All is Quiet on New Year's Day

And nothing changes but the calendar.

I will most likely begin the new decade in the exact same spot that I end the old one, undoubtedly doing in the new year what it was I did in the the last - the safe money is on drinking something with the aftertaste of regret.

The year changes. The decade rolls over. Those that left us are still gone and those that are leaving will still leave. Debts will still haunt us and life will still taunt us and the laugh of my children will still make me melt.

The aughts are for naught and all is for the better - or so we are told to believe. They brought me my highest highs and my lowest lows and all of the life in between. I owe everything to them and they have taken enough in return. I can only hope that we are even.

The decade was a moveable feast and 2009 was the dropping of the bill - gratuity included.

2010 is a tease for the now. It promises promise and good things to come. I want to believe. I want to let the theory of a fresh start heal old wounds and move me, my family, my friends, my country and this mad, mad world towards new heights and clean slates. We've fallen divided for long enough. I want us to stand.

And nothing changes but the calendar, unless we want it bad enough.

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Go Cuckoo for Christmas

Of X-mas and X-wings

I had every damn light in the room on and I bought QuickTime Pro just to make it brighter, but this video is still incredibly dark and grainy - like an Everclear and Coke. However, unlike said beverage this video won't find you waking in your own sick on your ex-girlfriend's lawn. Or jail.

This is kind of a messed up intro for a cute video of my kids, isn't it? I'm not right.

Put this on loop and welcome to my world:

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Daddy Needs a New Pair of Shoes: The Gift Guide

When Birkenstock contacted me about trying a pair of their Boston Suede Clogs (Mocha) I figured one of the following had to be true: a) they'd seen the pictures of me and Tricia on the Ben & Jerry's tour, b) they had read that I attended a Dave Matthews concert by choice, or c) they've seen my toes and felt that they should be covered. All of the above was also considered.

Turns out that none of those likely possibilities were the actual reason, rather they pegged me, and rightly so, as an international man about town who loves a good pair of kicks. This, the understanding of people, is why Birkenstock has been around since 1774 ( I bet George Washington had a pair just like mine. There's a Boston tie-in there). Of course, their understanding of feet doesn't hurt.

Here's the info on the shoe: it's not the prettiest thing in the world, although some of the other color/fabric options are pretty stylish, but it's comfortable as all get out. George Washington knew this. The Indigo Girls know this. Now you know this. Birkenstock makes a damn comfy shoe.

The footbed consists of layered foam and cork, the latter implying that someone has to drink a lot of wine to make these shoes and that may very well be the BEST. JOB. EVER. There are also a few microscopic air bubbles that cushion and provide arch support. A few MILLION. Do the math and the sum is comfort wins.

Please note, although Birkenstock clogs are made in Germany, socks remain optional.

Compensation: No
Products Received: 1 pair of Birkenstock Boston Suede Clogs (size 12) for review.

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Between the Woods and Frozen Lake

The Christmas lights weren't going to hang themselves. The box of lights, staples and some plastic clips designed to adhere electrical wires to the overflowing gutters had been working as a doorstop for days. It was time they earned their keep. Besides, it wasn't getting any warmer.

The overnight low had been in the single digits. The high wasn't even old enough to drink. I finished my second pot of coffee and like Griswald before me I plugged into the season.

I stood on a ladder made of ice. Visions of sugarplums breaking their necks danced in my head. I was, for a moment, glad that my children were not there to see it. But I lived and I am lit and I never even touch the stuff.

Today I woke to another sunny, frozen morning. Yellow-breasted robins appeared outside my window. A number of blue jays bounced from branch to branch and perched upon the rail in front of me - their colors vibrant and brisk.

They put the lights to shame.


If I stand on my rooftop I can see a lake and hills and then another lake and hills again. Beyond that, blocked from view, is a skyline that falls into the sea and a coast that leads south to a place where my family can't see the ocean but for the mountains between them.

It's mostly side streets from there.

The boys play loudly on a floor with the toys that they packed themselves. There are no holiday lights or signs of the season. There are no stockings or carols or television specials, just the gift that they don't know they are giving.

In the corner of the room there is a bed with their grandfather in it, watching them play and whispering their names and every new goodnight is their last goodbye.

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For Tomorrow May Rain

Waking in the cold dawn it all turned to ash instantly. - Cormac McCarthy

When we left the sunrise was at our back. We drove through dark and ice and the sound of boys falling in and out of sleep. The tundra was frozen and redundant. The sky was lost and forgotten.

The airport was alive with the non-dead. Sleepy travelers boarded dreams. Weary passengers stumbled through gates like so many sheep. I stood there and tried not to count them.

My wife kissed my cheek and peeled the children from me. It took a little skin. I watched them walk away until they turned from sight and then I walked to the car and into the darkness. It was exactly like I had left it but slightly more so.

When I returned the sunrise was my horizon. I drove through twilight and ice and the sound of emptiness traveling just over the posted speed limit. The mountains glowed gold and bright. The sky stretched and yawned and rubbed sleep from its eye. I started to say something but there was no one there to hear me.

All that was left was time and an eastbound highway. I thought of a plane somewhere behind me, turned on the radio and like a moth to the flame I followed the sun until it engulfed everything but the shadows.

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Star Wars: Draw the Clone Wars and the Winners

Here it is, a day late but not a dollar short. Maybe 80¢. In the video below you will find your winners. It may be you, but maybe not. Probably not.

If you are a winner please contact me via the "Contact Whit" link in the sidebar with your full name and mailing info. All winners must report by Monday or I will pick an alternative to those that don't. That seems fair, unlike life.

Congrats to all and to all a good night.

Yes, that's Darth Vader's theme on the ukulele. And yes, that's my wife's bathrobe.