifically that scene please check out THIS LINK before reading any further. I promise you that you won’t be disappointed.

While suicide is never funny–and it isn’t, friends, I’ll be the first to say that–that skit has, for me, always signified something different. Every time I see it I think of the end of Fall/Thanksgiving time. While that may seem somewhat demented to some of you reading this consider it before calling me a twisted f*ck. View it again with that thought in mind. Then think of the scene today in and around the Philadelphia area: Gray, cloudy skies; a howling wind; and as my one co-worker observed without the benefit of ever having seen “The Meaning of Life,” the last of the season’s leaves plunging to their respective deaths from the trees lining Green Street in Royersford, PA. It works, doesn’t it? While some might consider gray skies and trees shedding the last of their patchwork, seasonal coats about the furthest thing from “warm and fuzzy” I don’t. Gray skies and barren trees make me think happy thoughts. Like snuggling beneath a comforter with my wife and my daughter watching “Caillou” and “Pajanimals.” Like snuggling under the same comforter and reading “Goldilicious” to my daughter a half a dozen times before she finally concedes that she’s exhausted and says, “read ‘Goldie’ upstairs, daddy” and I concede, “okay, sweetheart. Read ‘Goldie’ upstairs,” thereafter tucking her in with “Goldie,” her stuffed Cookie Monster, stuffed Kermit, stuffed Clifford and EVERY OTHER stuffed animal she keeps in her harem of a crib (you should see it: It’s a wonder she can even sleep in it it’s so full with her “babies”). Like retiring downstairs and snuggling with my wife beneath that same, gosh-darned comforter and watching a movie while the cold, north wind howls outside and time moves onward aimlessly, and without check throughout my… throughout OUR subjective universes. I am thankful for moments like these, friends. And that IS what Thanksgiving is all about, is it not?

Fast forward from 1983 to 2011. This afternoon whilst (whilst = better than ‘kinda… or worse?) I was at work trying to get caught up before my mini, four day vacation from the world of Hydraulic and Pneumatic Distribution I received a phone call from a customer who shall remain nameless for fear of a libel lawsuit. Said customer asked me if I could supply him with an aerosol can of industrial strength lubricant for delivery tomorrow morning. UPS RED, EARLY AM… on Thanksgiving. Admittedly, my FIRST instinct was to either laugh in his ear or ask him if he was intending on having intercourse with a turkey tomorrow morning but being that one of the things that I’m thankful for is my steady job, career suicide? Probably NOT the best idea. So I bit back my initially considered snarky retort and informed him that I did not have any of what he was looking for in-house (which I didn’t) and that the lone source that I had for said-lubricant had already left for the day (which they had). I even checked my inventory though I knew the answer to his question without doing so. The customer understood, thanked me for my time and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. I wished him the same and we went our separate ways. But that phone call? Well, it ‘kinda got me to thinking. It got me to thinking about said customer’s situation and the fact that instead of being at home with his family tomorrow morning he will likely be holed up in some dusty, dreary, cold warehouse somewhere waiting for a courier to drop off an aerosol can of industrial strength lubricant, AKA WD-40 on steroids from a company in either Canada or Mexico. I feel for that man… I feel horrible for him. Sh*t, guys, I feel terrible for ANYONE that has to work tomorrow in ANY capacity. I mean, I did it for years. 13 to be exact: A decade plus of slaving away in first, lower and then upper Retail Management. It sucks. My own wife has to work until 2:00 tomorrow afternoon and I feel for her. But do you know what? I’m thankful… I’m DAMN thankful that while I am not always the biggest fan of my job, it provides me and HAS provided me with a luxury that–up until six years ago–I never enjoyed: Holidays. Not just Thanksgiving but ALL holidays. I get to spend them with my loved ones, now. As it should be. And while the younger version of myself enjoyed the OT and the free lunches that he got for working holidays, the OLDER version of my same-self? Well heck. Who needs a hoagie platter or a couple of extra bucks when I can spend Thanksgiving morning playing “Peoples” (Fisher Price Little People for those of you unfamiliar with the term) or “Babies” with my daughter while the 6ABC Thanksgiving Day Parade plays in the background. I can witness her “ooh” and “aah” and say things like “look, daddy! ‘Is Santa Claus!” when he arrives despite the fact that when Nicole and I take her to see him this weekend she will likely freak out (as most two and a half year olds do). I am thankful for moments like these–when I get to wonder at my daughter’s innocent fascination with concepts that have grown slightly jaded for me due to time and age, and a day later comfort her when she is scared of those SAME concepts. And that TOO is what Thanksgiving is all about, is it not?

