I've finally returned from celebrating the holidays the orgy of rum balls and Shiraz required to cope with a long weekend of Family Togetherness. My crowning moment of glory this year was my come-from-behind victory in our annual Trivial Pursuit tournament (what, you think I ended up like this without some intensive nerd nurturing?) even though we play with the Genus V edition, which references only events that happened prior to my birth. And includes answers like, "East Germany." It troubles me a bit that a significant portion of my knowledge base comes from having memorized large quantities of these questions circa 1988. It troubles me further that this state of affairs has never caused me any noticeable difficulties, academic or otherwise.
Say what you will (or what I will) about my family, I find it endearing that, despite the fact that I am almost 26 years old, have received a bachelor's in history from the Ivy League and a J.D. from a top-10 law school, my dad still attempts to give me breaks when questions are "too hard."
Some reflections upon resurfacing:
...I am beyond thrilled by the timely news that Gwen Stefani is reproducing. Timely, because each year at the holiday season, I will be able to calm my tumultuous emotions by the reflection that, no matter what Christmas cataclysm is occurring at my house, things will be even more dysfunctional at chez Stefani. I'd tell Baby Stefani that I'd save some rum balls for him/her, but I assume that the children of crackheaded B-list rocker parents rebel by growing up to become ultra-conservative Bible-thumping Republicans. Or, in this case, Amish.
...Grown women? Should not celebrate their birthdays at FAO Schwartz.
...I think I've discovered a payola-esque conspiracy surrounding the network television New Year's celebrations. Let's explore. Fox is offering us the star-studded lineup of Regis Philbin, Nick Cannon, Tyler Hilton, and John O'Hurley. So, two guys I had to look up on IMDb, one obnoxious blustering blowhard, and...well, I can't in good faith ridicule John O'Hurley. We'll leave it at that. ABC counters with the dream team that is Dick Clark, Ryan Seacrest, and Hilary Duff. Clark is pretty much oozing embalming fluid these days, and neither of the other two could find their way out of a paper bag. With a joint effort. And a map. NBC takes the charity route, fostering Carson Daly's delusions that he has a career. I postulate that the alcohol lobby, in a pervasive effort to ensure that everyone under the age of 82 hits the bars, has contrived to create this assault to the eyes and ears of America. Nothing else could so efficiently account for this race to the bottom of the abyss of tastelessness.
...Tomorrow is S.'s birthday, which means that I have to be nice to him for 24 consecutive hours. In preparation, I need to purge all of my obnoxious antagonism today. S., consider yourself on notice of these scores and this picture. Little commentary is required. Renounce the dark side! We'll help you heal. I'll even throw a Terrible Towel into your birthday care package for good measure!