November 23: After Tea, P.O.E.T.S. Day, Chocolate Potluck

After tea, they had some music.  For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sang a Glee or Catch.  I can assure you:  especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it.

One of my favorite sections of A Christmas Carol concerns the party at Scrooge's nephew Fred's house.  Fred jokes about his uncle, about his wife's cooking, about his inability to tell a story.  He laughs at everything, especially himself.  Fred would be the character from this novel voted most likely to play beer pong.

I like Fred.  I aspire to be like Fred--affable and friendly with everyone.  I don't like being angry.  I prefer to overlook flaws of character or moments of asshole-ness.  I like laughing, even if it's at my own expense.  And I like being around people.

This P.O.E.T.S. Day, the day after Thanksgiving, I participated in our eleventh annual Chocolate Potluck.  There are basically only two people who work on Black Friday in the Medical Center--myself and a guy from I.T.  We have worked together on this day for over ten years.  And we are both chocolate lovers.  Eleven years ago, we decided to bring chocolate products to work.  A lot of chocolate products.  Dove and Godiva and Ghiradelli and Hershey.  White fudge Oreos.  Chocolate-covered cherries and raspberries.  Our selection has expanded and improved each year.

This year was no different.  Although a snowstorm was raging outside, we were inside, stuffing our faces to celebrate the commencement of the yuletide season.  I felt like Fred, welcoming guests and telling embarrassing stories and listening to Christmas music on my computer.  Bing Crosby has been at every Chocolate Potluck we've had.  He doesn't eat much, and he's a great baritone.

The Christmas holidays are upon us.  Saint Marty has the leftovers at work to prove it.  On Monday morning, he will rummage through the chocolate box, eat a Hershey Bell or peanut butter M&M, and think of Fred and his group of friends.  Maybe Saint Marty will sing a Glee or Catch, whatever the hell they are.

This puts a jingle in my bells

October 17: Do Go On, Ridiculous Fellow, Presidential Debate

"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands.  "He never finishes what he begins to say!  He is such a ridiculous fellow!"

Scrooge's niece is referring to her husband, Fred, in the above piece of dialogue.  She could have been reviewing the U. S. presidential debate last night.

Now, anybody who reads this blog consistently knows that I am not a big fan of Republicans.  I can't afford to be.  Thus, take my comments and jokes here with a grain of salt, piece of lime, and some tequila.

That being said, I can't see how any viewer of the debate last night could seriously consider Mitt Romney as a viable candidate for President of the United States.  Despite what he says about being a businessperson his whole life, Romney is a political animal.  Has been since his birth.  His father was governor of Michigan.  Mitt ran for Ted Kennedy's senate seat, served as governor of Massachusetts, and has run twice for President of the United States.  If you're keeping score, that's four political offices good ol' Mitt has campaigned for and/or won.  President Obama served three terms in the Illinois senate, ran for the House of Representatives in 2000 (and lost), got elected to the U.S. Senate in 2004, and got elected President of the United States in 2008.  If you're keeping score, that's four political offices Mr. Obama has campaigned for and/or won.  Mitt is just as much a career politician as President Obama, if not more.  Neither of Mr. Obama's parents held any political office.  Mitt Romney was raised on politics.

OK, that's my rant for this morning.  Mitt Romney is a ridiculous fellow.  If he were honest, he would admit that he is a political creature.  He would say that he's wanted to be President of the United States since he saw the cool limo and airplane that came along with the job.  He wants guys with guns and ear pieces protecting him.  He wants an oval office.

Saint Marty just hopes Mitt Romney has to build his own oval office come November.  He could put it on the top floor of his car elevator.

I'm not stupid, Mr. Career Politician

August 13: Last Day, Poetry Book, "Carol" Dip

Today is the last day of my vacation.  I have a few things planned.  As soon as I'm done typing this post, I'm going for a run.  Then, I'm going to take my kids swimming at a local pool.  This afternoon, I'm taking my daughter to see the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie.  It's going to be a daddy-daughter date.  With lots of buttered popcorn.

I'm not going to spend a lot of time searching around for some other topic to expound upon in this post.  I do have a question for Carol dip Monday.  It's a question that's been on my mind since last Friday, when I got the news about the poetry competition.  My question for the great book of Dickens is:

Will I get my new  book of poems published this year?

