Day 21: Deconstructing the Horoscope, 2021

 Today is my birthday. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay. 

A year ago, here's what my "Your birthday today" horoscope from half-human, half-wizard prognosticator of times to come Holiday Mathis had to say 2020 had in store for me: 

"Your kindness radiates in all directions including toward yourself and this fortifies and emboldens you to new heights of originality. You'll fascinate, draw a crowd, sell to it and fund an enterprise you wholeheartedly believe in. How satisfying to know you're making the kind of difference the world really needs now. Sagittarius and Aquarius adore you. Your lucky numbers are 6, 10, 33, 20, and 17."

As I usually say at this point upon reflection - what a load of crap. Not to get too heavy or anything, but Level 52 was one of the loneliest, depressing, and uncertain years of my life. I would have appreciated it if Holiday had been a little more straightforward with me about what was coming from the beginning.

Anyway. Let's see what she has to say about about 53: 

"All you've overcome has made you strong -- and funny! Humor comes from the flexibility of perspective seeing different sides and extremes of life. A project will put your talents to good use, and you'll be enthusiastically endorsed, too, helping you to move up professionally and financially. Aquarius and Pisces adore you. Your lucky numbers are 21, 1, 7, 9, and 13. 

So, Aquarius and Piseces -- how you doin'?

To hedge my bets this year, I saved a fortune cookie from some takeout last week. I have not opened it until just this moment, which I'm sure means the fortune cookie magic, which I have to believe is just as valid as whatever juju Holiday Mathis brings to the table, has remained intact and starts applying right now: 

"Broke is only temporary; poor is a state of mind. Lucky Numbers: 4, 54, 39, 52, 51, 56."

I'll at least give the fortune cookie credit for correctly using a semicolon, a skill I'm not entirely sure Holiday has packed away in her grammatical arsenal. Plus I have even more lucky numbers on my side.

Though I noticed 53 was not among them....

Day 19: Big Block of Cheese Day 2021

I haven’t done a Big Block of Cheese Day post in some time now, mostly because I haven’t done any posts in a long time, at least before May started. You can always search old posts if you’re curious about reference I’m admittedly misusing behind the origin of the name, but in a nutshell — a Big Block of Cheese Day post is when I have a lot of small ideas of things to write about, but none seem like enough to sustain an entire post themselves. So, I just throw together a collection of shorter, partially developed ideas instead. Which is what we’re doing tonight, because I don’t really have ONE solid idea to lean on, and I’m kind of tired here.

The Perfect Night

This was suggested by a well-meaning friend. There are far too many directions to go in describing a perfect night, but I’ll keep things smooth and cool here. Since it is my birthday in a couple of days, and all I really want out of a birthday anymore is a day when nothing that sucks happens, I’ll describe what I would hope a birthday night would be like. It would be a Friday, so my head would be occupied during the day and I wouldn't be thinking too much about what might happen later in the evening. Plus there are few reliefs like getting to the end of a Friday in an elementary school without some giant pile of crap hanging over your head and threatening the peace of your weekend. I’d leave after traveling through a few hallway pickup conversation pockets long enough to allow me a feeling of closure for the week, then I’d drive home with all good songs on the radio. There’d be something good for dinner already waiting that I wouldn’t have to cook or order. (Tragic side note: I realized too late I arranged for Sammich Week to end on my birthday, and damn it if I’m not already kind of tired of sammiches every night and I still have two nights to go and one has to be on my birthday.) I’d get home, bring Freddie to the park to pee on his favorite tree, then bring him home and enjoy a nice, calm, peaceful night with spring weather that’s favorable enough for me to open the windows and enjoy the breeze. I’m a man of few wants, it seems. 

Reaction Videos

During the pandemic, I discovered a guilty pleasure on YouTube. There’s a whole community of people who post videos of themselves reacting the classic songs they’ve never heard before the first time they listen. It’s like vicariously hearing a song for the first time again. If you did deep enough, you can find some favorites. At least I have.

Behaviors I Should Justifiably Be Ridiculed For

*I’ve set up everything about Venmo except connecting a bank because I’m paranoid about my money disappearing into the ether. This means I still write checks sometimes.

*I still get a newspaper delivered to my house every day, even if most of the time I only read the comics and do the Sudoku puzzle. 

*I still wake up early in the summer. 

*I don’t stream music. I listen to either the radio or CDs in my car, and I listen to an iPod plugged into a speaker dock in the house. I live in abject terror of the day that iPod stops working. 

*I have immediate access to four streaming services, but most of the TV I watch is either reruns of The Office on cable or replays of Marvel Movies on cable when I find one on.

*I keep books beside my bed even though I fall asleep every night in about five minutes.

I feel that’s probably enough for now. 

Summertime Adventure Suggestions

I have a short list of things I’d like to do this summer, provided they’d be safe. Several are things I haven’t done before and would like to try. I won’t list them here…for fear of encouragement. I’ve found that if I ever seek out advice or suggestions online, the responses I get are frequently reflections of the people suggesting them. This makes sense because they’re sharing their own enthusiasms, but I don’t know if that’s the way such suggestions should be made. Maybe if we ever give advice to each other about such things, we should think more about what the other person would like instead of sharing what we like. For example: The idea of most friends randomly setting me up with someone they know is a horrible @#%%^&! idea. Most of the time these set ups come from a place of, “Hey, your single, she’s single, why not?” I could write a book called Why Not, and chapter one would probably be about how random people don’t just connect because neither of them is in a relationship. If someone tried to set me up and had reasons why, well, maybe. But just, “Hey, you’re both kind of desperate. What do you honestly have to lose here?” No. Pass.

And Finally, The Poison of Social Media

I wish I could leave it all behind. I barely use Instagram, but really only to see what the younger people in my life are doing. Facebook is more about friends and family, especially the ones who live long distances away. Twitter is good for the news. But really, all of them, in some way, make me feel like crap. Just like life was so much better before I started carrying a damned cell phone, life was quieter before social media was a thing. I kind of miss being the holdout sometimes. 

Anyway. That seems like enough. Enjoy whatever you cut away from this particular Big Block of Cheese. (And I apologize for not having the wakefulness tonight that would be required for careful proofreading. Sometimes in May, you post just to get the post up.)

Day 17: Sammich Week, Part 1

 I had a doctor tell me once that sandwiches (referred to as sammiches from now on) are just about the perfect meal: A well balanced amount of protein, carbohydrates, vitamins (if you get enough vegetables) and fats. Most of the time, sammiches are also delicious.

I have a very short commute back and forth between home and school. Right in the middle of this commute is an enormous shopping district, known to locals as Riverdale. This is not the prototypical all-American town where Archie and his gang lived in the comic books, nor is it where the Elves from Lord of the Rings lived, for any nerds trying to make a joke. There are so many places to eat or buy food at Riverdale that it makes it almost impractical for me to ever bother keeping groceries in my house; in fact, a former colleague of mine once gave me a lot of grief over the fact that for years on end, my refrigerator seemed to only contain condiments, diet soda, and Vitamin Water Zero. She wasn't wrong. 

Since the statewide mask mandate has been lifted and one of these days I have to get used to the idea of going inside stores and businesses that are not Target at 7:00 AM, I am declaring this week to be Sammich Week. This means that each weeknight on the way home from school, I will be stopping at a different Riverdale sammich establishment to pick up my dinner.  To make it interesting, I'm setting a few rules for Sammich Week: 

Rule #1: I can't go to the same place more than once. Variety and all. 

