Tis the season . . .

• where carolers ring your bell incessantly and sing off key in hopes of garnering a little holiday cheer and some vintage toddy
• where normal neighbors attempt to compete vigorsly on how much wattage they can apply to their yards to bring the electric switching station to its knees
• where office workers everywhere stress at how to come up with original excuses for not having to attend that obstentatious office party where the boss's flirty wife is obnoxious and everyone has to put on the painted smile right before the .0035 merit checks are handed out
• where inflatable Santas dominate subdivision everywhere by casting an effervescent red hue across the entire skyline and chokes out any possibility whatsoever for any living creature to obtain any ultraviolet radiation
• where you attempt to find a parking spot within the same zip code as the mall despite the fact that even the handicapped spaces are triple parked by cell phone toting, able-bodied, denizens who happen to have a unscrupulous brother-in-law who can sign for the disability placards that can easily be reproduced on a 19.50 color printer. . . if you can only get a spot to buy one at the mall before the moon surfaces.
• where you can watch "It's a wonderful life" for the umteenth time and still get misty eyed over the incredible personality tranformation of George Bailey before you realize that all the bullied, arrogant, crass, and condescending remarks made by the main character seem so much meaner each year where you begin to hope just this one year Mr. Potter finally succeeds or turns into a nice guy via Scrooge transformation
• where you attempt to send that special, hard sought gift for that distant favorite friend only to realize all your packing peanuts refuse to stay in the overpriced corrugated box, but instead decide to static cling you, your dog, your lawn, and entire carpeted surface of your house
• where you can begin a lawsuit to question the need for a nativity scene in front of the local post office even though such a scene will further complicate pedestrian traffic that has crawled to a stop, but regardless will lead to an endless stream of attorneys filing claims on behalf of those who need to see a Kwanzaa display, Menorrah candles, etc. even though the holiday was somehow meant to represent someone's birthday
  
• where those who generally implore others to recycle and save the planet from some unforeseen danger decide to ravage an innocent forest by decimating the latest pine tree to dry out for a month in the comfort of their living room only to be sent reeling head first into the nearest street come January
• where we are barraged with generic christmas letters outlining the latest insignificant accomplishments in poetic prose despite that fact that Uncle Billy who was sent up the river and Auntie Anne is now Auntie Fred were somehow overlooked
• where no one amongst the sane population known as civilization has ever, ever, ever purchased anyone a Lexus as a present despite the marketing claims, but am encouraged that the marketing people truly believe there is some lonely shallow person out there who may bite at the prospect
• where you attempt to be the 15 billionth passenger waiting in line to make it through the airport turnstyles while the other passengers begin to grimace at your holiday green and red socks are on stage display as you take off your shoes through security and realize that the special cotton absorbing material does not retain the smell. . . unfortunately, of your perspiring feet, which obviously alerts the airport personnel who have been observing your awkward movements and decide to detain you and examine you only to determine that you are just "stinky" and place you to the rear of the line to repeat the "groundhog day movie" activities once again
• where you can introduce seemingly insignificant ramblings while still being perceived as the next coming of Kurt Cobain while just trying to wish every one a very happy, safe, and peaceful Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Cool Kwanzaa, Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad etc. and the best New Year!
  

Get Smart!

That's an order!

Or at least it could be construed as one. Personally, I'd rather construe it as a sitcom. Agent 86. 99. Who can forget the cones of silence?

This could all be mine! Mine, I tell you!! For a mere $199 that is. Yes, the entire catalogue of Get Smart episodes is available for the low, low price of only $199 from Time Life books.

Okay, maybe the price tag isn't quite as "low, low" as I would like. But I am seriously considering adding it to my Christmas list. Oh, if only Santa read my blog - or, if only anyone read my blog for that matter; but that's a whole different issue. Of course, it may be just as well that Santa doesn't come through; he seems to be using my credit card when he makes his purchases.

Sorry about that, Chief.