Can I Hitch a Ride?

I was planning on going home tomorrow, flying standby, to Colorado. Now, thanks to the snow (which I had been raving about, way to repay the favor, Mr. Snow Maker), I can't go home until after Christmas. Do you realize what this has done to my Christmas spirit? Completely ruined it. I'm crushed. No--melted, into the little raindrops I so despise.

The only way I see out of this is to hitch a ride with Santa on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. Then I would be home in time for brunch with Grandma. But since my Christmas spirit is gone--there is no Santa to hitch a ride with, because he's not real (if you are five and you're reading this, sorry I ruined it, but you are five and reading, so you should probably be curing cancer or something).

My mom told me to make cookies. Yeah, like cookies can give me hugs and presents. It's not the same. Bah Humbug!

Where's the Snow?

I grew up in Colorado. I lived there for twenty four years straight. I saw snow every winter. A year and a half ago, I moved away from Colorado, and I haven't seen snow since.

I get confused. I feel like I should wake up and see snow, but it never happens. It's cold here in the bay area, but all that comes out of the sky is a veil of mist. Either that or fat blobby rain drops (no, they're not that cute), that soak up the bottoms of my pants, and find thier way in my shoes, get my socks soaked and make me miserable in general.

What season is it? They say it's winter. I see the lawn decorations for Christmas on the lawns. But, if you ask me, having a Santa sleigh pulled by reindeer just doesn't make sense without the snow. I used to go sledding every winter, and I know that when you hit a patch of mud, the sled won't go. I guess Santa is more magic than I can imagine. But magic or no, don't you think he would adjust his outfit for the weather? He's always wearing that heavy coat.

Here is my

Ode to Snow

Falling from the sky,
so slow I can catch you
on my tongue.

You whisper past
my ear.
Patter in the pile

collecting on the ground.
A blanket of individuals.
Rain is all the same;

each drop
stabs
me in the heart.

Ok, so I just made that up, and you definitely won't see that in any anthologies. Now you know why I switched to fiction.

Pray for snow in Oakland.

Oh My Head, My Aching Head

What a great week to come to work with a hangover. Let the holidays begin!

In honor of my nausea and head crunch, let's look at famous alcoholics. I was able to find several lists of these people. However, I don't know what qualifies someone as a famous alcoholic. First, you must be famous, that is obvious. But was the alcoholism famous too? Here's what I found:

Katherine Hepburn was on the list, but when I searched her profile on Wikipedia, I couldn't find anything about a drinking problem. True, there was so much going on about this woman that maybe the alcoholism just wasn't as interesting. All I can think of is the Philadelphia Story, which was written for her, and contains a fantastic drunken scene the night before her wedding.
Hangover cure: two aspirins and a cool cloth for your forehead

Dylan Thomas is a man who was known for his drinking. I've heard stories about him at readings, so drunk his breat smelled up the room (actually, I made that up). But he did like his drink, and ended up dying as a result at the age of 39. Apparently, he once returned from a night of drinking and announced his 18 straight whiskies must be a record. Why bother with the glass at that point? Just pour it straight down the hatch, that's what I say.
Hangover cure: a bottle of aspirin, and set up a cot by the toilet, you're going to need it

Reading about real people is getting depressing. The body can only take so much. I read about Billy Holiday (no wonder her voice sounds so sad), and Babe Ruth (although evidence of his drinking is hard to pull out through all the batting stats). Here are some people who never have to worry about their livers, but I suspect are heavy drinkers:

Santa Claus has a jolly red nose, and it's not from living at the North Pole. I suspect that Mrs. Claus keeps quite a liquor cabinet and that the couple raids it often. And what do they do with all those cookies the children leave out for Santa? He takes them home and dips them in spiked egg nog.
Hangover cure: more booze and eight aspirin for the reindeer (remember, Rudolf also has a red nose)

Bigfoot must be smarter than all of us to avoid being caught all the time. Even so, we have all seen the footage of the big man running through the woods. If we were to revisit that short movie, we would see the way Bigfoot holds his arms out for balance. He's clearly innebriated. And where does he get his booze? No, stealing from campers is too easy. He makes his own from tree bark.
Hangover cure: a nice long mud bath

Mickey Mouse is a closeted alcoholic. His problem is tough to pick out because he seems like the All-American mouse. But look at his friends. Don't tell me Daffy Duck slurs becauses he has a speech impediment. Goofy has that laugh that only comes out after you've downed a few stiff drinks. And don't even get me started on Minnie. Drunkeness is the only explanation for wearing so many polka dots.
Hangover cure: cartoons can bounce back from anything; just move to the next scene