Friday, December 21, 2012

'Tis The Season For Post-Christmas Discounts

"I haven't finished my holiday shopping yet." It's a line I've heard from many of my friends over the past week. A thoughtful bunch, they are. They care so much for their loved ones that they spend weeks contemplating the perfect gifts before resolving to battle the crowds and buy whatever's left at Walmart on Christmas Eve. That's what the season of giving is all about.

Christmas just has a way of always sneaking up on them. This year, it's scheduled for December 25. I don't think my pals were expecting that, which is why they're behind on their shopping. "Christmas is on the 25th this year? Really? Seems early, doesn't it? Thanksgiving was just a few weeks ago."

Perhaps it would be less confusing for them if Christmas was referred to more often as the "25th of December," much like Independence Day is commonly referred to as the "Fourth of July." It's very easy to remember when the Fourth of July will be held on a year-to-year basis. It's always scheduled for the Fourth of July. Fourth of July: buy fireworks. 25th of December: buy gifts. Simple enough.

Websites like Amazon give lazy folks like my friends an excuse to wait until the last minute to buy presents. Buy a product on the 21st, and it will still qualify for two-day shipping; the 22nd, one-day shipping; and the 24th, local express delivery. You're out of luck on Christmas morning, but you can still purchase e-gift cards that can be emailed immediately. 'Cause who doesn't love the feeling of waking up early, running down the stairs and to the Christmas tree with laptop in hand, and checking their email to discover a gift card waiting for them?

I am not celebrating any of the gift-giving holidays this month, so I'm under no pressure. But I do have big shopping plans nonetheless. Specifically, I will visit my local drugstore the day after Christmas.

Why? Because all of its Christmas items will be discounted. The sales are ridiculous. December 26 is like a second Black Friday for those of us who didn't receive any gifts 24 hours earlier.

On Christmas night -- around 11 p.m. or so -- I'll line up outside my nearest drugstore, with a cup of coffee in my hand, anxiously waiting for the clock to strike midnight so I can take advantage of the post-holiday doorbuster deals. The best part is the store is open 24 hours, so I don't even need to bust down the door.

When I enter the store, the adrenaline really kicks in. It feels like Christmas has come 364 days early. Holiday cards, wrapping paper, Santa hats, replica Charlie Brown Christmas trees...the prices are slashed on all of them, plus so much more.

And it's all stuff I can use. For example, Christmas wrapping paper is festive no matter the time of the year. The look on my one friend's face each summer when I give him his birthday present, wrapped in paper decorated with reindeer and ornaments, is priceless. It's like Christmas in July!

The Santa hats...with the help of a pair of scissors, they can be fashioned into extra pairs of underwear, if you're running low and don't have time to do laundry. You just have to remember to cut off the white puffy ball at the top of the hat.

More than anything, I stock up on the holiday candy. I don't understand why the stores are so eager to get rid of them. Is it wrong to eat candy canes after Christmas? Do they all expire at the end of the year? Are they no longer fresh after that? I don't ever remember seeing a "sell by" date on candy canes.

What about other seasonal candy, like the Reese's Peanut Butter Trees? Are they not as tasty in January as they are in December? I don't think so. I like the idea of eating peanut butter candy shaped like trees in late winter or early spring, while everyone else is eating boring Peanut Butter Cups shaped like a circle.

This isn't a completely selfish shopping expedition, by the way. I do pick up one special item for my friends, something I know they will appreciate: Amazon gift cards. No shipping required. I just cover them in my newly-purchased Christmas wrapping paper and hand them over. My guess is they save the gift cards until December 21 of the following year.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

May The Odds Of Getting Married Be Ever In My Favor

It was my birthday earlier this month. I turned 32. It was fairly memorable, for a couple of reasons.

One, I had over 70 friends wish me a happy birthday on Facebook. Seventy! Not to brag, but I'm popular on there.

My friends anticipated my birthday as much as I did. It was really sweet -- they logged on to Facebook a few minutes before the clock struck midnight on the day of my birthday. They refreshed the site at 11:57 p.m., 11:58 p.m., 11:59 p.m. Then, at 12 a.m., in the upper right hand corner of their home page, four magical words appeared: "Shane's birthday is today." And the birthday wishes started flowing onto my wall.

I don't know for certain that this is what happened, but it's my birthday and I'll lie if I want to.