Rule #2: I have to order a sammich I've never ordered before. This won't be that hard, I don't think, since I usually stick to my favorites. 

Rule #3: None of my sammiches can come from a restaurant considered fast food. For our purposes today, I'm defining fast food as any place that sells some kind of fries.

I'll report back on my experience this coming Saturday.

Day 8: Cooking Class

I grew up in a house where we used cooking sheets for pizza. Once we even had a layered pan with holes in it to help the crust crisp up, I guess. My sister had a pizza stone a few years ago, and I was impressed. I once saw my cousin putting a pizza in the oven on a sheet of aluminum foil with no pan or sheet or anything. It blew my mind when he took it out with his bare hands.

Never in my life did it occur to me to ever put a frozen pizza directly on the oven rack.

First of all, because why would you? How dirty is that thing, probably? I know, there’s the argument about self-cleaning ovens. Even though my oven does have that self-cleaning feature, I’m not big on the idea of turning up my oven temperature to something that would approximate the surface of the sun.

If I cook a frozen pizza now — not something that happens weekly or anything, but frequent enough that I know my routine — I put it on a baking sheet lined with foil. This keeps the pizza a nice safe distance from any oven nastiness, and at the same time keeps the pizza off the sheet so it doesn’t have to be washed. It works pretty well. Maybe this kind of thing puts some people in the mind of Phil Hartman’s old SNL character The Anal-Retentive Chef, but it works for me and keeps a pan out of the dishwasher. Win win.

If you put your frozen pizza right on the oven rack, I can’t relate to your thinking. I guess whatever works for you and makes you happy is something you should just go ahead and keep on doing…unless you put mayonnaise on hot dogs, because then I’m pretty sure something is wrong with you.

My teaching partner and I had this discussion today from opposite sides of the issue. She posted it as a question on Facebook, and, at least at my most recent check, the number of misguided souls who put their pizzas directly on the oven rack are outnumbering the ones who live lives of measured common sense.

I have a hard time caring about losing this argument, though.

In the end we’re talking about frozen pizza.

By definition, they’re all a little disgusting.

Day 17: Columbia House

I don’t remember where I saw them first. I didn’t order a lot of magazines as a kid, and they showed up a lot as magazine inserts, those non-glossy pages a little thicker than all the others that invite themselves to be torn out just to preserve the slick continuity of flipping through the rest of the pages.

Maybe it was the Sunday paper, which my family had received from my earliest memory and I still receive today just because it’s become ingrained in me that you’re supposed to get a big newspaper on Sunday for it to be a Sunday. Maybe they turned up in the subscription my parents had to Newsweek magazine for so many years, which would have made sense because they were so ubiquitous at the time, they would have even been in Newsweek.

They were so hard to avoid that it was all too easy to breeze on past them without a moment’s consideration. Each one featured the freshly-scrubbed face of some happy person trying to wrap their arms around what you were led to believe was their newly-acquired stash. The person shown was always an adult, though not too old of an adult to have their coolness ruled out by age, because we were supposed to think that, yes, this was the kind of thing even responsible adults habitually did, even though no adult with a modicum of common sense ever would have allowed themselves to get locked into this kind of backward pyramid scheme.

They were filled with multi-colored images, displaying the most recognizable icons of the day, almost cultural watermarks themselves in how they chose what should be the most prominently displayed. All it took was one of those pictures to connect with you and get you curious enough to spend a few minutes perusing the sampled list shown on the single advertising page, the whole time your eyes being drawn back to the literally too-good-to-be-true promise parked at the top of the page. Of course, somewhere on the page, because it was about to become part of your legally binding agreement, there was a small circular space left blank, other than the fine print telling you that was where you were supposed to actually tape your penny to the order form before you stuffed it in an envelope and sent it in.

And this was how you were able to buy 13 records or tapes for only 1¢!

Thousands of seventies and eighties kids like me fell for this marketing scheme over and over. Just imagine the excitement that came with the arrival of that package in the mail! At our house it was one of those days when I’d get off the school bus, dig my key out of my pocket since my sisters and I lived the life of early-eighties latchkey kids, pull open the storm door and find there was a huge cardboard box tucked in there! It had size and depth and weight and substance! It was like a personal Christmas morning, if Christmas morning was the type of holiday when you celebrated it by yourself and your sisters were slightly hopeful you had bought thirteen albums that didn't suck and your parents tried to hide how ridiculous they thought the whole thing was. Actually they didn't try all very hard to hide that. I cannot, for the life of me, ever remember having a conversation with my father like the following exchange:

FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD ME: So, Dad, you know those record and tape order forms? I’d really like to send one in and get my thirteen new albums for only a penny. I’ll still have to buy another eight or nine albums from them at full price to take advantage of this, which means I’ll be paying a few bucks more than I would if I bought the exact same records at Musicland at the mall, but hey, what’s a few bucks when I pool all of my money from my allowance and the few ten dollar bills I receive annually from my aunts on my birthday? I just have to make sure I send back the order form each month when they send me one for a new album, and tell them I don’t want it until they have one I like. And sure, I’m kind of hyperactive and forgetful, but of course I’m going to remember to take care of this one thing and I’ll never procrastinate or miss the cut-off date! Right? How funny to think that would ever happen! So you see how this is the kind of once in a lifetime opportunity it would be foolish for me to pass up on. Anyway, you’re cool with me taping on this penny and committing myself to this unforgiving enterprise, right?

MY DAD: Yep. Go for it.

At face value, there wasn’t anything wrong with these clubs, as long as you were more capable than me of remembering to do things like find stamps to put on return postcards that have been sitting on the bedroom desk for three weeks. My music collection began to grow rapidly. I ended up with a good number of albums I wouldn’t have otherwise bought, but the problem was that living out in the most rural of rural areas made it difficult to ever arrange for the return postage. And I had to use return postage, because I didn’t have the savvy at the time to simply write “REFUSED” or “RETURN TO SENDER” on the boxes I didn’t want. I'd crack them open to see what they were, and often would open them and listen once or twice just to check. Which was always the mistake, because I once I did that, there was no way I’d ever get around to sending it.

Does this sound at all like addictive behavior? I wouldn’t blame you if you thought so.

I don’t remember exactly when I finished my love/hate relationship with the world of Columbia House and all of its bastard siblings. Time moves on I guess, and the day came when the flyers showed up in the Sunday paper less often, and the inserts didn’t appear in magazines anymore. Online music stores were still decades away, to say nothing of pirated evildoers like Napster or Limewire, or even the legit streaming services of the modern day. If one of those flyers popped up now, it’s entirely possible I’d join a club just for old time’s sake.

It still might be kind of fun.

At least at first.

Day 16: My Sporadic Failures at Offensive Manliness

I saw a stupid clickbait article tonight called something like “16 Things Guys Need to Stop Doing Right Now.” Since my self-esteem isn’t fragile enough already, I decided to give it a look and find out how I’ve been offending the rest of society without even realizing it, and in how many different ways I’ve been doing this. It’s all in good fun, right? Wheeee! Here are the items on the list, and how I measured up, or not. 

1 - HUMBLEBRAGGING ABOUT WORKOUTS.
First of all, I think everyone needs to stop using the word “humblebragging” immediately. Secondly, hah. My workouts these days aren’t much more than long walks, depending on how you define long. I’m safe on this one.

