DAD: Easter is not a federal holiday.

ME: I didn't think it was.

DAD: Everyone should get a day off for Easter. Postal employees should get a day off for Easter.

ME: A day off... on Easter Sunday?

DAD: Yes! Martin Luther King Jr has a holiday. Everyone gets the day off for him. I don't think he's more important than Jesus.

...

I seriously can't tell when he's being serious and when he's jerking my chain. I try to assume it's always the latter, but when he says things like "I can't vote for anyone who looks like Stacey Abrams," I do have to wonder.

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What's under Batman's cape?

Perhaps that's best left to the imagination.

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Geez. I thought 2020 was bad, but what did I know? Coups? Tornados? Dementia? Delta? Omicron? Good riddance, 2021!

It's enough to make even a misanthrope like me wonder if there's still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away. I've done all right up til now. It's the light of day that shows me how. And when the night falls, loneliness calls.

Hey, 2022, if you're listening, how about we start the year on a high note? Don't you want to dance? Say you want to dance. (Dance!)

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I think it's safe to say that Henry enjoyed his first Christmas.

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Watched just in time for Christmas:

146. (2005.) Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)

This movie is infamous because of how public response to its Santa-with-an-axe ad campaign ended up getting the movie pulled from theatrical release. But what it should be infamous for is how it twists the Batman's origin into a (lame) horror story.

As my Christmas gift to the world, I've translated the movie back into comic panels.

Now you can say you've seen Silent Night, Deadly Night (just like how for years I said I'd seen the R-rated Robocop when I'd only read the PG-rated Marvel Comics adaptation). Merry Christmas!

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What am I thankful for this year? Hmm. Let me think.

I know! Bluey. I caught a couple of episodes on Disney Junior in the middle of the night and was instantly hooked. It's a very, very charming cartoon, and I've been watching it when I can.

A cartoon aimed at preschoolers might sound like a strange thing for me to like, but I'm not exactly completely unaware of children's television shows. PBS's Odd Squad has long been must-watch tv for me. (Have I mentioned that around here? No? That's odd. I really do get a kick out of it.)

And I'm sure that a certain Randy somewhere in the world will be quick to remind everyone that I was a big fan of Lazytown back in a day I was already too old for it. Pink is still my favorite hair color.

So, yeah. Happy Bluey, everybody!

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My neighbors already have a Christmas Tree in their window, and I want to smash it. The window, that is. The tree should be set on fire.

A wise man once said, "I think there must be something wrong with me, Linus. Christmas is coming, but I'm not happy. I don't feel the way I'm supposed to feel." Hear, hear, Charlie Brown. I like peace on Earth. I like the idea of good will toward men. I even like candy canes, gingerbread houses, and getting gifts. So why don't I like Christmas?

I'm sure some of it has to do with the fact that Christmas is a disruption of my regular schedule. That's not fun for me. And maybe I don't like seeing other people enjoy themselves. Keep your happiness in Whoville, you jerks!

But I think what I hate most is how commercialized the holiday is. The mindlessly rapacious American consumer is encouraged — nay, expected! — to buy a whole bunch of tchotchkes and gewgaws they don't want or need, crap like this:

We're tearing down forests and melting the icecaps so that someone can grow some faux hair on piles of poo? Bah, humbug.

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Dad has been released from the hospital into my care. I'm not convinced he's ready, but I understand why the hospital wanted to be rid of him. I made the mistake of telling him that CVS had sent a text warning that his new prescription for melatonin was not covered by his insurance. "Good," he said. "That's the drug the nurses were using to hack my phone!"

I left behind a giant bowl of Halloween treats for the excellent staff of Piedmont Hospital Newnan's 8th floor who cared for him for the past two weeks. In essence, I traded the nurses my Dad for a bowl of candy. Trick or treat! It's nice to still have a father, but I'm pretty sure the hospital got the better deal.

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Peanuts by Charles Shulz for September 23, 1975

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