My one birthday wish every year is for all of my friends on Facebook to wish me a happy birthday on my wall. For whatever reason, their acknowledgement of my big day on my wall is important to me. I don't have an explanation for it.

Of course, I've set an unrealistic goal for myself, but I do expect a healthy number of friends to send along their birthday wishes. How many, exactly? To answer that question, I divide the total number of friends I have by two, then add seven. I use similar formulas to determine the minimum age of women I can date, and the maximum number of hours of Big Bang Theory reruns I should watch per week.

I can always count on my most distant Facebook friends to wish me a happy birthday on my wall. It's why I'm friends with them in the first place: so they can pad the total number of birthday posts on my wall. And I do the same for them. The relationship is strictly quid pro quo.

Oddly enough, it's my closest friends who let me down by not leaving birthday wishes on my wall. They tend to send me a private message instead. That's no good, because it won't help me reach my "birthday wishes on my wall" quota.

Some of them bypass Facebook altogether and call me. They tell me, "I hope you have a great day, you deserve all the happiness in the world, let's celebrate soon." And I think to myself, That's nice, but couldn't you have said all of this on my wall, where it would have counted for something? I want the Facebook friends who I don't care about to see that I have real-life friends who care about me.

The other reason why my latest birthday was memorable -- though not in a positive way -- was that it provided another opportunity for my family to remind me that I'm not married. "You're 32...it's time you met someone." Their watches are set to GMT: "Get Married Time."

Time is ticking, I understand that. I'm not getting any younger, etc., etc. I have actually discussed these concerns with a few of my closest friends, who aren't nearly as panicked as my parents are about my single status. Their response was, "I wouldn't worry. I know guys way worse than you who've gotten married."

What a relief it is to know that there are men in this world who are less desirable than I am. I ought to use that fact as a selling point for myself. "Why wouldn't you date me? Do you want to be one of those women who's stuck with a guy who's way worse than I am? Why hitch your wagon to a below-average man when you can be with an average man?"

I watched The Hunger Games on DVD a little while ago, and it had me thinking, This is what my parents would want. This is what the parents of all single, 30- and 40-something-year-olds would want. An event that would punish all men and women who did not marry within the first 10 years after college.

Let's call it The Bachelor Games. Each year, the names of all single men and women between the ages of 32 and 48 are entered into a lottery. The older a person is, the more entries he or she has in the drawing. A man and woman from each state are selected and forced into a televised game of survival, the sole winner of which is permitted to stay single for the rest of his or her life. I can think of at least five networks that would air this.

Or, using the Katniss-Peeta relationship in The Hunger Games as inspiration, the event could have the contestants from each state work as a team. They could look after each other, defend one another from enemies, treat each other's wounds, and ultimately (if all goes according to the parents' plan) fall in love. It could all culminate in an After The Bachelor Games TV special and wedding.

My family wouldn't be opposed to watching me participate in a Bachelor Games and put my life at risk, if there was the slightest possibility that I might tie the knot at the end of it. I can imagine them hugging me as I board the train to the Games, exclaiming, "May the odds of getting married be ever in your favor!"

If I were to win a hypothetical Bachelor Games and marry on live TV, it would undoubtedly be a very exciting time for them. And, I admit, for me, too. I'd get to update my relationship status, and I'd expect at least 70 Facebook friends to wish me a happy marriage on my wall.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Rogaine On Lockdown

I have a bald spot. I thought you should know this. I don't mind telling you about my hair deficiency. I'm not embarrassed by it. Not at all. In fact, if this was Facebook, I would post a picture of it right now so you could see it for yourself.

Much like a Facebook picture, though, the novelty of a bald spot wears off after a while. Initially, it made for a great conversation piece. When I would walk into a room, the strands of hair would float off my head in slow motion, and friends would remark, "There's something different about you...did you do something with your hair?" I'd smile and respond, "Yes...I'm losing it."

What can I say? I like to be the center of attention.

Nowadays, for practical reasons, I'd prefer it if I didn't shed like a a Persian cat. There are hair bunnies scattered all over my apartment. It's messy. Sometimes, when it's really quiet, a hair tumbleweed will roll across the floor.

I have one ally in my fight against hair loss: Rogaine. I buy a three-month supply of it every, well, three months, though I try to stock up in advance whenever possible.

Sometimes I forget. Not a good feeling. When I pick up a can of Rogaine and discover that it's empty, and I realize I don't have more in the cabinet, my heart starts to race and for a brief moment I panic.