2 - TAKING PICTURES WITH THE BEARD LOOK.
I wasn’t even aware The Beard Look was a thing. From what the article says, it’s a facial expression some dudes use in selfies because they think it enhances the awesome of their beard. I am not big on selfies so I feel I get a pass on this one, plus my beard is usually kind of a progressively graying mess that I only keep because I recently shaved it off and discovered that, after having it for ten years, my bare chin makes me look and feel uncomfortably prepubescent. Since the only “looks” I give during pictures are either (a) making a face to cover how badly I expect my normal expression to photograph, (b) smiling sarcastically, which often ends up looking genuine since even my facial sarcasm is finely tuned, or (c) a dead-eyed moment of discomfort frozen in time since I can’t use one of my other go-to poses in that situation. Never do I give my beard a second thought when getting a picture taken. Two for two. 

3 - POSTING ON SOCIAL MEDIA ABOUT EXTREMELY MINOR HOME REPAIRS
I don’t I post much about home repairs because I usually am not the person making them. I might show pictures of something that I paid someone else to do because I have no faith in my ability to do anything related to home improvements correctly, and I'm just so happy to have a stressful problem solved. If I have to do something as minor as change smoke alarm batteries, I feel like several bullets were dodged in the process if the roof didn’t fall in. 

4 - WEARING MUSCLE SHIRTS IN PUBLIC
Honestly, I thought they only made these for little boys now. I’m sure I haven’t owned or worn anything like this since perhaps junior high.  

5 - REFUSING TO LET ANYONE ELSE TOUCH YOUR GRILL
The only grill I own gets plugged into the kitchen counter outlet and has George Foreman’s signature printed on it. If anyone ever wanted to use it, I sure wouldn’t stand in their way.

6 - FLASHING CASH
Seriously? And bait some hoodlum into stealing my wallet? No thank you.

7 - CATCALLING
This is almost funny. I am WAY to tentative about approaching women I’m legitimately interested in, so I can’t imagine just yelling something out at a random woman crossing my path. What’s the end goal for something like this? I don’t get it. Plus I live my life at least trying not to be a giant a-hole. 

8 - BRAGGING ABOUT COMPLETING MINOR PARENTAL DUTIES
Exemption. The only thing related to parenting you’d ever hear me brag about is not being one.

9 - WEARING ATHLETIC SHOES TO WORK
….okay, fine. Guilty. But I have to walk a lot. And through a lot of nasty stuff on the floor. To say nothing of having to supervise recess more days than not. And my feet are almost 50 years old and don’t feel like being jammed into something uncomfortable and stylish. Plus at this point if I tried to wear anything other than athletic shoes at school, several people from a wide range of age groups would make fun of me for the attempt.

10 - ASKING WOMEN IF THEY’RE “UPSET”
I see dozens of women at work each day. I never have to ask if they’re upset because we’re all teachers, and upset is kind of our default state. 

11 - WEARING FEDORAS
Not a once. I mean, can you imagine?

12 - PERFORMING IRONIC ACOUSTIC COVERS OF RAP SONGS
I don’t know any rap song well enough to invest the time it would take to do this. And what kind of hipster doofus uses anything to do with the music someone else loves to create an ironic moment only they and their other hipster doofus friends will enjoy? Come on, everyone. Let’s just think positive and put the music snobbery aside.

13 - DRINKING PROTEIN POWDER
I remember being on a kick of going through a lot of those Carnation Instant Breakfast drinks one spring many years ago. Does that count? Otherwise, I’d so much rather get my protein from far more delicious options. 

14 - POST PHOTOS WITH CRYPTIC, PSEUDO-INSPIRATIONAL HASHTAGS
I’ll admit that sometimes my photo captions might be a little cryptic, but that’s only because I’d rather try to evoke a feeling and share that than say something like “Great time at the beach with the fam!” I don’t do pseudo-inspirational, or even purely inspirational, hashtags, though. 

*15 - ONE-UPPING
I don’t think I do this, but I often worry that I do. I don’t think I’m much of a braggart; in fact, if anything I tend to go the other direction since my sense of humor is often self-deprecating. But you know how when you’re trying to participate in a conversation and you find a connection to whatever the topic is, and you bring that up? I’m not very comfortable with that. I imagine doing that too often would make people think I’m always trying to steer the conversation to be about me. Which is hardly ever the case. 

*16 - ONE-UPPING, THAN WALKING IT BACK.
I do this exact thing SO MUCH LESS than other guys….

Day 8: An Experiment in Predictive Text Storytelling

Have you heard of predictive text? That's when your phone tries to anticipate what words you might be about to type and offers three choices for you as shortcuts. It can be useful, but also hilariously wrong.

I thought I'd try writing a post using the predictive text choices from my phone. I did add a few of my own words and punctuation marks just to stir up the algorithm, but no more than ten. Here's what my phone and I came up with:

I think it's time for me to get out of the house. I'm not sure if anyone else thinks this is a good idea. It feels like a long time coming. 

The only reason I'm going to school is because I'm not having any other plans. I'm so happy for you and your family, and said we are all good for the next year. 

I just woke up from a nap and now I'm watching the game show this morning. I don't think you could have been there for me, but I'm sure you can tell me what she was thinking. 

The only reason why I'm still here attending this is the new book that I've never heard of before. However the new book has been since the beginning, I was just saying that the movie was not quite as good.

Whenever you want to be my best friend and you have all the time to talk with me, you will be my favorite.

Remember that time of year I didn't think would've been the same as my birthday, but she was just like you weren't even here.

If anyone else thinks I'm going to be the one who has a long story to talk about, and then will have the best idea to show, that is not quite enough.

Fighting For the Right Word

I had a memory trigger today while I was writing a post for Middle Grade Minded; it will go live tomorrow if you’d like to read it, and I hope you do. It’s called “Dear Middle Grade Minded: How to Write for Middle Grade.” In this post I tried to answer a question one of our readers sent in, asking about online writing classes we might know about that could help someone learn to write a book. While writing my response, I used one particular word — infested — that I have something of a history with, dating back to my freshman year of college. 

It was the last few weeks of my freshman English class, part of that first battery of seventy or so credits that felt all too much like High School Plus. Most of the class was about writing, so I went into it feeling pretty sure I’d be able to sleepwalk my way to a good grade; try to imagine the insufferable overabundance of confidence I would have been carrying at eighteen years old. When I saw the professor liked to make points about what worked in our writing by reading different examples of student work, I started showing off more than a little to make sure she would bring up my name more than once. (This had a lot to do with my trying way too hard to get a cute redhead named Jennifer sitting three rows away to notice me. Again, eighteen.) My writing did read somewhat frequently, which had as much to do with me as it did with most of the others in the class being business students who planned on having careers where their assistants would do most of their writing for them someday. 

The final paper of the course was a contrast/compare exercise. I chose to write about the two most popular pizza places back in my hometown — Dino’s Pizza and The Pizza Station. My paper clearly favored Dino’s for several reasons, the biggest being it was just beyond the edge of town. This made it next to impossible for junior high kids to get to since they couldn’t drive, while The Pizza Station was only a twenty minute walk away from the high school and whatever home game was going on that weekend. 

In trying to illustrate how much better it was to go out with friends at a restaurant not filled to capacity with loud and obnoxious newly-minted teenagers, I made the creative choice to describe The Pizza Station as being “infested” with junior high kids. Our professor had a significant problem with this. 


“Oh, no,” she said. “‘Infested?’ That’s really not the right word at all.”

“No,” my cocky young self replied. “It really is.”

“Oh, I don’t think you want to use that,” she continued. “Calling a restaurant infested is too negative of an image. It makes it sound like this place is filled with insects.”

