Festivus 101

This time of year, many of our thoughts turn to family and friends. And all the ways they have disappointed us over the past year. Yes, faithful readers, Festivus is just around the corner. So get the pole out of the crawlspace and begin preparing your list of grievances.

I am planning on hosting my second annual Festivus at Bone’s celebration this year. Details are still being worked out by my assistant, Darren.

To tide you over, today I’m bringing back something I originally posted a couple of years ago. For you newcomers, hopefully it will explain some of the traditions and history behind this wonderful holiday. And for the rest of us (get it?), consider it a quick refresher course. It’s all part of my neverending quest to be the #1 blog for all things Festivus.

Have a great weekend. And remember, just fifteen days until Festivus!

Early days
The holiday of Festivus can trace it’s beginnings back to 1997, and “The Strike” episode of Seinfeld. The founder of Festivus is Frank Costanza. The Queens, New York, resident had become fed up with all the commercial and religious aspects of Christmas.

Let’s hear how it all began in Frank’s own words: “Many Christmases ago, I went to buy a doll for my son. I reach for the last one they had, but so did another man. As I rained blows opon him, I realized there had to be another way! The doll was destroyed. But out of that, a new holiday was born, A Festivus For The Rest Of Us!”

Although not required, you may choose to have someone recite this most famous of all quotes before beginning your Festivus celebration. Since those early days, I daresay tens upon tens of Seinfeld fans have begun celebrating Festivus each year. Now let’s look at some Festivus traditions.

The Aluminum Pole
One of the most common questions I get about Festivus is, “Is there a tree?” The answer is no. Instead of a tree, all you need for Festivus is an aluminum pole. It requires no decoration, as the founder of Festivus found tinsel distracting.

Unlike a heavily decorated, lighted tree, the pole will not take away from the real meaning and other aspects of the holiday. Aluminum was chosen because of it’s very high strength-to-weight ratio.

The Festivus Pole should be placed in clear view of everyone taking part in the Festivus celebration. Another part of the genius in choosing an aluminum pole is that it’s very easy to take down, and may be kept in a crawl space or some other small out-of-the-way storage area.

The Airing of Grievances
Again, in the words of our founder, Frank Costanza: “Welcome, newcomers. The tradition of Festivus begins with the airing of grievances. I got a lot of problems with you people! And now you’re gonna hear about it!”

Once everyone is seated for the Festivus Dinner, it’s time to tell your family (and other guests) all the ways they have disappointed you over the past year. This is known as the “airing of grievances.” It’s an integral part of the holiday. Maybe the most integral.

Each person should have an opportunity to voice any gripes, complaints, or problems they have with any other person present at the dinner. Traditionally, the airing of grievances begins with the host or head of household.

The Festivus Dinner
After everyone has had an opportunity to air their grievances, it is likely that no one will be speaking to each other for awhile. This is the perfect time to enjoy your Festivus Dinner in peace.

The Festivus Dinner may be composed of anything. Many suggest non-traditional holiday foods, such as spaghetti, meatloaf, or pizza.

The Feats of Strength
Once everyone has eaten, it’s time for the finale of the Festivus celebration, the “feats of strength.” This is a physical contest between two people.

Traditionally, the head of household will choose someone at the dinner for the honor of taking part in the feats of strength. Those two will then engage in a phsycial battle, described by some as a primitive form of wrestling. Festivus is not over until the head of household has been pinned.

Some neo-Fesivites have altered the rules to allow any two people at the Festivus dinner to take part in the “feats of strength.” This is OK, as long as two basic rules are adhered to. (1)Two, and only two, persons should participate in the feats of strength. (Otherwise, everyone is fighting, and there is mayhem. And mayhem has no part in Festivus.) (2)Festivus is not over until someone is pinned.

Other info
Festivus is traditionally celebrated on December 23rd. However, since at it’s core, Festivus is dissident and unconventional, it may be celebrated on any day. After all, it’s not about giving reverence to a particular day. It’s about… well, I’m not sure what it’s about. But here’s hoping you have the best Festivus ever, and may you come out on top in the Feats of Strength.

“It was back when I’d still get things from Santa Claus. Back when he believed in me and overlooked the flaws, that can grow inside until it hides the perfect little boy inside the man…”

3WW #13

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Snow
Red
Curb

When she talked about it snowing, her eyes would change. They became brilliant. Glowing. Alive. It was as if she were a child again, and all the hope and excitement and innocence of those years had magically returned. When teddy bears could talk and the real world was a million miles away.

If the word snow was even mentioned in the forecast, she’d be giddy. But, of course, the snow never came. It rarely did here.

She handed me her Christmas list. There was one item on it.

“Will you please give me some ideas of what to get you?”
“I did! You asked me what I want for Christmas and that’s all I want.”

I just shook my head and rolled my eyes.

Over the next couple of weeks, I pored over the usual gifts. Jewelry, perfume, clothes. Nothing seemed right, and time was getting short. Then one day… as soon as I thought of it, I knew. That was it. So simple, yet so perfect.