Fortunately, I buy Rogaine from a 24-hour drugstore.  It's reassuring to know that when I have the urge to rub foam on my head before I go to sleep at two in the morning, and I'm all out, I can get my fix pretty quickly.

I do have one problem with buying Rogaine at the drugstore, regardless of the time of day: A huge alarm is wrapped around it. This bothers me. A lot.

It's a slap in the face to bald people. There are no alarms on the mascara, or the candy, or the toilet paper. I don't like the implication that my hair loss has driven me to such desperation that I'd seek out minoxidil at any cost.

If nothing else, the alarm is a nuisance. Last month, I purchased a three-pack of Rogaine using a self-checkout machine, and forgot to ask an employee to remove the alarm. As soon as I walked out the door, a detector went off, a security guard yelled at me and I was chased down the street by a pack of Rogaine-sniffing dogs. I exaggerated that story for effect, but I'll leave it to you to figure out which parts are real and which are fake. 

The drugstore has no cause for concern. The vast majority of bald men are not thieves, I am confident of that. And if we all were thieves, we'd be smart enough to pool our resources and pull off one massive Rogaine heist. It would be like the opening scene of The Dark Knight. Except, hopefully, we wouldn't pick one another off in the middle of it.

This is my plea, on behalf of all bald people, to the drugstores of the world: Keep the alarms off our Rogaine, please. We may have less hair than you, but you can still trust us.

Believe me: if someone does steal your Rogaine one day, you'll be able to track him down quickly by following the trail of his hair out the door.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Please Do Not Set Fire To The Rain

My favorite song of the summer has been Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe." In fact, Carly Rae may be my favorite Canadian artist at the moment. Yes, she's swiftly moved ahead of Justin Bieber, Celine Dion and Nickelback in my "Favorite Canadian Artist" power rankings. That's how much I like "Call Me Maybe."

The song is so catchy that I often find myself repeating the lyrics in my head over and over again. "Hey, I just met you/And this is crazy/But here's my number/So call me maybe." This is crazy. Carly Rae is an attractive, ultra-successful pop star, and she's begging guys to call her. Why can't I find a woman like her who's just as desperate as she is?

Another reason why I like "Call Me Maybe" is that it's so different from another song I've listened to quite a bit this year: Adele's "Set Fire to the Rain." In case you're wondering, Adele is pretty high in my "Favorite UK Solo Artist" power rankings, ahead of Jessie J but behind Rick Astley.

I still put Adele and Rick in the same class, because both have songs with powerful lyrics that have brought tears to my eyes. Adele's "Someone Like You" is hauntingly beautiful, and the chorus resonates with me. Who hasn't had to let go of someone they loved? "Don't forget me, I beg/I remember you said/'Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.'" Man, when I hear those words, something stirs up inside of me -- the same feeling I have when I watch Toy Story 3.

It's also the same feeling I have when I listen to Rick Astley on my iPod. "Together forever and never to part/Together forever we too/And don't you know I would move heaven and earth/To be together forever with you." Amazing. It's no coincidence that one of the most popular memes in Internet history was based on his heartfelt music.

In any event, "Set Fire to the Rain" is not at all like "Call Me Maybe." It's a breakup song. But it's not your ordinary breakup song. It's a breakup song performed by a woman who's thought about setting fire to the rain.

This is the chorus: "I set fire to the rain/Watched it pour as I touched your face/Let it burn while I cried/'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name."

Obviously, Adele didn't really set fire to the rain after her breakup. Nevertheless, the idea did occur to her, because she sang about it after the fact.

A little disturbing, don't you think? I've been through many breakups, and not once did I contemplate setting fire to the rain. Never crossed my mind, not even for a moment. It sounds dangerous.

I wouldn't even know how to go about setting fire to the rain. Didn't know rain was flammable enough to watch it pour as I touched someone's face and cried. Maybe next time there's a storm in my neighborhood, I'll go outside with a match and see what happens.

I have to say, Adele, having listened to the song many times, I empathize with your ex-boyfriend. I couldn't justify being with someone who has the capacity to entertain the mere thought of setting fire to the rain. It's kind of nuts.

But if you have a logical explanation for why you felt the way you did, I'd love to hear it. So call me. Maybe.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Don't Shed A Tear For Me (Shed A Tear for "Toy Story 3")

Forgive me if I'm a little emotional right now. I just watched an incredibly heartrending film. It was a story of friendship. It was a story of struggle. It was a story of survival.