At this point, one of the non-traditional students in our class, someone we all kind of looked up to because the guy was a real adult after all, spoke up. “That’s the point he’s making,” he said, gesturing back toward me. “You wanted comparison. He’s telling us that having a pizza joint full of thirteen-year-old kids would be just as bad as having it full of insects.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just don’t see that point at all,” she continued. Her high heels would have been dug into the neutral-colored floor tile if her legs had been strong enough.

Anyway, things ended in a draw, with her strongly encouraging me to find a way to revise the passage and me being convinced it was already perfectly communicating my point. Apparently we both felt very strongly about this, because I left the word in the final draft, and circling it was the only note she left on the paper for me, along with a big red “B” on the top of the first page. One word I wouldn’t budge on, one dropped grade on my final. 

When I decided to use “infested” in my post today, I didn’t hesitate, but I did think back to this exchange. And I felt a tiny bit of smug satisfaction about it. My esteemed professor didn’t like the word, and here I was including it in a post written for a website regularly visited by any number of people in the publishing community. 

I suppose if I got this far, my instincts must occasionally serve me well. So all these years later, I’m just going to say this:  

I was right.

*mic drop*

Another NaNoWriMo Teaser

Night Ranger was a band that, sadly, history has relegated to the discount bin of 80s music. They were consistent hitmakers and released a series of successful albums, but never established themselves as a band with staying power. They’re still around in some form or other now, touring the casinos of America as a legacy band, usually appearing with collections of other bands in different classic rock packages. They’ll occasionally put out albums of new material, which I usually download out of some sense of leftover band loyalty and a hope that they’ll have two or three great songs buried in the track listing for me to discover. Their songs spoke to both what my high school experience was and what I wished it could have been, but here in the new century they’ve been systematically reduced to being thought of as the band responsible for “Sister Christian.” However, they did give me an accidental moment of musical revenge one time, in a way I had not seen coming and never really enjoyed, because it put me in such a fear of parental consequences.

Back in my American Top 40 days (junior high), before I had any kind of a job, I only made enough money with my allowance to buy the occasional package of Star Wars trading cards and never bought music with any kind of exploratory feel. I pretty much had to know exactly what I’d get from an album before I’d even think about spending the $9.99 it would take. Because of this, I, like so many other kids from my generation, solved the problem by making mix tapes of my favorite songs off the radio. And what better source for finding the best songs of the moment than the weekly broadcast of American Top 40? I’d like to think that I would have put this plan together on my own eventually, but I’ll pass on the credit, once again, to my cousins the Carlsons, who made AT40 mix tapes habitually. In fact, I got my first information about the Birds and the Bees from eighth-or-ninth-grade John Carlson while traveling across South Dakota to the Black Hills. We were riding in the back of a camper-topped pick-up truck and listening to an American Top 40 mix tape he had brought along, and my fourth-or-fifth-grade self had asked what the Donna Summer song “Bad Girls” was about.

Listening to American Top 40 wasn’t just a casual experience for me, but usually a mission. I vigilantly paid attention, trying to delve clues from whatever Casey Kasem was saying about a song or an artist as he led into the next spot on the countdown. I mentally kept track of where my favorite songs were from week to week so I could make a fair prediction about when they might appear in the show, in case I still needed to get a recording of them for my collection. The game was to learn Casey’s speech patterns well enough so you could record as much of the song as possible without having to hear him talk over it, which also meant becoming familiar with the fraction of a second lag time between pressing play on the cassette recorder, knowing the best position for holding the tiny little microphone square up to the even tinier radio speaker, and holding my breath for three minutes straight to make sure there wasn’t any ambient noise added to the song. Most of the time it worked out pretty well. Most of the time.

One night I was hidden away in my bedroom having a fairly successful night of recording. The show was nearly over, and the Top 10 was dramatically counting down to one or two songs that had been back and forth between the number one position for weeks. I had a favorite between the two and I wish I could remember what it was — in all likelihood it was either REO Speedwagon or Hall and Oates, since both bands were nearly permanent residents of the Top 40 back then. Finally Casey cut to the chase, revealed the top song, and, since it had been the one I had been rooting for and I knew it was the one and only time during the entire week I could absolutely know for sure it would be played and I could record it, I pressed play and waited for the song to end as my finger rested on the STOP button with the caution of someone trying to defuse a thermonuclear weapon.

The song was half over when my bedroom door flew open. My dad stood there in the doorway with a big grin on his face and cried out in a comically overenthusiastic voice, “WHAT’S NUMBER ONE??” 

My heart stopped.

I calmly pushed the stop button, slowly turned my head to lock eye contact with him and said, in the slowest burn of a voice I had ever dared use with my father before, “I was recording that.”

His eyes opened even wider and he quickly backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him as if that was going to make any difference at that point. Later on I heard from my mother that he had sheepishly walked into the kitchen with kind of a smile on his face and said to her, “Boy, if looks could kill.”

So anyway. Years upon years later I was in high school and had moved on from recording off the radio to buying my own vinyl, and Night Ranger, at that time, represented two titles: Their debut album “Dawn Patrol” — featuring the rock radio staple of the time “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” for the purists out there — and their more successful follow-up “Midnight Madness,” which featured the minor radio hit “You Can Still Rock in America” and the ultimate power ballad of all power ballads, “Sister Christian.”

There was a summer when everything my family did in one way revolved around a community theater production of “The Sound of Music.” Our cousin Sue was playing the lead as Maria, and ended up marrying her leading man Chuck. Erin had a big role in it as one of the Von Trapp children. Jenny had one or two minor roles, just on stage for moments at a time in different costumes, but still a part of the production. Even Dad was involved, playing the role of Baron Elberfeld in one scene, hamming up his one or two lines in what became a signature theatrical voice for him in the years to come as he appeared in a number of other community theater productions. 

After the run ended and the summer was over, VHS copies of the play were made for everyone involved, and of course we had one, carefully labeled to make sure nobody accidentally used the tape to record some movie off cable. Several years later my parents hosted a casual dinner party, reuniting some friends involved with the play to watch it together in our basement. 

Everything was going great. I was patiently sitting through a recording of a play I had sat through at least five times in person when someone suggested a break when we reached the intermission. Since even back then I was the unofficial tech support go-to in the house, I was asked to stop the tape until everyone was ready to continue. I did, and while everyone was out of the room doing whatever adults did upstairs during a VHS intermission in the mid-1980s, I started flipping through channels to see what else was on to watch while waiting for the crowd to reassemble. MTV would have been one of my go-to networks in high school so I went there first, finding a Night Ranger concert! And they were playing Sister Christian! So yeah, I watched it. Which was only part of the mistake.

As things turned out, I didn’t press stop on the VCR. Which didn’t become evident until everyone was back and I had to press play again, only to discover I had just recorded about five minutes of a Night Ranger concert right over the only VHS copy my family had of the play that three of them had been in. Erin didn’t really care. Jenny had probably been more annoyed by her younger brother pulling another idiot move than anything else, and might have even just labeled it as another of the typical idiot moves of which I was so frighteningly proficient.

Upon discovery, my first reaction, because I was in high school, was to try and think of a way I could finesse my way out of what had happened. That reaction didn’t hold though, because I recognized two truths in that moment: (1) I was unequivocally screwed, because my dad had loved everything about being in that play so much and for me to disgrace that artifact with one of those damned rock videos was tantamount to heresy. Even if it was done accidentally, the damage was done. (2) He was going to discover what happened in front of a room full of people he had invited to his house as guests. There simply was never going to be a better time for me to just come clean about what had happened. It was my only out.

