Remembering The Year That Was

A few of my favorite things from 2007? Where to begin. So many wonderful, terrific, funny and fascinating things to recall and I didn’t write any of them down. Well, some of them I did, so here’s a look back at a few of my favorite things a virtual compendium of vital information to help you remember the year that was for you and me. In case you forgot, your life improved exponentially in 2007 because of one little device that changed everything (except maybe your underwear.) This was the year of the iPhone, and just because you didn’t get one didn’t mean you weren’t impacted somehow. In fact, the beauty of the iPhone is that it made all of our lives better. Really annoying people, we found, weren’t out on the road, crowding stores or making us wish hogtying complete strangers with duct tape was legal. Instead, they were home on the sofa muttering to no one in particular, “Whoa, check this out!”

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Meatfest: It’s the Most Meatiest Time of the Year

Of all the holiday traditions, this one might be the most special, the most glorious, the most magical and memorable. It also might just be the most artery-clogging of all. But as they say, if it doesn’t strain or pain your heart, it isn’t worth doing. And this one sure did strain the heart. To the holiday season, I present you Meatfest, a celebration of all that is grizzled and beefy. Meatfest was born last year by my brother and a few friends who, for some reason, determined that their intake of beef, or really anything that fit in the walked-crawled-or-swam category, had dropped to dangerous levels. These are people who brush their teeth with turkey-flavored toothpaste and, with Eagle-like eyes, can spot a breakfast sausage from two miles away.

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The joy of Christmas, toddler-style

Boy is it easy to get into the Christmas spirit when you have kids. Shoot, I wouldn’t even mind wrapping a present or two, and normally I would choose dengue fever over such a chore. But there’s something magical in the air. Something wonderful and festive. Something like I haven’t experienced since, well, since I was a kid. Back then Christmas was always magical and exciting. It was pop-the-elastic-in-your-waist-band exciting, and everything about it was a thrill, from the Christmas music to the wall-to-wall decorations to the 98-degree weather we would get in Tampa. Now I’m getting to experience it as an adult through the joy of my little 2-year-old daughter, who is suddenly old enough to take it all in and really appreciate the wonder.

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Are the Chimps Really Smarter? Guess so, Bubbles

Why is anyone surprised that a chimpanzee might be smarter than a human? I wasn’t. We think so highly of our own intellects, yet, as far as I know, we’re the only species on the planet who leaves our keys hanging in the door while running around the house screaming, “Where are my keys? Who stole my keys? Heavens, the world is over, I might as well end it all.” They’re right there in the door! Do you think a chimp would do that? A chimp would have those keys out, be in the car and half way to Vegas, baby. The news this week was that researchers in Japan tested not only chimpanzees’ mental abilities, but also pitted one 5-year-old chimp against college students in a cognitive test of wits. It involved numerals (something most college students have never seen) and flashing white blocks on a computer screen. The chimp smoked them.

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People, Do We Really Need Drugs for Longer Eyelashes?

Reason No. 672 that we as a species are doomed: Doctors are now prescribing a glaucoma drug to patients, not because they have glaucoma, but because it also makes eyelashes grow longer. I repeat — IT MAKES EYE LASHES GROW LONGER! This, many of you probably know, is quite desirable to certain people. In fact, many of you might want to get on the horn right now to your medical professionals. But don’t. You’re eyelashes are long enough! Leave them be! You’ll look like palm fronds if you’re not careful. I just don’t know what’s wrong with the world. I thought I had heard it all when they came out with Botox, which just happens to be made from the same toxin that causes that all-too-pleasant and very deadly food poisoning called botulism.

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Santa, Please Go Easy This Year!

