Christmas Tree 1, Procrastinator 0
...and today in the warm up to the Christmas Cup, there was a shocking upset. Christmas Tree, literally the most fiery of inanimate objects thrashed Procrastinator one-nil.
I worked with a former U.S. Army sergeant some thirteen years ago and to add lemon and salt to the paper cut so-to-speak, he used to top off a difficult situation with this wonderful saying: "What, you're having trouble with that? Are you saying that an inanimate object is smarter than you?"
That's the last thing you want to hear when a piece of machinery is getting the best of you and you have zero mechanical aptitude.
I love Christmas...only so much. It's like lobster in the sense that I would miss it a lot if I never had it again, but I could live without and not go through any major withdrawal. Christmas brought out the worst in my family years ago when I was a kid and now when it brings out the worst in the people wherever I go, it brings back me right back to those marginal Christmases.
My joy is always derived vicariously through the Missus, Procrastinator Jr. and the in-laws. When they're happy, I'm ecstatic.
The centerpiece for Procrastinator Jr. is the tree, it ain't Christmas to him without it. The tree is the very thing besides the faux "peace to all" that I abhor about the whole damn holiday. I'm paranoid about the fire factor and the news media fuels this every year by showing all the poor families that were displaced by tree fires. So as a result, we never get a tree before December 8th as I'm paranoid that it will dry out too soon.
Two birthday parties and a Costco run displaced the tree purchase two weekends ago and this past weekend was a rainout of epic (for California) proportions. So this past Monday was the only dry day in the forecast until Thursday and if I let it go 'til Thursday, the Missus would be playing "which will give out first, Procrastinator? The Circulon wok or your head?" You see, she'll only allow procrastination to apply to certain things around here and Junior's happiness is paramount.
If you don't know by now, we live in a rent-controlled shoebox which is only a bargain by Manhattan/Tokyo standards, yet decent by San Francisco standards. So the 780 sq. ft. is a juggler's nightmare in terms of space, one chair or coffee table book not only f**ks up the feng shui but also means that something is going to be to donated to Goodwill or thrown out.
So me being the spatial genius that I am, I come up with the idea that this year's tree should be four feet tall by about three-n'-half wide because a bookcase that is supposed to help organize my screenplays (yeah, I might as well use the submerged library of Alexandria while I'm at it) has displaced the tree space.
With those dimensions in mind, Procrastinator Jr. and I pick out the perfect tree and it's gorgeous. I mean, God knew what he was doing when he pointed at that pine cone because it's the Frank Lloyd Wright of trees. I mean, you would want to date this tree if you saw it except that it's full of sap, it's bristle-ly and well, it's a tree you pervert! Get away from it or I'm calling the FBI and the National Arbor Day Foundation!
We get it home aaaaannnnndddd...the tree stand is too big. Let that be a lesson, ladies. It's true what they say about big rings, big trunk and the diameter being the tree equivalent of "big hands, big feet." So it's too close to the working hour for me to go to Walgreen's without being late for work to get a smaller tree stand, so the Missus and Junior go instead. They get a smaller stand, so I guess size doesn't matter and that it is true what they say about tree kismet aaaaannnnndddd...there's a branch in the way.
I mean, you can't just snap this branch off because the tree is not only nice and green, it's woody. We need pruning shears but of course we don't have any nor do the neighbors because the back yard is a concrete garage and it's now fifteen minutes until I have to get ready for work. So I tell the Missus that I will go to the Walgreen's in Daly City during lunch because they're open twenty-four hours and they have the greater selection of things out of all the twenty-four hours stores in this area.
So I get to the store aaaaannnnndddd...they don't have pruning shears. Not a problem, don't panic, relax, regroup, the tree won't dry up because you had the Missus add a little water to the stand. I'm up and down the forty or so aisles of this place and there's nothing but Christmas crap.
I mean besides the usual decorations and knick-knacks. Christmas film, Christmas Twinkies, Christmas batteries, Christmas fortune cookies, Christmas salsa, Christmas feminine hygiene products, everything but Christmas matzo balls and don't you believe that they didn't contemplate it. Still, no pruning shears and the tools were sparse in general, having been displaced by door alarms and LED carabiner key chains (WTF do they have to do with hardware anyway?).
So I had to settle for poultry shears, believing in my superior writing mind that the branch would have the same density as a chicken bone. Mind you, I'm also the guy who ran around telling everybody to wait until Microsoft hit $120 a share to sell because Windows 98 was going to be a great improvement and launch the stock into the stratosphere.
So I get home and pull the tree up, forgetting that the Missus added water which is now all over my feet dredging up memories of a neighbor's incontinent poodle. Great, dry off the feet, dry off the plastic lining under the tree and those plastic bags taped together are the only foresight I've exhibited these past couple of weeks. The poultry shears? Let's just say the situation was not inspirational and I might as well have used a butter knife.
The tree? Mocking me in its handsome, perfect tree-way except I'm mocking it right back because it can't sit upright. So when I get up to drive Procrastinator Jr. to YMCA Winter Camp and I get back from the hardware store with saw in hand? It will not go well with my history of tools and I will wind up feeling like a tool and another inanimate object will lord another victory over me and just call me "Stumpy."
I worked with a former U.S. Army sergeant some thirteen years ago and to add lemon and salt to the paper cut so-to-speak, he used to top off a difficult situation with this wonderful saying: "What, you're having trouble with that? Are you saying that an inanimate object is smarter than you?"
That's the last thing you want to hear when a piece of machinery is getting the best of you and you have zero mechanical aptitude.