I owned up to it, legitimately contrite. Sue’s now husband Chuck tried to lighten the blow by saying the part I’d recorded over had been boring anyway, which got some laughs and diffused the tension enough to watch the rest, which gave Dad the time to calm down before everyone went home. He was still royally pissed about it, but at least I wasn’t being blamed for anything other than a stupid mistake. 

I never saw a connection between these two moments before I sat down to start writing about this, but now I see them as something approaching an almost Karmic parallel. I never would have erased any of the tape intentionally, just as I know Dad hadn’t meant to burst in on my American Top 40 recording session. Neither of us was happy with the end results, but neither of us could blame the other for what had happened. 

So, I suppose what I’m saying as a summative statement is this: 

Dad, I guess we’re even.

The Best Dude, For Real

Ten years ago, my friend Dax and his girlfriend Melissa were knee-deep in plans for their October wedding. Since I live in Minnesota and they lived in Florida at the time, we stayed in touch regularly over the internet, mostly through Apple’s good old iChat application, checking in for an hour or so on most nights. Because of this, I learned about a lot of wedding decisions the same day they were being made. One night Dax was telling me how everything about the order for the bridesmaids and groomsmen was finally in place. The best man was a friend of his who had helped introduce the two of them. Melissa’s sister would be the Matron of Honor, and Melissa’s friend Stacey — the bridesmaid I was to be paired with — would be the Maid of Honor.

“She gets two ‘of Honors?’” I asked, throwing my ignorance about wedding ettiequte out there for the whole world to see. “How does that work?”

“What do you mean?” Dax asked. 

“Well, who wins between those two?”

“What do you mean, who wins?”

You see, I’d never heard of that being done before. I knew what the Matron of Honor was, as well as the Maid of Honor. But out of any number of weddings I had attended before, I couldn’t think of an instance when there had been both a Matron and a Maid.

“Usually there’s just one or the other, isn't there?” I asked. “And she’s having one of each? That’s like you having a Best Man and a Best Dude.”

There was a brief pause in the messaging. Then the reply came through: “You are so going to be my Best Dude.”


I laughed, thinking this would be a running joke we’d have throughout the weekend, one that maybe only a few other people would ever even know about. Then in the following days I heard how Dax had talked to Melissa about having a Best Dude, and how much she liked the idea. Soon after that another update came through, and all four of their parents at least didn’t hate it. Now I was going to be listed as the Best Dude in the wedding program. In what felt like a very small amount of time, my smart-ass quip had taken me from being just the generic groomsman that literally five other people at the entire wedding even knew existed, to the groomsman that must have some kind of intriguing backstory to have merited such a head-scratcher of a title.

Smash cut a few months ahead and I’m off the plane in Orlando, shocked to feel such humidity in late October. I’m soon surrounded by the Disneyfied version of Southern culture, which included a stay at a hotel that, I kid you not, featured a three-story sculpture of cowboy boots about four doors down from my room. The evening was spent meeting the bride for the first time, then playing some Guitar Hero (who remembers the Pretenders "Tattooed Love Boys" from Guitar Hero II? Talk about your ear worms), going out to dinner, and bowling with some of the groomsmen. I got to spend time with Dax’s brother-in-law Matt and soon to be brother-in-law Lee, since we were all coming into the wedding party with different varieties of outsider credentials.

The whole weekend was nonstop, from the rehearsal dinner at an incredible Thai place, to the impromptu backstage round of Name that Tune, to me being physically unable to unroll the runner down the main aisle without messing it up, to the canine ring bearer, and one of my favorite stories illustrating what a ridiculously talented musician Dax is that really is deserving of its own separate post someday. It was a great time, which I was thankful for since I had gone into the experience with a tiny bit of trepidation: How many uncomfortable moments were there going to be for Introverted Me to navigate when I was going to be surrounded almost completely by strangers for an entire weekend? Of course I should have known better; Dax and Melissa would not have anyone but caring and quality people sharing such an important time with them. Everyone welcomed me to the fold as one of their own, which, of course, they should have. 

Because...Best Dude and everything. That kind of says it all.

The Reverse Q & A

Each of the years I’ve done daily May blog posts I’ve always had one day when I wrote a Q&A, when people asked questions about anything and I’d give my best, and sometimes even semi-serious, answers. This year a friend suggested I reverse that, and instead provide my own list of answers ahead of time for people to try finding questions that would match. I wasn’t sure which way to go with this at first, but decided to think of questions I suspect some people might have reasons to ask me. Whether these people ever read my blog or not I can’t say, and I’ll admit to being a little hyperbolic with some of my answers to make them less transparent than they feel. But each of these would be a legitimate answer to a question that someone might want to ask, or one that maybe hadn’t occurred to them to ask. I came up with ten. I’m curious to find out what questions people would match with these, if any responses come in. Let’s play!

*I absolutely would. In a heartbeat. And I probably will someday, maybe soon, if I screw up enough nerve. 

*Most of the time, yes. I admit it’s a luxury that most people would love to experience. But only most of the time. Not always.

*I’m not saying I did everything right, but we are the way we are now largely because of the choices you made. We always felt a little one-sided, until we weren’t even that.

*No. I promise. 

*Yes. And I can’t imagine that you’ve never at least suspected it.

*I probably would, at least sometimes, if I was asked. But being who I am, it’s not ever going to be anything I bring up on my own. I have a hard time inserting myself into situations like that without some reassurance.

*It’s an introvert thing that I can’t really explain in a way that would sound like anything but a cop-out. All I can say is that it would be physically and emotionally painful on a scale that most people couldn’t appreciate.

*I’ll admit it gives me some pause. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why. You’ve got a lot going on. But seriously, how hard would it be? And isn't it the way things are supposed to be anyway?

*Because it feels as much like home as any home I’ve ever had, and more than some.

*I honestly don’t know if I ever will.




There they are. Who’s got the questions?

Another Birthday Horoscope

It’s time for the annual “Your birthday today” horoscope review! I have to admit I haven’t been paying much attention to the daily horoscopes as of late. I think it has something to do with the fifteen minutes I’d had to spend one morning working to convince my fourth graders that astrology isn’t an actual science, evidenced by how the horoscopes are relegated to the same page of the newspaper as the Sudoku puzzle.

Here’s what Prognosticator Holiday Mathis told me to expect last year:

"The next three months bring opportunities that seem straight from a sample sale -- odd shapes, colors, and sizes -- a creative challenge with fantastically lucky results. Couples will adventure in June and intertwine business to lucrative effect in September. Singles aiming to fulfill a business agenda accidentally catch feelings. Leo and Aries adore you. Your lucky numbers are: 4, 17, 22, 38, and 45.”

I’m not sure what creative challenge I had to face this past year, other than spending months planning out a manuscript and then proceeding to burn it to the ground, which I wouldn’t describe as a fantastically lucky result. I don’t remember catching a lot of feelings, though I did have a pretty relentless chest cold last winter, which didn’t feel great. And who knows what happened to all of those Leo and Aries folk.

Let’s take a look at what I have in store for the coming 365:

Your success secret: big aims and small plans (very growth mindset of you, Holiday). There’s a sense of forward movement through the entire solar return; (why do I care about the entire solar return? This is supposed to be about me) progress in any area brings you forward in others, even if it’s not immediately apparent (so basically as long as I do anything right, I can do no wrong). July and September will bring financial gains you can reinvest for a bigger payoff in December (sure they will). Libra and Taurus adore you (hey there, Libras and Tauruses: How you doin'?). Your lucky numbers are: 6, 45, 20, 19, and 38 (okay, this is now a second year for 38 being one of my birthday lucky numbers, and a THIRD STRAIGHT YEAR for 45! Seriously — 45?! Consider for a moment how ironic that is).

