Monday, November 16, 2009

The Catalog

Hello.

I forgot my password.

The holidays are upon us. I love it. Lights. Trees. Gifts. Food. Parades. Stuffing. Wrapping paper. Families will gather around a big table for turkey and small talk. People will get drunk and cry, and then realize they gained 9 pounds and cry some more. Maybe someone’s uncle will get arrested in jean shorts and tank top for refusing to leave the property after throwing a half-burnt piece of firewood through the living room window . . . then will try to sneak back in the house though the chimney, which still has a fire burning at its base. And perhaps a nice young girl will bring her new thug boyfriend home for eggnog . . . then watch in anger as her mom rubs his leg under the table and slips him a roofie.  And everyone will have a great time until the house burns down. 

 

But it’s not just great events like this that makes me love the holidays, it’s also the small things. The memories. The traditions. The people. Just the other day I was thinking about one aspect that seems to be long gone and makes me feel really old, very irrelevant and as dated as the majority of the contents of my fridge: I  miss the days when the Christmas catalogs came out. It was awesome to get a catalog. It was always from someone like JC Penny or Montgomery Ward and was a big as a phone book. Aside from a few pages I would visit in the front part . . . which featured women scantily clad with Farrah Fawcett-style hair and 80s torpedo boobies, I immediately would flip to the back where the toys were. STAR WARS STAR WARS STAR WARS. The back had all sorts of other cool stuff like bikes and Transformers and Go-Bots and GI Joe, but all I cared about was STAR WARS. There was something about the way each action figure and ship or scene was posed just so with its name underneath, along with a brief description of the character or vehicle.  The art directors always did a fantastic job of arranging the photos to where they looked just like a scene out of the movie. Or maybe they didn’t, but this is how I remember it. We would highlight what we liked and give it to our parents, then get locked back in the damp and moldy basement. My imagination would run wild. It was cool. I waited all year to see what was going to be available. Now, just google whatever you want to see and it will come up. It kind of sucks. Or does it? I’m sure if I showed one of my nephews a catalog they would laugh at me and remind me that its never been proven that I am a blood relative, tests results are still pending.

 

I don’t know. I just remember the Christmas catalog. It was fun. It was exciting. It was something to look forward to. Thankfully the internet is just a fad and will be gone by this time next year and the catalog will reign once again.

In other news, that guy Levi Johnston needs to be drawn and quartered along with that California beauty queen who has fake knockers and is about as bright as my shower curtain. Reality TV is poisonous, but I have been enjoying the TRAIN WRECK that is Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. The issues are absolutely unreal and its makes me feel like being a cutter isn't really that big of a deal. I am excited to go to LA next week for Thanksgiving to visit family and see old friends . . . and my SARS/Scurvy hyrbid is clearing up.

HAPPY MONDAY TO BOTH OF MY READERS!


Tyler


Tyler

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