OOGIE BOOGIE CENTRAL - Featuring Steve's Vent

It’s over. Thank God. We did the Christmas Eve family thing, the Christmas Day family thing and the Day After Christmas work thing, but today the family and I did the let’s stay in bed till Noon thing immediately followed by the laze around the house all day thing. That’s a lot of things. Almost everything worked the way it was designed; the sole exception being the set of speakers my father purchased instead of the Surround Sound system I requested.  Blame it on an over-zealous, under-trained salesman and my Dad’s unfamiliarity with modern technology, but it’s all good.  That’s why God invented receipts and 30 day return policies. Lex was pleased with her gifts; the Bratz Festival (her description, not mine) satisfied on all levels.  Rhonda liked her DVDs, will like her new Razor phone and should like all her new clothing (that’s a mortal lock because she selected everything before her mom plunked down the charge card). Me?  I’m a happy gamer and...

Yet another thing that sucks about getting older: The steady flow of beloved actors, artists and writers crossing from this world to the next. I hope there are stages and libraries on the other side of the Pearly Gates. But Then Again, You'll Have This . . .

Suddenly, I understand. It’s not the aches, pains or old man sounds I emit at the slightest movement. It’s not the grey in my beard or the chrome on my dome. It’s not my oldest son crossing that final threshold to adulthood tomorrow (Happy Birthday Nate) or my youngest son’s continuing struggle toward the same. It’s this: Gorgeous, isn’t she? In less than a month, she’ll be 10 years old. Double digits baby, and we all know what that means. Pre-teen is the technical term, but there’s nothing technical about dealing with a young lady. Technically, the same applies to dealing with any lady, but that’s a different Vent. Thanks to a convergence in weather and work, I have a rare Thursday off and was able to attend Lexy’s Holiday Concert, which showcased the burgeoning musical talents of her and her school mates. The preparation phase of today’s performance was interesting, as I watched Lexy choose an outfit and fuss with her hair (which is one of –if not the only- best thing about her devel...

Two weeks and counting and it’s all over but the shouting. Early mornings and late nights; low balances and high bills. It’s beginning to feel a lot like Ch- Uh, uh uh.  You can’t make me say the WORD, and not because of inclusionary, non-denominational political correctness.  I won’t use any of the other words either. People in the mall call me Scrooge, but I quickly point out their error.  I’m not a Scrooge.  I wouldn’t make Bob work on the 25th and I’m quite fond of a hot stove filled with plenty of coals. No, in the twelfth month of every year, I’m struck by the sudden urge to hitch up the dog and head into Whoville. Peace?  Joy?  Goodwill to men?  Catch me after 2:00 PM on the twenty-fourth. Until then? You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .

Let’s a take a brief peek at what’s coming soon . . . Definitive proof that unprotected, wireless networks are vulnerable to piggybacking, especially when the owner doesn’t realize they’re using one The perils of mega-bass boosting and late-night wall pounding so close to the holidays, especially when a 5.1 Dolby Surround TV Theater system is on Santa’s List The ramifications of playing the Blame Game and alienating your only ally Dancing the dance and paying the piper AND The importance of rear view mirrors and their proper usage All in the space of one VENT! Can’t wait, can you?                    

Once upon a time, there was a Winter Formal that I wanted to attend.  I worked hard to prepare for it.  I studied dance.  I researched proper table manners.  I bought a new suit and coiffed my hair.  I did everything etiquette demanded and eventually deemed myself ready for the party. But I needed a date. You couldn’t get in without a date; that was the unwritten rule.  Sure, a maverick or two might decide to attend stag, but they were usually ridiculed for their presumption.  In fact, coming alone usually guaranteed you’d never get a date again, at least not with any of the desirable women. I made my intentions known.  I declared myself a willing participant in the dance.  I crafted several carefully prepared invitations and distributed them among the potential partners I deemed most appropriate to my style of celebration. A librarian responded first.  She wasn’t sure, but she thought we...

Tomorrow, the mall opens at 6 AM.  That means I’ll be up at 4 to be in the store by 5.  Black Friday isn’t the asylum it used to be, but it’s still the opening bell in the mad rush to Christmas. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Christmas season?  All I want for Christmas is a new book deal (and an Xbox 360). Wonder which gift I have a better chance of finding under the tree. I’ll be happy again in January.  Count on it.  Till then, light those candles. But Then Again, You’ll Have This. . .

Today –two days before Thanksgiving and three days before the start of Hell Month- I finally uncovered a major contributing factor to my hatred of the holiday season. Seasonal employees. We do more business during December than any month of any year that doesn’t have a Potter in it, and more business necessitates more employees.  It’s a simple calculation; no algebra required (thank God, because temporary workers don’t seem to have a grasp of mathematics more complex than counting to ten [twenty if they’re not wearing shoes or twenty-one if they’re male and naked]).  With unemployment as prevalent as it is, one would think the labor pool would be as deep and wide as the Atlantic Ocean, but one would be mistaken.  The Workforce Sea has the circumference of a thimble and the depth of a shot glass. And that’s being kind. Maybe it’s the Welfare Culture.  Maybe people are so accustomed to receiving a check that the idea of actually earning their check ...

Just in case some of you don’t realize it, the Vents are satire, especially the one directly below.  I figured a format change deserved an appropriate topic, and what’s more appropriate than a Vent about Blogging? The new setting is an experiment only, to determine the viability of HTML-free Venting and possibly allow more for more frequent entries.  Plus, all the cool kids are doing it. Peer pressure.  You’ve got to love it. But Then Again, You’ll Have This . . .    

Here’s the thing. I purchased my first modern PC in 1996.  By modern, I mean a computer with a little pointy/clicky thing and the ability to display pictures not composed of asterisks, parenthesis and other punctuation marks.  My first computer was a Radio Shack Model 4P (and the P stands for Portable, which means the beast came with a handle, a necessary option for toting a 30 pound behemoth). But let’s stay in the Nineties, shall we. The first thing I did with my PC –after playing the requisite number of Solitaire hands and nurturing my inner artist with Microsoft Paint- was connect to the Internet.  Then, I searched for boobies, which didn’t take long, because as we all know, the Web is teeming with naked mammary glands.  I like breasts.  I like their symmetry.  I like their asymmetry.  I like them au natural , both in presentation and composition, but this isn’t a Vent about breasts.  We’re talking about...