It was Toy Story 3.

I cried while watching it. I cried while watching a movie about toys. Animated toys. How embarrassing. And this was the second time I'd seen Toy Story 3.

There's one scene in particular that really touched me. In the film's climax, Woody, Buzz Lightyear and their toy friends are trapped on a conveyor belt leading to an incinerator. Facing certain death, they reach out to one another, hold hands and close their eyes.

(Spoiler alert: They all live. Another spoiler alert: There's a climactic scene in which they are trapped on a conveyor belt leading to an incinerator.)

At that moment, I lost it. Tears were streaming down my face. The mere thought of a beloved movie franchise killing off a fictional wooden cowboy and an electronic space ranger was more than I could bare.

I'm reflecting on this after the fact because I would have never felt this way had I watched Toy Story 3 as a kid. For whatever reason, I have more of an emotional attachment to the toys now than I would have had when I was younger.

I owned a piggy bank. I owned a Mr. Potato Head. I owned a dinosaur toy. And I treated them all terribly. I didn't so much play with them as I tortured them. I threw them down the stairs, kicked them around, called them names.

That wasn't even the worst of it. I popped off He-Man's head. His arms, too. Tried to force them onto Skeletor's body. This is how I treated the most powerful man in the universe.

Who knows what my toys were saying behind my back whenever I left my bedroom. They probably would've jumped into an incinerator had they had the chance. I was like a real-life Lotso.

Not once did I regret the way I treated my toys. And I didn't cry when my parents gave them away. But when I watched Andy in Toy Story 3 say goodbye to his toys and hand them over to a little girl, my eyes welled up and I overreacted more than Taylor Swift whenever she's announced as a winner at an awards show.

As a kid, I rarely cried while watching a movie. To be honest, there were only three pop culture-related moments during the 1980s and 1990s that made me cry: 1) The first time I watched a horror film; 2) The scene in Jerry Maguire in which Tom Cruise tells Renee Zellweger, "You complete me"; and 3) the post-match segment during WrestleMania VII in which the "Macho Man" Randy Savage reunited with Miss Elizabeth after being estranged from one another for two years.

Nowadays, it doesn't take much to get the waterworks flowing. Toy Story 3 is one example. Million Dollar Baby is another. Though it won the best-picture Oscar in 2005, I never got around to watching it until recently. Prior to renting it, I thought I had a firm grasp of what the plot would be. I thought it would be the female version of Rocky; Hilary Swank rising through the boxing ranks to become a beloved boxing champion.

So imagine my surprise when she was sucker punched, fell on a stool and was paralyzed. Didn't see that coming at all. I cried throughout the rest of the movie. That scene scarred me so much that I refuse to watch The Next Karate Kid, the only Karate Kid movie I haven't seen. I don't want to risk the possibility of witnessing Mr. Miyagi pull the plug on Hilary Swank.

I'm proud to say that I did not cry when I watched the animated movie Up. A lot of people told me I would during the film's first 10 minutes, which essentially spoiled the beginning for me. Since I knew beforehand that there would be some sort of emotional element to the initial scenes of the movie, I was unmoved when the old man's wife died. It was a much different sensation than when I watched Toy Story 3.

Perhaps if she'd died after being trapped on a conveyor belt leading to an incinerator, I would've felt differently.

Friday, March 30, 2012

The Relationship Jinx

I'm a firm believer in the jinx. And not the game of jinx, i.e., I yell "Jinx!" after you said the same word I said at the same time, and therefore you cannot speak again until you buy me a soda. Or the Sports Illustrated jinx. Or the dreaded game of Sports Illustrated jinx, in which I yell "Jinx!" after you read out loud a headline on a Sports Illustrated cover at the same time I did, and you suffer a terrible injury from which you cannot recover until you buy me a soda.

No, I believe in the relationship jinx. In a nutshell, I don't like to discuss my romantic life. With anyone. Ever.

When I'm dating a woman, and the relationship is going really well, I'm happy. And I want to remain happy. And I can't shake the nagging feeling that if I openly express to my friends that I'm in a relationship and am happy, I will jinx it all. The relationship will end, and I will be unhappy.

I know this sounds paranoid, but I'm drawing from past experience. For example, a few years ago I had a girlfriend I was really smitten with. I thought she was "the one." I told anyone who would listen she was "the one." It turned out she really was "the one." She was "the one" to break things off, she was "the one" to move on with her life, she was "the one" who married and started a family. She's a jerk, she should've just stayed with me.