Okay. Let’s get this year started and see what the future actually has in store.

The One Week Challenge

Last May I wrote a post describing my experience with downloading a meditation app and using it for the ten free trial days. It was an interesting experiment but wasn't something that ultimately stuck for me. Thinking back to that makes me wonder if I shouldn't give it another try; it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for someone working through the stress of the last month of the school year to pause and take ten minutes each day to reach for some calm centering.

Maybe I'll get to that someday, but I try to avoid redundancies in my blog post topics so I wouldn't write about it again. I liked the idea, though -- taking on a short-term challenge just for the experience of changing things up a little.

I know this is going up on a Saturday and it's been really nice outside, so there's no telling how many people will even see this post. But all the same: If I were going to take on a similar challenge this year, does anyone have ideas or suggestions I could try taking on for a week long challenge? Some change in routine, or something new and different to experience? I like the idea of going with suggestions since I think that could nudge me further out of my comfort zone.

If you have ideas, let's try to stay away from the predictable. I feel like I'm more apt to go with something that I probably wouldn't think to try on my own. I'd really like to do this, but I feel like I'd need a nice collection of ideas to pick from. 

On a somewhat related note, does anyone have recommendations when it comes to artists who produce electronic dance music? Asking for a friend....

Day 27: The End of the School Year Playlist

I am so very happy to report tonight that the terribly long run of consecutive school days reaching from the middle of March until Memorial Day weekend is at an end. I know many non-education would read that and think, "Oh, cry me a river, teachers. I have to work 5 days a week all year long." Fair point. But a typical response I might offer that argument in the real world would likely be, "True. But you don't do this."

The last day of school for the students is now a mere two weeks away. The teachers still have to come back for one more work day after that (on a Monday this year, no less) to take care of some final organizational business and packing and so on. But I'm okay with that. That last non-student work day has a different feel to it. Personally, I love those days. The pace is slower, you see your friends more, and unless you're the kind of person who puts things off until the very last minute and are caught up in a panic scramble, the day just has a lower stress level.

One of my favorite things about those non-student days are how I get to play music in my room, all day long. In fact, I get so excited about this that I'll make a project out of creating a playlist for the day, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you it's a full-fledged project. I put a lot of work into constructing any of the playlists I make, regardless of their purposes, but I easily put the most thought and effort into the ones I make for the last day of school. 

If music is going to provide any kind of soundtrack to effectively mirror what's happening emotionally that day, the songs need to be chosen carefully. Obviously there has to be a good share of a celebratory tone. The last day of work before getting the next seventy-six days off is absolutely cause for celebration, so a lot of the songs need the energy to reflect that. However, it's often bittersweet to see students growing up and becoming former students, so there needs to be a few songs in the mix that offer a chance to reflect on that as well. On top of that, this year my school is experiencing an unusual number of changes in the staff, so that element of bittersweet is going to be even more pronounced as a lot of people who have become close friends will essentially be saying goodbye that day. As we all know though, every goodbye also leads to some kind of new beginning, so that hopeful optimism of facing whatever the future holds in store also crawls into the tone of some songs. 

I know I won't be sitting in my classroom the entire time listening to every song that comes up, so I don't plan the playlist length down to the very number of minutes I know I'll spend at school that day -- that'd just be crazy, wouldn't it? Instead I'll figure out the number of minutes I expect to be there, basing that count on what time I figure I'll arrive and when I think I'll be done and able to leave, and then I'll add an hour on top of that, just to guarantee there will be some surprise in which songs come up in the shuffle. That's perfectly normal. Right?

After I decide on the number of minutes I'm working with, I'll scan though the music library and start looking for candidates. I have a few perennial favorites that have last-day emotion imprinted on them. I know I'll need a few that would sound great in the car with the windows rolled down. There have to be some classic rock standards that might launch someone into a quick dance break if they step into my room at the right time. I always need to add a few of my current favorites in as well, just to help me place the time I'm living in and remind me that yes, it is indeed the beginning of summer break, and there is a whole wide world of possibility and promise and adventure stretched out in front of me. Or at least seventy-six days worth of it. 

But tonight is a Friday after a long week and a long ten weeks, so I think I'll wait until tomorrow to get started. But hey, if anyone at school wants to check out the results -- you'll know where to find me!

Day 26: Tales from the Big Desk

I tend to get reflective about teaching as the school year begins drawing to a close. As I was thinking about topics to write about here for the end of this year, I began browsing through older school-related posts, to try and stay away from writing about any themes I've covered before. I noticed most of my teacher posts had gone up either close to the beginning or the end of the school year. 

Since several of my teacher friends are 'Summer Vacation' readers and they enjoy the school posts, I've collected ten of my favorites here. You may have missed some of these the first time around since some go back a few years, but now, if you like reading the funny or thoughtful or inspiring posts about school life, you might connect with something here. Click the title of the post if you'd like to read more. 

In chronological order: 

Like vs. Love vs. Pity vs. Hate - May 25, 2010

This was about how you can have so many mixed feelings for your students, and regardless of how frustrated and angry they can make you, it's impossible to hate them.

Snowpants in June, or the Last Day of School - June 9, 2011

A glimpse into the carnival of chaos that makes up the last day. 

Episode 4: Paying Back Karma - July 22, 2011

From a series of posts when I was reflecting on the events in my life that influenced the direction of my teaching, and when my 6th grade teacher taught me about second chances.

Just Got Back - Sept. 11, 2011

Some detailed and telling reflections on the beginning of the school year. 

Graduation Day, Part 2 - June 4, 2012

Based on the reactions there were to it, one of the most emotionally charged I've written, telling the story of when I went to my nephew's high school graduation and had some incredible surprises.

My Life as a Talk Show Host - March 28, 2013

In which I made comparisons between the structures of late night talk shows and a typical day at school. 

Day 6: Human Sudoku - May 6, 2013

From my first year of May posts, when I gave a glimpse into how much thought has to go into effective seating charts, which also shows how much thought has to go into some of the smallest points of the school day just to make everything work. 

Day 29: Planting the Seeds - May 29, 2013

Reflecting on responsibilities of teaching, how difficult they are, how important they are, and how unfortunately open-ended the results can be.

The Compendium of 5th Grade Zen - June 8, 2014

All the Zen moments started in 5th grade. Some of my favorites came from those years. Here was a list of them all on what was, at the time, my last day as a 5th grade teacher. 

Everything You Need to Know About Teaching 3rd Grade - Sept. 4, 2014

If you've ever worked with 8-year-olds, you'll recognize so much of this as true. 

If you've got some time tonight or over the long Memorial Day weekend (which is promising lousy weather, at least in these parts), come on back and give some of these a look!

Day 9: Rebooting the Fridge for 2016

Even though today was a stupid day with all the rain and the wind and none of the more than 80º temperatures we saw over this past glorious weekend, I'm still enjoying the fact that we're here in May and summer vacation is getting closer with each passing day. I have a few plans in mind for how to spend vacation this year (which reminds me, I gotta start pricing some airfares). Definitely one thing I'll be doing, just like I did last year, is turning my refrigerator into one big experiential to-do list of vacation bliss. 