Circle back around to how I began this blog post, AKA the idea that originally inspired it: The scene in CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD so near and always dear to my heart, mind and soul in which William MacNuff is reunited with the family (’cause that IS what they become over the course of the “chronicle,” “cycle” or WHATEVER I end up calling it) he left behind at the end of Book One. While coffee and a combination of rations and homegrown food-stuffs like potatoes, carrots and the like don’t exactly equal a Thanksgiving Day feast with turkey, stuffing, mashed and sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, pineapple bread, pumpkin bread, crescent rolls and various sundry pies and cakes, in a post-apocalyptic world run by a totalitarian “Administration” of machines in which most human beings are little more than mindless pawns in an ongoing chess game against… well, against the futuristic 1%–the few human beings that resist and fight the “Administration”–it’s about the best my hero and his “peoples” can ask for. And in that scene he–William–is thankful not only for the food and the company but for his life. I repeat: HIS LIFE. When I originally wrote that scene some 15 odd (and yes, they HAVE BEEN odd, friends) years ago I didn’t quite understand that. Admittedly I was pretty f*cking miserable. Those of you reading this who knew me back then know the gory details so I’m not going to go in to them here but the prospect of THIS life, i.e. the life I lead now was non-existent. Back then, I called myself a living, breathing facsimile of a smiley face. Now? The grin suffusing my face as I write these words is not a forced one, nor is it a facade that I am putting on for my wife, Nicole, who… having returned home from work… now sits across from me beneath a comforter watching “Mythbusters.” My thankfulness this year is not some BS excuse I came up with to convince my family at dinner tomorrow night that I’m happy. I AM happy, friends. I’m happy for my family and my friends. I’m happy for ENDWORLD, working title RED-HEADED STEPCHILDREN OF ENDWORLD and CHILDREN OF ENDWORLD, not to mention THE [overarching] ENDWORLD… whatever. I’m happy for Monty Python, even skits as “bloody awful” as “Find the Fish” and I’m happy for gray skies and barren trees. I’m happy for cuddling beneath a blanket with my loving wife and my wonderful daughter as the chill outside attempts and fails to impinge upon our happy home. I’m thankful for regular strength WD-40 (it keeps the hinges on the doors in my house from squeaking) and I’m thankful that I’ve never used the phrase “intercourse with a turkey” until today. I’m thankful for “Peoples” and “Babies” and parades and yes, I’m EVEN thankful for the you-know-what season that follows Thanksgiving. And GOD am I thankful for the privilege of seeing my semi-jaded subjective universe through the eyes of a child again.

But MOST importantly, friends? I’m thankful for my life. I repeat: MY life. And THAT is what Thanksgiving means to me. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Now stop reading this and go eat until it hurts/watch football related programming for the next 24 hours.

F.

What Thanksgiving Means to Me by Way of Probability and Statistics

The Madchronicler2 Comments

Amazing the things that inspire you to write. Take this morning. I was sitting at work punching in a level sensor quote and suffering from an ailment known as “Chronic Myjobsucksitis,” when out of the corner of my ear (is that even a phrase, or is it another of my infamous “Frankisms”?) I heard the opening bars of “Tuesday’s Gone” by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Suddenly, the sensor quote I was working on became the farthest thing from my mind. My creative juices began flowing. Before I even knew what was happening I had opened a blank Word document on my computer and my fingers were doing their familiar, ritualistic dance across my keyboard. And here we are. “Tuesday’s Gone” has ended and has been replaced by “In The Limelight” by… *SIGH*… Rush. But my inspiration has not waned. I just need to finish my sensor quote before continuing. *DOUBLE SIGH* Be right back.

Okay, that’s done. Amazingly enough, the only thing I have “pending” at the present time is an RMA (Return Material Authorization) for one of my customers, but that can wait. Priorities, priorities, priorities (sarcasm fully intended). Considering it’s the day before Thanksgiving and anywhere from 75-80% of my customers are gone or will be gone by noon, I’ll have some time to work on… well, the sh*t I get paid for later. But for now…

I haven’t written anything in a while, so if this composition seems a bit choppy at first, I apologize. Hopefully said choppiness will pass the more ritualistic dancing my fingers do across my keyboard (not sure why I felt the need to repeat that other than it sounded and continues to sound ‘kinda cool). We’ll see. I can’t make any promises.