I told her we’d have to go early in the day on Christmas Eve to visit my family and hers, because I had a surprise planned. We exchanged gifts and smiles and hugs. The entire day, I kept inconspicuously checking The Weather Channel, trying as best I could to curb my excitement.

Leaving her parents house around 3:00 in the afternoon, we began to drive north. Without her knowing, I had packed her an overnight bag and thrown it in the trunk.

I don’t know when she figured out what I was doing. Maybe she had an idea all along. Or maybe she didn’t.

The amazing sleep-inducing powers of the passenger seat combined with the heater and the calming low hum of the engine worked their magic, and she was out by the time we hit Nashville. My plan was to drive north until we saw snow, find a hotel, and spend the night.

We were in a hotel room somewhere in Illinois when Christmas Eve became Christmas Day. Standing by the window, watching the snow fall, her eyes were doing that thing again.

I took the red Santa hat off my head, placed it on hers, and kissed her on the nose. Then I pulled her Christmas list out of my back pocket, and marked off the only item on it.

“Just to see you smile, I’d do anything that you wanted me to. When all is said and done, I never count the cost. It’s worth all that’s lost…”

Plight of the cherry

This is the story of one of the most overlooked and underappreciated fruits in the history of the world: The Cherry.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. And Christmas will come and go. At my family gatherings, there will be many desserts. Puddings, cakes, and pies. Coconut, pumpkin, apple, pecan, chocolate, and lemon. But this year, just as every other year, one pie will be missing. My favorite pie. Cherry.

The cherry, or fruitus apetizus, as some of you may know it, continues to be overlooked in this country. And I have no idea why. It’s juicy. Sweet. Tangy. Delicious! Yet it constantly takes a backseat to other fruits and flavors. Not just in pies, but in other culinary avenues as well.

In juices, there’s orange and apple. We even have cranberry and grapefruit juice for crying out loud. But no cherry. Heck, you can scarcely find Cherry Coke anymore.

What about milkshakes? Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla. Then pineapple, caramel, cookie… On a list of most popular shakes, you’d probably have to go thru at least twenty or thirty flavors before you got to cherry.

And let’s not forget cake. Chocolate, coconut, devil’s food, caramel. There’s even a carrot cake, for the love of Pete. Who decided to make a carrot into a cake? Why not have a cucumber cake? That makes about as much sense to me.

Oh, but when you want to top a sundae, or a cheesecake, or chocolate cover something, who do you call? That’s right, the poor, underappreciated, underutilized cherry. And sure, those things are nice. But cherry can be much, much more than a topping, or a lifesaver, or a cough drop.

About the only places cherry has constantly gotten its due are in the Jello and Kool Aid industries. There’s no Jello more popular than cherry. And remember Mister Kool Aid? He was red. Also known as, cherry. Year after year, red Kool Aid is consistently named by kids as their favorite Kool Aid. Sigh. Out of the mouths of babes.

But the lowest blow of all came when some halfwit coined the phrase “American as apple pie.” Oh really? The apple, also known as fruitus deceptus. Also widely believed to be the forbidden fruit. AKA, the reason we’re all going to die! Yeah. Thanks for that, Granny Smith.

I submit for your careful consideration that no fruit is more American than the cherry. To wit, a little story about George Washington and the cherry tree. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.

Let’s recap:
Apple = death
Cherry = life

I invite and encourage you to join me not only today, but everyday, in honoring the cherry. Request it. Demand it. And maybe someday we’ll all be saying, “As American as cherry pie.” I have a feeling the father of our country would have wanted it that way.

And if you disagree, well that’s OK, too. But next time you ask someone for a favor, try saying, “Pretty please with an apple on top.” See how that works for you.

(Disclaimer: This blog is in no way affiliated with or influenced by the National Cherry Festival in Traverse City, Michigan. However, this blogger is not above accepting delicious free cherry pies, or appearing as special guest speaker/Grand Marshall of the cherry festival, or escorting any or all of the Cherry Queen contestants.

“Life is just a bowl of cherries. Don’t take it serious. Life’s too mysterious. You work, you save, you worry so. But you can’t take your dough when you go…”

Home is… where?

Dad sold the house last week. Not the house I grew up in, but the last house I lived in when I left home. The last place Mom, Dad, my sister, and I ever lived, together.

The house had a third bedroom that had been added on behind the carport. The south wall of the bedroom was all brick, having formerly been the exterior of the house. And the ceiling sloped from about twelve feet at the brick wall down to about six feet at the back.

The room was set lower than the rest of the house, with concrete steps leading down from the kitchen. And, most importantly, there was an outside entrance from the carport at the other end of the room. This was my bedroom. It sort of felt like my own little one room apartment. With kitchen privileges, of course.

When we moved there, I was probably nineteen. And I was so excited that I spent two nights sleeping on the living room floor before we’d even moved any of our things. It was just me, a pillow, a blanket, and a telephone sitting on the floor.

So many memories come flooding back about the house and the neighborhood. There was the elderly lady across the street who at least twice gave cars parked in front of our house a gentle nudge. If you saw her backing out, you knew not to be anywhere near the road.

She’d always come and apologize when she hit something. Fortunately, she never drove more than four miles per hour, so the damage was never visible without a microscope.

