Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

Here is a great tribute to America, courtesy of Matt Parker and Trey Stone of South Park fame. Er…disclaimer: there’s a lot of foul language in this video, but it’s funny, so…Happy 4th of July.

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

I may not have told you Thanksgiving Day’s tale, but suffice it to say that the Mitchell clan was quarantined with 1 sinus infection, 3 ear infections, 1 case of bronchitis and 1 case of strep throat. Poor little 11-month-old Liam had two of the ear infections himself, and 3-year-old Lucas had the strep.

Fast forward to Christmas, and we were all feeling puny again. But, having been denied our Thanksgiving, we were resolutely determined that this holiday would be one we would celebrate no matter if we have expose everyone to whatever malady we’d been stricken with that time. We’d all been coughing ugly, hacking, wet coughs that constrict you for minutes at a time. But, as I said, we were resolute: Christmas must be ours.

But then came Christmas Eve night, and while my wife was getting ready for her family’s Christmas party (they neatly celebrate with the family on Christmas Eve night) and Little Liam was taking a nap, I took Lucas to bathe him (I was already dressed and ready to go). But when I took off Lucas’s shirt his skin felt very hot under my hands. I thought about it for a second and realized he hadn’t eaten very much at all that day, and then I looked closer at his torso and saw a few little red bumps. I took his temperature: 101.9. Christmas now was firmly forgotten and my wife and I spent the next six hours at Children’s Hospital in Birmingham monitoring Luke’s fever which at one point rose to 103. We did manage to get some fluids into him, and got his fever down and got the diagnosis: atypical chicken pox. Atypical because he’s had the CP vaccination and is supposed to be immune. Clearly, the CP vaccination needs work. The saddest part of the night was when, while shaking from the fever, Luke looked up at me with understanding eyes (those eyes were far away through much of the ordeal) and said, with the most pitiful voice ever, “Can we still go to the Christmas party?” All I could do was hug him and tell him that there would be other parties, and that he was a good boy, and I loved him very much.

By the time we left the hospital he was in good spirits, and we treated him to a cheeseburger at the only open restaurant in town (Waffle House) at 1 AM. Santa did pay us a visit, despite our irregular hours, and Luke and Liam awoke to a glorious gaggle of gifts surrounding our tree.

I became a parent late. My wife and I had Lucas when I was 35. Everyone told me it would change my life, and for the millionth time in the three years since we had him, I knew what they meant. I realized that I would gladly give everything I had, life included, if he could live a long and happy life. Those realizations are immensely stirring when that little boy’s skin feels like a hot plate, his head is sweating, his whole body is shaking uncontrollably, his eyes are vacant, and you’re afraid that he might die. How easy would it be to say, “My life for his?” In those moments, very easy indeed.

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

From Steve Buccheit:

The Old Year is dead. Long live the New Year … Light fires, burn the Yule log, shout to the heavens, dance, feast, give life to the Sun. Bring in the holly and the ivy, the evergreens to remind us that life is and will be. Light the tree in honor of their everlasting presence. The Wheel has turned, light will return.

Whenever I hear people talking about “getting back to the good ol’ religion,” I’m always reminded of Joseph Campbell in The Power of Myth. When Bill Moyer brought up the subject of fundamentalism, Prof. Campbell sang “Give me that Zarathustra, just like we use-ta, oh give me that ol’ time religion.”

This entry of Steve’s makes me think of my own Christmas creed (this would be the beginning of the “Shallow Mind” portion of this post :-)

Remembering the reason for the season, as modern-day observers like to say, goes a bit deeper than most of them would like to admit. Christmas, as with most every other Christian religious celebration, began as a pagan ritual observing Winter Solstice. For me, a part of believing in a higher power is accompanied with a sense of reverence, nothing like the full-throated month-long scream of good will that Christmas has become. But then, I don’t believe it’s very reverential to take a pagan holiday and convert it to suit the desires of the masses. Do I observe Christmas? No, but I do celebrate it, because it’s a fun holiday. But for me it’s not a religious day, because I have seen too many truths to believe that it could be (for me).