As I mentioned, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. In years passed, said holiday played second fiddle to the night pre-¬Thanksgiving. This year, though (and last if I’m being honest), all that has changed. Instead of leaving work, heading home, grabbing a quick shower and heading to the bar, tonight I will be leaving work, picking up my daughter, heading home, feeding her, putting her to bed and thereafter either a.) beginning to review for my Probability and Statistics Final or b.) playing “World of Warcraft.” More than likely the latter considering my Final is still two weeks away and I promised myself I’d take advantage of Drexel’s mandated “Thanksgiving Break” this year despite my cumulative grade sitting precariously close to the C/D threshold. But I digress.

Being that I’ve opted to shelve my wild and crazy life for the time being (sarcasm definitely intended; my life hasn’t been wild or crazy in almost a half-a-decade) in favor of a more stable life of fatherhood, homeownership, husband… hood (?) and school… ership (man, the “Frankisms” are coming out in force in this composition!), I find myself inevitably pondering things that I’ve never really pondered before. Like Thanksgiving. As the virtually insignificant songs that followed… *SIGH*… “In The Limelight” segue in to Green Day’s “Welcome To Paradise” and I feel a renewal of energy course through my system (good Green Day is the musical equivalent of speed for me while “In The Limelight” and virtually anything by Rush is the musical equivalent of swallowing a bottle of Quaaludes), I find myself pondering the question, “What does Thanksgiving mean to me?”

Certainly a shade easier than the Multiplication Principle.

“What does Thanksgiving mean to me?” by way of the Multiplication Principle: “My mother is hosting Thanksgiving Dinner. There will be 4 different kinds of Hors d’oeuvres, 5 different kinds of drinks, 1 type of main course, 6 potential side dishes, 1 type of roll and 2 different types of desert. How many different combinations of ‘Thanksgiving Dinner’ are available?”

The answer is 240 (4 times 5 times 1 times 6 times 1 times 2). A relatively easy problem, but realistically? There are some situations where an analytical mind excels and some where a non-analytical one does. In this particular case, I don’t anticipate trying all 240 combinations in one Thanksgiving. Sh*t, I don’t know if I could do it in all the Thanksgivings I have left in my life! So I’m going to stick with the non-analytical… and less-obese approach. Analytical mind 0, non-analytical mind 1.

“What does Thanksgiving mean to me?” Well, the obvious answer is that it’s a time to give thanks for all the good stuff in my life. And despite my ever-existent propensity towards focusing on the negative and not on the positive (what can I say? Said propensity is about as prevalent a dynamic in my mentality as the “Frankism”), I’ve got to say, there’s a lot for me to be thankful for this year.

First and foremost, I’m thankful for my daughter, Cara and my wife, Nicole. I’m thankful that they’re a part of my life and I’m thankful that they’re in good health. Cara especially considering how things started for her—a month premature, a week in-and-out of the hospital with jaundice, a successive run of colds and stomach bugs back in January of this year that lasted for almost three weeks and virtually undid all the “real food” training Nicole and I had given her. I look at her now as she scampers around the house verbalizing sentences that only she can understand (for the moment), eating everything from apples to chicken, and I think to myself: wow. I really didn’t foresee this early on. I mean, I mused over it, but I was so focused on getting her “right” that I forgot about all the “good” stuff that awaited me. This stuff. This time. I’m thankful that she’s grown healthy and strong, finally eclipsing the 20 pound mark in the last week. I’m thankful that she’ll be able to eat and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner this year, at least whatever portions of it she “likes” this week.

And the other part of that “equation?” I’m thankful for my wife, Nicole, who nine years in to our relationship continues… daily… to intrigue my mind, body and soul. Who continues… daily… to be to most fascinating, intelligent and caring woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I couldn’t ask for a better life partner… couldn’t ask for a better mother to help me raise my daughter. I know that I extol the virtues of “Nicole” often in these compositions and for some of you reading this, the practice is likely getting a bit tedious. But not for me. I love you, baby.

The above paragraphs by way of standard Probability: “A man has 10 total relationships in his life (I’m speculating; I don’t actually know how many relationships I’ve had in my life but 10 is a nice, round number). What is the probability that of those 10 relationships, 1 lasts forever?” The solution? I will now proceed to abbreviate. P (9 failures) = 0.90. P (1 success) = 1-P (9 failures) or 0.90 = 0.10. The P = 10%. Simple? Yes. But I count myself lucky that I’m in that 10% bracket. Analytical mind 0, non-analytical mind 2.