First, a reminder of what I had going on last year: 

Here you see my fridge covered in sticky notes in my unremarkable kitchen. By all means, feel free to spend a few idle moments taking in the beauty of it all. 

This turned out to be a pretty good idea: Come up with a fairly ambitious list of things to do over the summer and write each thing on a sticky note. Some of the sticky note ideas were there to add fun adventures into the routine of summer, some were to meant to expand my boundaries in some manner, and some were there just as to-do list items that I wanted accomplished over the summer because they really needed to be done and I tend to procrastinate a lot of things like that during the school year. I was pretty happy with the results of this experiment by the end of the summer, but of course once I decided to do it again for this year there were going to be a few things I'd want to do differently.

*Last year the colors indicated different categories of tasks or adventures. I'll keep to that idea again, but I'm already thinking up a new set of categories. 

*Too many of my notes listed "safe" adventures -- things that would be easy to reach because they didn't require much effort and didn't challenge me to step too far out of my comfort zone. I think I need more challenge this year to really make this project worthwhile.

*I had a disproportionate amount of notes on the fridge that listed jobs that needed to be done, like a real to-do list. This sucked a lot of fun out of the whole endeavor. I still think I need to include some things like that on the list, but I have to come up with some acceptable ratio to keep it more about the fun. 

*It felt very satisfying to peel a note off once I had accomplished that goal. When I did that, I'd just crumple them up and throw them away. This time I think I'm going to save them all somewhere, just as a record of what I actually managed to get done by the end of the summer. 

Since May isn't even half over yet, it might seem somewhat early to start thinking about this, but I'm pretty serious about planning things out in advance to get the most out of them. Because of this, I'm going to start working on categories, deciding on colors to assign, and even come up with a rough beginning list of the things I'd like to accomplish. 

And if anyone has any suggestions of things for me to add, I'm all ears. How far do you think you can get me to step out of that summertime comfort zone??

Cinnamon 2: The Cinnamoning, Part 2

DAY 9

I went to a movie this afternoon and came home to a mostly darkened house. 

"Um, heh heh heh, little help here?" Cinnamon said, dangling from the ceiling from a string of decorative lights I'd recently bought. 

"Were you trying to decorate?" I asked, offering no assistance. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the sight a little. 

"No, I was just...well, it's not important what I was doing," he started, evasively. "Then out of nowhere I was knocked over the head, just clobbered by something really hard and sharp. I woke up like this about an hour ago. I'm getting a little tired of hanging like this. I'm sure all the blood would have rushed to my head by now, if I had any."

"I thought you told me things had been smoothed over with the Guild," I said. I couldn't resist taunting him some. "Sounds to me like someone isn't very happy with you."

"They are, I swear," he said. "This wasn't them. If they had sent a message like this, they wouldn't have been mysterious about who was behind it. This was something different. Can I please get down now?"

"I don't know," I said, putting my teacher voice to use as I walked away. "Can you?"


DAY 10

"You have to see this!" that brain-piercing voice called out. "I finished my book!" 

"Really. In just a matter of days, huh?" I asked. "That was...ambitious...of you."

He held it up as I entered the room. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure that's going to work out the way you want," I said.

DAY 11

I'm dead tired after a long day at work. When I get home, I eventually sit down to check if there's anything other than ads about big sales in my e-mail. I find Cinnamon perched expectantly on my desk.

"Surprise!" he shouts. "I know how much you despise Mondays and how depressed you get this time of year, so I put together a nice candy dish for you as a welcome home treat! Go ahead and dig in!"

I can't tell if he's that stupid or he thinks I am. I let go of a deep sigh. "No thanks," I said. "I think I'll pass."

DAY 12

This sight? Not what you want to see right when you wake up. I don't even own this many Legos. I'm pretty sure this many legos wouldn't fit in my sad little toy chest. t carefully navigated the hallway and grabbed Cinnamon by his legs, yanking him from the pile where he'd been stuck, half buried.

"What's the big idea?" I demanded.

"It wasn't me!" he squawked after catching his breath. "I don't know what's going on!"

DAY 13

The TV was on when I got home tonight.

"I've been watching the news," Cinnamon said. "What do you know about this guy? He's been on all day long. He's got some interesting ideas. He sort of reminds me of some of the others back in the Guild." 

DAY 14

I'm just trying to sit down for a peaceful night and watch the Minnesota Vikings/Arizona Cardinals game when, out of nowhere, Cinnamon pops up right in front of the television like an eight-year-old who needs glasses (something with which I have experience from my own turn as an eight-year-old).

"Whoa! Who is THAT?!" he practically barks when the camera briefly pans along the sidelines.

"Get your fool head out of the way!" I tell him. "I'm trying to watch the game!" 

"Yowza! I can see why. So seriously, who is she?"

"She's a cheerleader, and she's cheering for the wrong team. She actually has very little to do with the game."

"So why do they put her on TV?"

"Well...you know what, I'd rather just watch the game than try to explain the sociological role of NFL cheerleaders in 21st Century America to someone as stupid as you are. Something tells me you aren't paying much attention right now anyway. Just get out of the way and shut up."

"She's going to be back on again though, right? Because I'll watch this game thing if she's going to be back on."

I thought back to last year, and the events that nearly led Cinnamon willingly to his own dismemberment and painful death, and said, "You really do kind of have a 'type,' don't you?"


DAY 15

For once things were quiet when I got home. I was ready for a quiet evening of recharging after a long week when I heard a struggle, followed by a rapid series of clicks and snaps, and then a quiet so sudden and full the house could barely contain it. 

"Ahem." The ridiculous dentist-drill voice clearing its throat sounded just like chewing on aluminum foil would feel, if not worse. "A little help here?"

I stepped around the love seat and saw Cinnamon, restrained, with a freakish little creature looming above him.

As soon as my shadow accidentally blocked the lamp light, the creature looked my way, gave its tiny weapon a menacing shake, and hopped away into the darkness.

"Just in time," he said. "You think you can, you know, get me out of here?" 

"Nah, I think your good for now," I said, sitting back down. "Just try to relax. And let me know if that thing shows up again."

DAY 16

The twerp hacked my Facebook account while I THOUGHT my phone was charging. I suppose I should feel lucky that he didn't cause any more damage than he did. Sorry for any confusion.

Cinnamon 2: The Cinnamoning, Part 1

DAY 1

It had been a quiet Thanksgiving this year, but a good one all the same. Dinner at my parents' house, dessert at my cousin's, and an uneventful drive home afterward. I watched one of the streamed episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 off the Apple TV, then went to bed.

I thought I'd turned off my alarm before going to bed. In fact, I was sure I had the night before. Still it blared to life and startled me awake. I reached over to slap at it when it went off this morning, turned on the lamp, and...

"GAHH!! YOU AGAIN?!"

"Hey dude, how ya been?" he squeaked. "It's good to see you, too!" Clavicus Hrothgar, a.k.a. Cinnamon, the same pain-in-the-butt elven sprite who had invaded my house during the holiday season last year, taking on the troubling appearance of one of those insipid "Elf on the Shelf" figures. I'd forgotten about that awful helium-on-helium voice of his. 

"I thought you were dead," I said, unconcerned that my disappointment was all too evident. The last I had seen of him was just a scrap of red felt on my front step on Christmas morning after he had escaped being nearly tortured to death. "How did you escape your enemies from the Guild last year?"

"Oh, that?" He laughed, waving it off. "That's all...yeah, everything's...you know, heh heh heh, don't worry about it. All in the past. We have more important things to discuss."

