#331

I try to write funny shit here, and I'll try again, hopelessly, in a second, but first, a serious comment. serious [seer-ee-uh-s] 1. characterized by deep thought. 2. of grave or somber disposition. (I enjoy definitions, and synonyms, and coffee.) So 2 fits, somber and grave. My comment: Christmas decorations make me sad. But only briefly, and only exterior things, outdoor lights and sleighs, reindeer, North Pole signs, big plastic candy canes and Santas. My thoughts turn to my father and his father (M 'n' m's great-grandpa), both exterior illuminators of renown – think Clark Griswold with the antics but less megawattage, but only a little less. Inevitably, this reminds me of my father's eulogy of his father. There is no word for it other than perfect. The reminiscence, affection, and humor were flawless. Then I wonder if Michael will eulogize me someday. If so, Michael, no pressure, but when your namesake did it, he hit it outta the park.

Michael could win a gold medal in sleeping. Although, most teenagers are likely the same. I was a world champion myself at that age. Uncle Bill called me Rip Van Winkle. How long did Rip sleep; I can't remember? How did we live before Wikipedia was only a tap away? Washington Irving – he of the Headless Horseman and Sleepy Hollow mind, also – wrote the tale about 200 years ago. But Rip, it seems, only napped for 20 years. This is the sweet part: Rip, at the end of the story, much older now of course, with a long beard and a rusty musket, is recognized by his daughter. His Megan! She takes him in and he lives happily ever after. Awesome. My new favorite story. Ranks with Gladiator, 300, The Revenant, and Rocky II.