There are other things that I’m thankful for. My friends and family have been and remain my greatest bastions of support. Daily, they push me to be better than an everyday, Monday through Friday Joe-Schmoe with a bad case of “Chronic Myjobsucksitis.” Even at 35, they realize that I’m never too old… that if my goal is to one day teach and not sit behind a desk doing sensor quotes for 45 hours of every week whilst getting kicked in the proverbial nads on a daily basis by a company that I’ve given my all to, I should keep pushing to achieve it. I speak of my mother and my sister first and foremost, but beyond them? I consider myself a very, very fortunate man in that I remain close compadres with so many people that have been a part of my life since the days of my wistful and at times misunderstood youth. How many of us can claim that the same people we were friends with as Freshman in High School are our closest friends at 35 years young? How many of us can look at our Facebook or Twitter feeds, see the names there and honestly say that we maintain “some” semblance of a friendship with those people? An occasional phone call, email or Christmas card, even? I know people who have a couple hundred Facebook friends. Among them multiple ex-girlfriends, unsavory types and people they haven’t spoken with in years who think everything is “boss.” I have 140 FB friends. Of those 140, I’d wager a good percentage are people I still maintain a correspondence with. Not a bad ratio, friends. How can I not be thankful for that?

The above paragraph by way of Binomial Probability: “A man has 140 Facebook friends and 22 Twitter followers. He maintains a ‘true’ friendship with 110 of his Facebook friends and 19 of his Twitter followers. Given the existing conditions of ‘true’ friends and followers, what is the probability that exactly 1 of 4 friend or follower invites will be ‘true’ and not just some random Joe-Schmoe who follows him because he likes ‘Jeff Dunham’ and so do they?”

The solution? More complicated than previous problems ‘cause we’re dealing with Binomial Probability, but the answer is… prepare for abbreviation… P (Exactly 1 “true” FB friend/4) = 0.029 or 3%, and P (Exactly 1 “true” Twitter friend/4) = 0.009 or 1%. To find the overall probability, multiply 0.029 by 0.009 and get an even smaller answer: 0.000261. The reason being? There’s more chance of getting a greater number than exactly (or only) 1 “true” friend in both situations because said man maintains a higher percentage of “true” friends on both FB and Twitter, namely, 79% of his FB friends and 86% of his Twitter followers. That’s great if you’re in to calculating the percentage of friend/follower invites you accept on FB/Twitter, but really, really bad if you want people to like you. Henceforth, analytical mind 0, non-analytical mind 3. Seriously? If you’re calculating something like this using math you deserve to have your “human” card revoked.

What else am I thankful for? I can think of many things. I am thankful for my job, despite the fact that I’m not exactly its greatest fan at the moment. Not everyone has a steady income and… at least for the moment (or until my boss reads this)… I do. I’m thankful for my health, albeit not as great as it once was (seriously, I know I’m only 35, but I’m beginning to realize that with each year, I feel it a little bit more; nothing too invasive thank God, but there is a noticeable difference). I’m thankful for “World of Warcraft” if only because it provides me with a much needed release from working full-time, going to school part-time, being a parent and husband full-time and trying to squeeze between six and seven hours of sleep a night in (is it scary that I consider sleep a part-time activity at this juncture?). I’m thankful for what I see as a gift—writing—but others see as a means for me to ramble incessantly for a few pages about everything from Scientology to Probability and Statistics. Oh well. “I is what I is.” I’m thankful for Probability and Statistics which—when combined with Industrial Hydraulics—really keeps my brain frosty (and achy, but that’s an unfortunate side-effect sometimes of using it). My almost-completed “man cave”; my deck and my grill; my backyard; my collection of sports memorabilia; my movie and music collection; my ability to play pool (but no other sport); “Sesame Street”; and last but not least…

I’m thankful for my life. All 35 f*cked-up-at-times-but-always-entertaining years of it. If I missed anything? Well, I think the blanket-term “life” handily encapsulates the remainder. “What does Thanksgiving mean to me?” Simply spoken, friends, it signifies happiness…

About 80-85% of the time (at least). Or, if you take the median, 82.5% or 0.825.

The above composition by way of Probability and Statistics: “Given the following conditions, calculate the probability of the variable X (Serendipity). X (Serendipity) = 240 (possible variations on Thanksgiving dinner) times 0.10 (the probability that 1/10 relationships will end up succeeding) times 0.000261 (the probability that 1/4 “friend” or “follower” request ants on FB or Twitter are or become ‘true’ friends) times 0.825 (the probability that Thanksgiving and any thoughts that said holiday inspires signify happiness) = 0.0051678 or a shade over 0.5%. A half a percentage point? That’s it?

I’m not sure, but I’d wager I missed a variable or two. *TRIPLE SIGH* After all that. Ironic, huh? Analytical mind 0, non-analytical mind 4. Point, set, match.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

“Tuesday’s gone, with the wind…”