And the answer from Chuck is:

My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it...

So, it's a done deal.  Scrooge's nephew Fred knows it.  The Ghost of Christmas Present knows it.

And now Saint Marty knows it, too:  my book will be published.

...at least for one more day

April 26: Scrooge's Nephew, Good-Humour, Book Club

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him too.  Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour.  When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way:  holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions:  Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he.  And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out, lustily.

If you have been reading my year-long foray into A Christmas Carol regularly, you already know of my affection for Scrooge's nephew, Fred.  You know that I appreciate Fred's ability to put his uncle's misanthropy into perspective.  Fred is one of the few characters in the entire book who can get the better of Scrooge in speech and action.  And he does it with laughter and "good-humour."  Fred is just a great guy.  The life of the party.  He's the one person everyone looks forward to seeing, all the time.

Tonight is the monthly meeting of my book club.  At 7 p.m., my friends and relatives will descend upon my abode to eat and drink and talk about this month's read.  It's always a good time, and while I don't think I'm quite as genial a host as Fred, I do enjoy laughing and eating with people I love.  Throw a good book on top of all that, and there's nothing better.

This month's book was a collection of poetry (in honor of National Poetry Month).  We read Still Life in Milford by Thomas Lynch.  I saw Mr. Lynch read at the university about twelve years ago.  He was engaging and funny.  He writes my kind of poetry--full of image and narrative.  None of this language crap that's so much in vogue these days. 

Lynch also wrote one of my favorite books of non-fiction called The Undertaking.  It's a collection of essays about his life-s profession.  Thomas Lynch is, by trade, an undertaker.  Still is.  So there are many reasons why I like the man.  He doesn't live in the ivory tower of academia.  He's in the middle of life's messes, comforting the bereaved, making grief natural and, at times, beautiful.

It should be a really good night.  I'm feeling slightly better.  The food's going to be delicious.  The company's going to be lovely.  And the book's going to be great to discuss.

Saint Marty may not be Scrooge's nephew, Fred, but he knows how to show people a good time.



He looks like an undertaker, doesn't he?



February 5: Good-Humour, Super Bowl, New Cartoon

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour.  When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way:  holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions:  Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he.  And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out, lustily.

Fred, Scrooge's nephew, is one of my favorite characters in A Christmas Carol.  I love him because he knows how to throw a good party.  His friends seem good-natured, and Fred's wife--while a little bit of a drip--doesn't hold her husband back.  Fred knows how to make people laugh and have a good time.

My wife and I used to have get-togethers with friends all the time.  Any occasion was an excuse to have a party.  Oscars.  Emmy Awards.  Tony Awards.  SAG Awards.  Golden Globes.  Olympic Opening/Closing Ceremonies.  New Year's Eve.  Ground Hog Day.  Pulitzer Prize Announcements.  Yom Kippur.  Whatever.  Any reason to have a party.  I even had people over for the Super Bowl, and I don't give a rat's ass about football.  (Really, the Super Bowl is all about the commercials, half-time show, and food.)  We always had a really good time, no matter what event we were celebrating. 

In some ways, I think Scrooge's nephew and I have a lot in common.  Fred doesn't give a crap what his friends and wife are laughing at, as long as they're laughing.  He just wants to have a good time.

Kids kind of put in crimp in a person's lifestyle.  And some of our friends have moved away.  Some have had children of their own.  Some work midnight shifts.  I still get together with family for the Academy Awards.  We still have a New Year's Eve party (although we don't stay up quite as late as we used to).  However, the Golden Globes, the SAGs, the Grammys are pretty much a quiet, stay-at-home kind of affair.  My daughter, who's eleven, is old enough to join in the fun now.  In the last few weekends, we've watched quite a few awards shows together.  But, it's not the same.

Tonight is the Super Bowl.  Americans across the country will be consuming Doritos, hot dogs, jalapeno poppers, pizzas, and thousands of gallons of chili.  At our house, we'll be watching the commercials.  We'll be eating Scoop Fritos and cheese.  We'll be waiting for Madonna to start gyrating.  We won't be watching any football.  While the game is on, I'll be reading Ovid's Metamorphoses and playing Words With Friends.  I'll probably fall asleep by ten o'clock.

Saint Marty isn't quite the party animal he used to be.

Confessions of Saint Marty