The holiday gift shopping calls have begun, and I don’t see any end in sight. Family all want to know what to buy my little 2-year-old girl. She’s finally at the age where toys are getting fun, and everyone wants to join in. But this kid already has stuff! Lots of stuff, and she doesn’t need that much more, unless she’s going to go into the wholesale toy business. My mother was up last weekend and took inventory of her needs. She was horrified to see that her little play kitchen was missing so many vital pieces and necessary utensils — things that proper kitchens wouldn’t be caught dead without. She needs table settings for eight apparently. Cordial glasses for pretend late night liqueurs. Truffle shavers. Garlic presses. Water goblets. A sous chef. You name it. “How can she live like this?” she demanded. “Poor little thing. She doesn’t even have butter knives! I’ve got shopping to do.”

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What to Do with a Week Alone?

Five days on my own, living the bachelor’s life — no one to worry about but me, and free to do whatever I like. No wife. No kid. Five days. On my own. Eat what I want. Drink what I want. Sleep when I want, if I want. Goof around. Get into trouble. All by myself. HELP!!!! When you’re left alone for almost a week there’s a part of you that dreads it — it’s been especially tough not seeing my daughter — and part of you that thinks, “Man, this could be really fun. We can go around in the same pair of underwear all week.” Luckily, there’s not too much of me thinking like that, but it’s nice to know you have that kind of freedom. (Yes, I did change my underwear several times.) My wife went to Long Island with my daughter to help out a cousin who’s been having some health problems. How a woman towing a 2-year-old child who has the energy of bottled plutonium could be of any help at all is beyond me, but off they trekked leaving me to myself.

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Thinking of the Next Big Feat

Run a marathon and people inevitably start to ask you what’s next. What feat will you attempt to top that? What challenge will you set for yourself next? What lengths will you go for the sake of accomplishment and bragging rights? What they’re really saying is, “Hey dipstick, how many pounds of lunacy will your yet-to-harden brain conjure up next? Gonna’ try to get struck by lightning?” I’ve wondered myself. A marathon is a mammoth undertaking, but certainly not insurmountable. Thousands of people have accomplished them, and while impressive, maybe I SHOULD take it up a notch and shoot for something even bigger. Like maybe an ultra-marathon. That’s only 50 miles, and just imagine how stupid people will think I am then. I’ve met a few people who have run ultra-marathons, and my reaction usually is that I want to sit them down, smack them a couple times and scream, “Take up woodworking or golf! Be lazy!” Maybe not ultra-marathons then. Maybe I should get out of running for a while. I could switch to a new sport, like surfing. I’ve been doing that on and off for the past couple years, and I really could get hardcore about it. Is there such a thing as a marathon surf session? I kind of like that pruned look I get after being in the water too long — kind of like a dehydrated 120-year-old.

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Hitting the 20-mile wall at the Marine Corps Marathon

There’s something not-quite-right about running a marathon, which is a dandy 26.2 miles long and, as much as I can imagine, what it must feel like to give birth through your thigh muscles. There’s something not-quite-right about it, and unfortunately, that doesn’t seriously occur to you until you’re 20 miles into it. Why not a year ago when I first hatched this plan? Or six months ago when I started training? Or why not as I approached the start line, when there was still time to fake the recurrence of an old soccer injury? “Ohhhh, my groin! Someone get me to the beer tent, stat!” But no-ooo! I signed-up, trained, walked up to the start line, accepted the challenge, ran off down the road with a bunch of deranged lunatics and got 20 miles into the thing before I realized it was an extremely bad idea. What was I thinking?

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Hello to the Big Kid Bed

And just like that, the crib is gone. The baby is a child. Parenthood is filled with moments when you realize your kid is getting older — that the sands of time wait for no one and spill through the hour glass as quick or slow as they please. When times are bad, they slacken to a trickle. And when things are good, they slip through as if powered by jet fuel. We bought my daughter a big kid bed a few weeks back when we determined that her legs won’t stop growing and that if she keeps sleeping in her crib, we’ll eventually wake up one morning to find her so pinned in between the bars that the jaws of life will be required to cut her out. You never know when a toddler’s growth spurt might kick in.

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