"We really don't," I said, turning off the lamp and rolling over.

"Oh, but I've got plans! And I think you're just the person to help me!" Then he paused. "But first, have you seen my hat anywhere?" 

I had, actually. I'd found something that had looked all too much like his hat in my driveway weeks before. I had hoped it wasn't what I thought it was, but when I tried to light it on fire and nothing happened, I was concerned. 

DAY 2

I had family over last night for some post-Thanksgiving good times and had the house back to its original state by the time I went to bed. I found this scene in the living room the following morning. 

“What ARE these things?" he said from a scattering of Lego blocks. "They’re awesome!”Yes, I'll admit it: I have a chest in my house full of toys, in case any friends of mine bring their kids over. 

“You’re an elf. And you’ve never seen Legos before.”

“Legos? HA! That’s a weird name.”

“Yeah, sure…Cinnamon. How did you even find those?”

“Um…remember that little kid that was here last night? And you got these out of that chest for him? And he was playing with them while that other little kid was running around everywhere? Yeah. He must have left them out.”

“No, actually, that little kid’s dad put them all away when they left. So….”

“Well, I don’t know what happened then. They got out somehow. I found them like this."

“Sure. Because Legos habitually throw themselves all over the house.”

He paused. “It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?"

I unceremoniously tossed him into the other room and began picking up the blocks. Funny thing was, I didn't recognize all of the ones he had out. I only had a few small sets, and even though it's been years since they had been taken out of the chest -- until the night before, at least -- I knew what the sets were like. Maybe I just thought I did. 

DAY 3

At least I didn't have to go outside to get the newspaper today. Cinnamon already had it spread out all over the kitchen, with sections on the table, the counter, and the floor. It looked like I was preparing to house-train a collection of birds. 

"This!" he squeaks. "This whole Elf on the Shelf thing! This is what I was talking about! It's all about branding! Do you have any idea how much cash these chumps are raking in on this racket? I know that girl in the ad! She isn't anywhere as friendly as innocent as she looks here! We need to get in on this action!"

"Aren't you already a part of that?" I asked. 

"I was," he said, sounding disgustingly pitiful. "Not anymore, though. After all that drama last year, with me almost being sliced into small pieces, which was really more than just a huge misunderstanding on their part, by the way, I had to sign away my likeness rights during negotiations with the Guild to get them off my back. But I made sure there was a contractual loophole that would allow me to still ride the wave of this fad. I don't need those other clowns. I want to start from scratch and brand MYSELF. I could be the Grand Emperor of Pinterest in less than a week."

He showed me this ad. "See that book? Kids love storybooks, right? And this time of year their parents will buy them practically anything! That's our gateway! That's where we start! Draw a few sketches, think up some rhymes, and boom! Done! How hard can it be? I could have it all done by dinner time!"

"I heard a 'we' in there."

"Oh heck yeah, I'll cut you in! I'll handle the creative, you set things up on the business end. Do you know anyone who can hook us up with a publisher? Anyone with industry contacts?"

"No," I answered quickly. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

"Shoot," he said. "That's all right, I guess. I can't believe getting a book published involves more than making a few phone calls. I'm sure I'll think of something. Why don't you make me some eggs now that you're finally out of bed?"

DAY 4

I feel slightly at peace after driving through the first heavy flakes of the approaching storm on my way home. I walk in the house to find one lamp on, with Cinnamon sitting beside a closely-guarded remote control. 

"A Charlie Brown Chistmas, 50th anniversary," he says. "We're watching it. End of discussion."

I kick off my shoes and sit in the recliner on the other side of the table, taking the remote out of his reach. "You know what?" I say. "I'm perfectly fine with that."

DAY 5

"Check it," he says. "I found more! These are awesome!" He was sitting in an even larger pile of Legos. So many were scattered so far around the carpeting I was sure he had upended the toy chest and dumped out every piece I own. I was furious.

"Okay, A, there were no kids here last night for you to blame," I started. "And B, I'm not even sure there's even room for that many Legos in my toy chest. And C -- you are totally picking those up."

"Yeah, yeah, fine. No problemo. You have to go off to whatever 'school' is anyway, don't you? Don't worry your balding little head about it. I have everything under control."

After so many years as a teacher, I have a pretty strong sixth sense about when I'm being lied to.

DAY 6

I forgot my iPad at home this morning when I went to school. Bad idea, and not just because if left me without all of my terribly valuable spreadsheets. 

"I've been thinking about branding ideas today," he said. "I figure once my book comes out, I'll have to be prepared for a lot of appearances and signings. That's what writers do, right? Plan for stuff like that? I've seen you sit for hours doing nothing but practicing your autograph. That's some impressive focus you have."

I felt my face turn red. "You what?! When did you...I never...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hey, whatevs, it's all good. So what do you think of mine?" He held up the iPad to show me the screen. "I figure since you didn't need this today I might as well practice on a touch screen. That way we both aren't wasting reams of paper practicing autographs, am I right?"

"Shut up," I said, looking it over. "Who's Michelle?" I asked, cautiously. "A new friend of yours? You didn't invited anyone in last night, did you?"

He laughed out loud and my right ear began bleeding a little. "Oh no! I learned my lesson after last year. It's just some random name that came to me. Gotta be ready for everyone, right?"

DAY 7

I woke to a sound more startling than my alarm, something between laughter and a growing cry of distress.

"Stop, stop, really! It doesn't tickle now! This isn't fun anymore!" 

A scream of pain broke through the morning darkness. I got out of bed and hurried to the living room, turning on lights along my way. I saw that wherever Cinnamon spends the night while I'm sleeping, he must not concern himself with hiding very well.

"Help!" he shrieked as the lights came on. My parents' dogs had found him. Shamus had Cinnamon pegged as the unwelcome guest he is, while Butch watched with semi-curiosity, as is his usual way.

I felt a moment of pride at the scene before finally calling Shamus away -- not for Cinnamon's sake really, but because Shamus has such a sensitive little tummy, and there's no telling what might happen with bits of elf in his system. I led the dogs into the kitchen and gave them each a well-earned treat instead. By the time I walked back into the living room, Cinnamon had crawled away to hide somewhere. 

DAY 8

The house smelled amazing when I got home, but my heart raced into a panic when I realized there was a lit candle burning in the kitchen. Did I actually light a candle before going in to school and forgot about it? I'd never done that before. Seeing who sat beside it only made the situation worse. 

"Could you please never again use matches in my home, ever?!" I yelled. "Unless you're curious about discovering how fireproof your stupid elf suit is?"

"You're failing to see the big picture," he replied, shaking his head in the most condescending manner. "See? I bought this today! It has my name right on the label! Plus 'sparkling,' which perfectly describes me! This is exactly the kind of branding I've been looking for!"

"I don't think the company had you in mind when they made that," I said. 

He considered that for a moment. "Okay. Well, how about this then? We get them to put my face right on the label, instead of that pile of firewood-looking stuff, whatever that is! They could probably do that, right?"

"No," I said quickly. "I'm sure that would be impossible."

"Hmm, really? Oh well. It still smells nice. By the way, I had to use your credit card to pay for it. I hope that's cool. Plus I don't remember where I left it. I mean, I think I brought it back from the store, but I can't say that with 100% confidence. But you have a really colorful card, so I'm sure it will be easy for you to spot, especially if I dropped it on the ground somewhere.

I shook my head, blew out the candle, walked into the living room and collapsed face-first onto the sofa, just long enough to catch my breath. Then I got back up, walked into the office, and looked up the number of my credit card company.