From Storytelling Folklore Sourcebook (Livo Rietz, 1991) (incidentally this book was my first ever Amazon.com purchase, on Dec. 12, 1998):

Christmas was a very deliberate invention of the church to supersede the old pagan sun birth holiday (Frazier 1922). Many of the old customs of the pagan birthing festival are practiced at Christmas, including the bringing of living evergreen trees indoors.

The people of Upper Bavaria bring in a living fir tree and hang it with wreaths, flags, and inscriptions. The winter solstice practice of worshipping the seasonal tree of birth is far more ancient than modern Christmas custom, and if one of these habits amounts to the borrowing of another, the decorated tree in the house in December is more than likely an echo of the old habit of celebrating the renewed promise of life by worshipping a tree than it is an invention of the “new” religion. The Christmas tree is a custom descended from the ancient Norse belief in Yggdrasil, the world tree, an immense ash. Its roots were in Hel, the kingdom of death, its branches in heaven. The stars hung in its crown. At the base of the tree, around the sacred well, were the three Nornir, or fates, who decided the course of human events.

Now, I’m not deriding the choice of using a Christmas Tree–I love my Christmas Tree–But I am saying that when dealing with the Everlasting we should be careful how we pay homage. Too often these days people believe that the only thing that matters is the heart, that if the our actions are the result of a pure heart then they will be accepted as they were offered. But I believe there are concequences to making offerings of unwanted gifts no matter how they’re intended and, because we are dealing with the Infinite, they are concequences that we can’t account for. You might say “My tree is just there because it’s pretty, it isn’t a part of my core belief system,” to which I would say, Good for you, but if you’re using Christmas as a religious observance of your diety, you could be sending mixed messages. Is it okay to pray to God on your knees if there’s a golden calf sitting behind you on the dresser, even if the calf is there only because you think it’s pretty?

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

*Blog entry disclaimer: Before you read this, please note that this entry was written with a sincere fondness for the people it involves. I poke fun, but only with spirit of genuine light-hearted good nature. And: This may not be funny at all if you’ve never seen the “Strike” episode of Seinfeld (1997) in which Festivus is one of the center topics. Please refer to the 6-minute youtube video for education.</p>

Happy Winter Solstice, from here on out the days get longer and longer (until the Summer Solstice, of course). And Sunday will give us another holiday to celebrate with the advent of Festivus! It’s a Festivus miracle! Festivus was of course popularized by Seinfeld, but, according to Wikipedia, it was invented by Reader’s Digest writer and editor Daniel O’Keefe, whose son was a writer for the Seinfeld show (He’s since written a book on the subject).

Here’s how to properly observe Festivus:

• You need a pole.

And that’s it! Now in honor of Festivus, we shall now have the airing of grievances, and, since some of my blogging buddies have been feeling down lately (hopefully this will cheer them up a little), those who most often comment on this blog are those against whom I will be airing my grievances. I know I’ve known all of you almost a whole month now, and purely through our blogs, but really, I feel like we’re all one big band of brothers. So let’s go out to the woodshed, shall we?

First up, Al Paul:
Al Paul, the man with two first names… No, wait, I can’t really use that as a grievance, I know a guy named Jim George. Hell, I know a guy named Homer Simpson whose wife’s name is Margie (swear to God), and another guy I work with is named Mike Gwin. Guess what his wife’s name is… come on. Guess. Okay, it’s Gwen! Yes, Gwen Gwin is her name. Anyway, back to grievancing Al. Al, my grievance with you stems from your propensity to copulate with power equipment. Don’t deny it, I know how much you love that snow blower. I just think you should ask before you touch, okay?

And now, Steve Buchheit:
Buchheit! My son tells me your company stinks! No, wait, that wasn’t my son, and that wasn’t your company. It’s really hard to build a grievance case against someone you’ve never seen before or spoken with or…but of course, I don’t know how to pronounce your last name! Yes, my grievance with you concerns trying to wrap my head around how to pronounce your last name. I must have ten different ways to pronounce it made up in my head: Buck-height? Buh-chite? Boo-heet? Additionally: You couldn’t smooth a silk sheet if ya had a hot date with a ba… I lost my train of thought. Moving on!