I fondly remember, especially this time of year, climbing up on the roof to hang Christmas lights. Mom loves Christmas lights and we always tried to have a nice little display for her. Late November/early December was always a time of extension cords, staple guns, and replacement bulbs.

I remember Dad and I putting up the basketball goal. Pouring Quickrete for the pole. And that reminds me of Dad’s shot. Which makes me smile and cringe all at the same time. Which, if you saw it, you’d laugh. But he’s my Dad and I love him for trying, and thinking about it now makes me sad.

I remember afternoons in the backyard chipping plastic golf balls onto the roof. Mom’s family coming over on the Fourth of July. The countless times I mowed that yard. When my sister begged for and got a trampoline. When my sister begged for and got a cheap above ground pool. Beginning to notice a pattern here?

And then there was the time I temporarily lost my kitchen privileges. I had put a TV dinner in the oven when I got home from work at 1:00 in the morning. And then promptly fell asleep. I woke up two hours later to smoke, one of the five most awful stenches ever to pass thru the portals of my nostrils, and of course, angry parents.

It was the house I lived in for most of the time I was in college. It was where I lived when I met and began dating Lily. And it was the home I left, when I left home.

A few months ago, a truck arrived at my door, loaded with furniture and cardboard boxes. Dad had begun to clean out the house and we were dividing the things we wanted, before selling the rest. Among other things, I got a lamp, a coffee table, and a dresser that had been my sister’s. But what I got didn’t begin to compare to what it felt I was losing.

I know, home is where the heart is and all that. But there’s something safe and comforting about having a tangible place to come home to. Knowing that no matter how far away you may wander, it’s there, waiting. Someplace familiar, filled with memories and warmth. They say a house is not a home. But that one was.

No one had lived in the house for the last six months or so. But still, it was there. And it was ours. Finding out last week that it had sold left me feeling nostalgic. Reflective. And more than anything, homesick.

Homesick for a place that exists only in my memory.

“Then winding down that old familiar pathway, I heard my mother call at set of sun. Come home, come home, it’s suppertime…”

Man Versus Machine

I considered blogging in pig latin today, in honor of The Office last night. Ut-bay, I-ay, ecided-day, o-tay, are-spay, ou-yay…

The CD player in my car decided to stop working Saturday. After a few frustrating moments of me inserting CD’s and it continaully rejecting them and displaying a “Check CD” message on the LCD, I finally surrendered. At some point, the CD player evidently must have taken on human qualities because I began speaking to it.

Later, a friend of mine noticed that the CD player was still making noises, even after I’d turned the car off. I stopped singing and listened closely, and sure enough, it sounded like it was trying to load a CD even after I had turned off the radio and removed the keys.

Well, I thought it would stop after awhile, or at least after sitting overnight. But nope. When I got in the car Sunday, the CD player was still making those same noises. And it was still showing the “Check CD” message when I started the car. I began to be concerned that this continual “running” would eventually drain my battery.

But it was fine for the next few days, so I wasn’t too worried about it. I figured that I would either try and find someone who could fix my CD player. Or that I would buy a new one and install it myself. Since we all know that I have no problems doing that. Besides, the radio and cassette player still worked. So I could still listen to my Milli Vanilli, Donna Lewis, and Deep Blue Something cassettes.

Then Thursday morning when I got out to my car, (I think we all know where this is going), I pressed the unlock button on my high-tech remote keyless entry thingie. And nothing happened. It’s the first time that had ever happened. What do I do?

I admit, I panicked for a few brief seconds. Then I remembered something my Dad told me. He said, “Son, when I was growing up, to get into the car, we had to stick the key into the lock and turn… in the pouring rain or a foot of snow, yada yada yada.”

That’s when it hit me. I held the key! Me! I was reminded of that old Eagles’ song. So often times it happens, that our remote keyless entry doesn’t work, and we never even know we have the key…

But I digress. I did manage to unlock the door, but then as I had feared, the car wouldn’t crank. So I called my mother. Isn’t that what everyone does when their car won’t start? She came over and jumped me off.

Unfortunately, the CD player was still possessed. And I knew that it was going to drag the battery down again eventually. So when I got to work, I decided to take out the fuse that goes to the radio. (I thought that was pretty clever.) I listened. The CD player wasn’t making any noises.

After work, my car started fine. But I left the fuse out. Driving home with the radio completely dark was eerie. And by this point, I figured I was definitely going to have to purchase a new car stereo. Because, let’s face it, False Messiah can’t roll without his tunes.

Then when I was leaving to go running yesterday evening, something came over me. I don’t know if it was the kinship of all living things, or that voice in my head saying, “Put the fuse in.” But I put the fuse back in. The “Check CD” message was gone! The CD player wasn’t making noises!

And then, deciding it was now or never, I inserted a CD into the player. And waited. And hoped. For what seemed like seconds. Then I heard it. Simon Le Bon wailing, “Please please tell me now!” Yes! It worked!

It’s a pre-Festivus miracle!

“I know you’re watching me every minute of the day, yeah. I see the signs and the looks and the pictures that give your game away…”