If there ever comes a time when I decide to propose to a woman, I absolutely will not tell anyone about my plans beforehand. I'm going to keep the proposal to myself, and no one's going to know about it except for the 20 thousand fans in attendance who will be watching it live on the big screen.

I've actually reversed jinxed a friend. It was a complete accident. Here's my explanation: When someone asks me, "Guess what?" I assume one of two things: the person is either engaged or expecting. At my age, there's really no other answer that demands such a dramatic buildup. Aside from the time a few months ago when I discovered The Wonder Years airs on cable TV at 3 a.m. I gave an enthusiastic "Guess what?" to anyone who would listen for the next five days.

So the friend, who'd been in a serious relationship for a while, said to me, "Guess what?" And I exclaimed, "Congratulations!" Confused, he asked, "Why are you congratulating me?" I replied, "You're engaged, right? You popped the question." He said, "No!"

Not even a week later, his relationship ended. The relationship jinx struck again. He refused to speak with me for days. Until I bought him a soda.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

May I Throw Out Your Wedding Invitation, Please?

Hello, my happily married friends. I haven't spoken to many of you since your wedding, so I thought I'd check in and say hello. How are you and your spouse? Are you both well? And how is your newborn child? Is parenthood everything you'd hoped it would be?

Good.

I need to ask you a question. See, I have a small problem. My apartment is an absolute mess. In particular, I have a lot of clutter on my kitchen table. There are piles and piles of papers and cards on there. Lot of old mail, notes to myself...you know, things like that.

I'm not even sure why I hold on to these papers and cards. I have no use for them. They've long since outlived their usefulness. I don't think I need them anymore, to be honest. I should probably shred them or throw them out or something. What do you think? Should I toss them? I should toss them, shouldn't I?

You're right. I should get rid of all of the papers and cards on the table. Why keep them there? They don't need to be there. So, since we're in agreement that I should throw out the papers and cards, let me ask you one more question.

May I throw out your wedding invitation, please?

I feel guilty asking you this, because your wedding was such a special moment. But it was a long time ago...what was it, one year, two years ago? I don't need to save the invitation since the event already took place, right?

I know you put so much effort into designing the invitation. The ribbon on the front was lovely. The calligraphy was beautiful. I was so honored to receive your "request" for my "presence" as you "celebrated" your "love" with your then-fiance/fiancee. In fact, I recall you were so excited to announce the details of your wedding that, for the first time, you revealed your middle name to me, inside the card. What a memorable moment that was in our friendship.

But now that you've celebrated your love and you had your fun, I request your permission to throw out your invitation.

Your wedding invitation, I should emphasize, was the perfect way to follow up on your creative save-the-date card/magnet/pencil/bookmark/photo/sticker/thing. Those of you who sent magnets, you can be sure that I still have them displayed prominently on the front door of my refrigerator. Whenever I'm in the mood for orange juice and I walk towards the fridge, I'm reminded of the day you were married. And also the phone number for Piazza's Pizzas and Wings, since their magnet is right next to yours.

Since I brought it up...do you mind if I throw out your magnet, too? I don't need to remember the date anymore, do I? You'll eventually write something about your anniversary on Facebook, won't you?

Oh, by the way, I haven't had the chance to thank you for your sweet "thank you" card you sent me after you received my wedding gift. I'm not sure why you needed four cupcake and muffin pans, but I was more than happy to supply them to you. Did you hold a bake sale to raise money to buy a home? In any event, I'm glad you're putting them to good use.

And thank you also for the "thank you" card you sent me after I bought you another present following the birth of your child. It was so cute how your son/daughter insisted that he/she sign the card. I wasn't expecting the card to be signed by you, your spouse, and your newborn child. He/She is, what, three months, four months old? Where did he/she learn to express himself/herself so clearly, and with such poignancy? I bet he/she reminded you to send me the card, didn't he/she? He/she said, "Hey, did you remember to thank Shane for the blanket/diapers/jar warmer/something-or-other he sent us? Don't forget!"

I accept your "thank you." You're welcome. Would it be alright with you if I put your "thank you" cards in the trash, too? I thank you in advance for your cooperation on this.

Again, thanks for hearing me out. I wanted to run all this by you and explain myself so you'll understand and won't be offended in case you ever ask me what I did with your cards.

We can talk about what to do with all of the birthday cards you've given me at another time.