The Mysterious Mr. w0pht:
Number three on my list of commenters who have never done anything to deserve being grievanced against is Mr. w0pht, if that is indeed your name. Yes, I know your real name very well, Mr. w0pht, and it’s a very convenient name for a website, isn’t it? I’ll bet you have no Google twin, do you, Mr. w0pht? Try to register any domain beginning with ‘Matt Mitchell’ and you’ll understand my grievance with you. I’m at least the twelve millionth Matt Mitchell on teh internets. But back to you, Mr. w0pht. It’s very convenient to be named w0pht almost too convenient, if you ask me. I don’t know of anyone else with a numeral as a part of their legal name. So, Mr. w0pht, ff that is indeed your name… Oh, it’s not? Oh. Well then. Ahem. Moving on!

Last but not least! Dave Klecha:
I’m really having trouble coming up with a grievance against Dave, because he blogs rarely and has amazingly… large… knees? No, I can’t really say that, I don’t know that to be true, even though it is rumored widely on the internet that all marines have knees that are phenomenally out of proportion with the rest of their bodies. Large knees and… blogs so rarely! Yes, he blogs much too rarely. My grievance against you, Dave, is that you blog much too rarely. You need to blog more often. And you have disproportionately large knees (rumored).

As for me, I’m sure the airing will be mighty indeed. If only you knew how rarely I brush my teeth. I’m kidding! I brush them at least once a week. Or at least I claim to.

Let the Airing of Grievances begin!!

Next up: Feats of Strength! Nobody leaves until Buccheit pins me! (You didn’t think I’d pick the Marine, did you? Steve, please tell me you’re not a Marine…)

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

Okay, I’m now ready to let Xmas madness ensue. Of course it’s already ensued, but I’m never really ready for it until at least the day after Thanksgiving. Now I’ll give myself over to the season, and once New Year’s is done, I’ll be in a constant state of anticipation of spring. It’s a short winter here, and spring will begin showing itself in late February. For now though, I’ll just change my header to something fitting winter and Xmas (even if it is a dark image; hey, I’m a horror writer :-)

Just so it isn’t considered outright theft, the image in the header was beautifully crafted by Beloved Creature over at Deviant Art. He/She has a number of worthy images in their portfolio. Here’s another that I wish I’d found before Halloween:

And, the original that I cropped to use as a header:

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all!

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

Note: I deleted these pics because they were clogging up the site image. Links to the pics are still in the post.

For Thanksgiving, and in honor of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, I would like to present zombie turkey parade:

Photo by Quack the Wooley Duck.

Photo by Relentlessly Optimistic.

And, finally, Turkey Zombie Warrior:

Photo by DougBlot.

Hope you have a happy zombie turkey day :-)

This must be the Year Without a Santa Clause, because the Heat Miser is cooking Southtown. Yesterday it was 75, today it's supposed to be 73. Records are breaking all over the South. Somebody get Cold Miser on the phone, we need snow in Southtown!

Originally published at Unabashed. You can comment here or there.

As custom, Christians have decided against celebrating biblical holidays in favor of those holidays they stole from pagans. Among them: Christmas, Easter, and, of course, Valentine’s Day. As described in this great article on Fatemag.com about the history of VD, the holiday originated as a devilish lupine romp through the village featuring rape, beatings, bloodletting, lycanthropy, sacrifice, etc. Here’s an exerpt:

Lupus (wolf) itself is not an authentic or original Latin word, but was borrowed from the Sabine dialect. Luperca, the she-wolf who suckled Romulus and Remus, may have given rise to secret fraternities known as the Luperci, who sacrificed she-goats at the entrances to their “wolves’ dens.” For centuries, the Luperci observed an annual ritual of chasing women through the streets of Roman cities and beating them with leather thongs.Scholars generally agree that such a violent expression of eroticism celebrated the ancient behavior of primitive hunting tribes corraling captive women. Once a wolfman had ensnared a woman with his whip or thong, he would lead her away to be his wife or lover for as long as the “romance” lasted. Perhaps, as some scholars theorize, this yearly rite of lashing at women and lassoing them with leather thongs became a more acceptable substitute for the bloodlust of the Luperci’s latent werewolfism that in days past had seen them tearing the flesh of innocent victims with their teeth. As the Romans grew ever more sophisticated, the Lupercali would be celebrated by a man binding the lady of his choice wrist to wrist, and later by passing a billet to his object of desire, suggesting a romantic rendezvous in some secluded place.

Ooh, be still my lycanthropic heart :-)