I love Christmas...only so much. It's like lobster in the sense that I would miss it a lot if I never had it again, but I could live without and not go through any major withdrawal. Christmas brought out the worst in my family years ago when I was a kid and now when it brings out the worst in the people wherever I go, it brings back me right back to those marginal Christmases.
My joy is always derived vicariously through the Missus, Procrastinator Jr. and the in-laws. When they're happy, I'm ecstatic.
The centerpiece for Procrastinator Jr. is the tree, it ain't Christmas to him without it. The tree is the very thing besides the faux "peace to all" that I abhor about the whole damn holiday. I'm paranoid about the fire factor and the news media fuels this every year by showing all the poor families that were displaced by tree fires. So as a result, we never get a tree before December 8th as I'm paranoid that it will dry out too soon.
Two birthday parties and a Costco run displaced the tree purchase two weekends ago and this past weekend was a rainout of epic (for California) proportions. So this past Monday was the only dry day in the forecast until Thursday and if I let it go 'til Thursday, the Missus would be playing "which will give out first, Procrastinator? The Circulon wok or your head?" You see, she'll only allow procrastination to apply to certain things around here and Junior's happiness is paramount.
If you don't know by now, we live in a rent-controlled shoebox which is only a bargain by Manhattan/Tokyo standards, yet decent by San Francisco standards. So the 780 sq. ft. is a juggler's nightmare in terms of space, one chair or coffee table book not only f**ks up the feng shui but also means that something is going to be to donated to Goodwill or thrown out.
So me being the spatial genius that I am, I come up with the idea that this year's tree should be four feet tall by about three-n'-half wide because a bookcase that is supposed to help organize my screenplays (yeah, I might as well use the submerged library of Alexandria while I'm at it) has displaced the tree space.
With those dimensions in mind, Procrastinator Jr. and I pick out the perfect tree and it's gorgeous. I mean, God knew what he was doing when he pointed at that pine cone because it's the Frank Lloyd Wright of trees. I mean, you would want to date this tree if you saw it except that it's full of sap, it's bristle-ly and well, it's a tree you pervert! Get away from it or I'm calling the FBI and the National Arbor Day Foundation!
We get it home aaaaannnnndddd...the tree stand is too big. Let that be a lesson, ladies. It's true what they say about big rings, big trunk and the diameter being the tree equivalent of "big hands, big feet." So it's too close to the working hour for me to go to Walgreen's without being late for work to get a smaller tree stand, so the Missus and Junior go instead. They get a smaller stand, so I guess size doesn't matter and that it is true what they say about tree kismet aaaaannnnndddd...there's a branch in the way.
I mean, you can't just snap this branch off because the tree is not only nice and green, it's woody. We need pruning shears but of course we don't have any nor do the neighbors because the back yard is a concrete garage and it's now fifteen minutes until I have to get ready for work. So I tell the Missus that I will go to the Walgreen's in Daly City during lunch because they're open twenty-four hours and they have the greater selection of things out of all the twenty-four hours stores in this area.
So I get to the store aaaaannnnndddd...they don't have pruning shears. Not a problem, don't panic, relax, regroup, the tree won't dry up because you had the Missus add a little water to the stand. I'm up and down the forty or so aisles of this place and there's nothing but Christmas crap.
I mean besides the usual decorations and knick-knacks. Christmas film, Christmas Twinkies, Christmas batteries, Christmas fortune cookies, Christmas salsa, Christmas feminine hygiene products, everything but Christmas matzo balls and don't you believe that they didn't contemplate it. Still, no pruning shears and the tools were sparse in general, having been displaced by door alarms and LED carabiner key chains (WTF do they have to do with hardware anyway?).
So I had to settle for poultry shears, believing in my superior writing mind that the branch would have the same density as a chicken bone. Mind you, I'm also the guy who ran around telling everybody to wait until Microsoft hit $120 a share to sell because Windows 98 was going to be a great improvement and launch the stock into the stratosphere.
So I get home and pull the tree up, forgetting that the Missus added water which is now all over my feet dredging up memories of a neighbor's incontinent poodle. Great, dry off the feet, dry off the plastic lining under the tree and those plastic bags taped together are the only foresight I've exhibited these past couple of weeks. The poultry shears? Let's just say the situation was not inspirational and I might as well have used a butter knife.
The tree? Mocking me in its handsome, perfect tree-way except I'm mocking it right back because it can't sit upright. So when I get up to drive Procrastinator Jr. to YMCA Winter Camp and I get back from the hardware store with saw in hand? It will not go well with my history of tools and I will wind up feeling like a tool and another inanimate object will lord another victory over me and just call me "Stumpy."
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 3:28 AM
2 Comments:
Very funny... I can't wait to see it!
Strange, because I had a similar scene yesterday with an Ikea "Hanukkah Bush" I bought to hang from my ceiling... major tool issues, etc. I did get it up eventually, but not without a meltdown or two.
Procrastinator Jr.? That's scary!
"Strange, because I had a similar scene yesterday with an Ikea "Hanukkah Bush" I bought to hang from my ceiling..."
A "Hanukkah Bush?" That sounds like Jeb kissing up to the older Miami voters. Seriously, do they have such things? The menorah and the dreidel I know, but a Hanukkah Bush?
"I did get it up eventually, but not without a meltdown or two."
I don't know who would have bigger field day with this, Freud or Beavis & Butthead.
"Procrastinator Jr.? That's scary!"
He has his father's work habits.
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