Christmas with my wife’s mother’s family is a blast. The Farrell clan, most hailing from the Milwaukee area, are some of the craziest people I’ve ever met, and most will go out of their way to have a good time. This year was no exception, especially when an “Ugly Sweater” contest was thrown in the mix.
The contest was sort of my idea. My mother-in-law, though, had suggested last year it sounded like a fun idea, and several weeks ago I remembered her suggestion. I reminded my wife, Jenny, and we immediately sent out an e-mail to family members telling them the plan.
Several of them had questions, asking what was allowed and what was not allowed. Jenny realized official rules were needed, so she came up with an awesome list, which included:
1) Sweater is to be broadly defined as any item of apparel that includes a holiday theme, and is not limited to articles of clothing.
2) No inappropriate attire will be accepted, such as an adult diaper with a Christmas tree on it.
3) You may multi-layer with a variety of themed apparel.
4) Duplication and coordination is permissible.
5) Grandma will not win by default.
6) Apparel may be cross gendered.
7) Logowear not normally associated with Christmas is open to interpretation but considered a weak attempt as a stand-alone item.
8) Accessories are considered favorable accents.
9) Daisy Dukes are not acceptable.
10) Animal parts will be considered, such as antlers.
11) Animal “parts” does not include animal scents.
12) Holiday-themed “scrubs” are allowed.
As you can see, the “Ugly Sweater” contest became much more than just about finding an ugly sweater, which was a good thing because that type of contest is already overplayed. When shopping for ugly sweaters at Goodwill a couple of weeks ago, four other groups were there shopping for the same thing. Clearly, this type of contest has become popular with other families, too.
By broadening it, we allowed for some crazy outfits. The first-place winner in our contest, Jake Farrell, wore a Christmas vest matched with some horrendous looking Christmas pants.
Two others tied for second. Ryan Farrell earned his prize by wearing a sweater that was too small (it wasn’t even a Christmas sweater) and Matt Farrell claimed a trophy by wearing a girl’s sweater wrap. He fortunately spared us by wearing a shirt to cover what this wrap didn’t, although he said he thought about going shirtless with the wrap.
Nonwinners included my sister-in-law, Raechel, wearing an outfit to go along with the Christmas song “Dominick the Donkey” and my father-in-law, whom I voted for, wearing a Christmas vest with an owl perched on one shoulder and Michael Jackson gold military straps on the other one.
Seeing the outfits everybody wore was a blast, and even Grandma Farrell, who didn’t quite get the contest at first because to her – the wearer of many Christmas sweaters – all such sweaters are obviously beautiful, got into the contest.
I sported a shag carpet sweater from which we cut off the sleeves and Jenny lined with tinsel. It was actually a comfortable sweater to wear, and I considered reusing it to wear to work.
Next year, the family is going to go with a Christmas hat theme. I better start thinking of some ideas between now and then.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Veterinarians can help keep pets with owners longer
I thought I would be using this space to eulogize my cat, BigE, this week. Thanks to the life-saving work of Dr. Tom Kelble, a veterinarian at Community Animal Hospital in Stevens Point, though, I can use this space to pay tribute to all pets, pet owners and the people who take care of them.
BigE is a female named after Elvis Presley (get it, Big “E”). Our other cat is also a female named Priscilla. I’ve had her for more than 10 years now, two years after meeting my wife, Jenny, but three years before marrying her. She is far and away the pet I’ve owned the longest and also the pet who’s been the most loyal and friendly. Only one of the other dogs, cats, turtles, crabs, snakes and rabbits I’ve owned compare to her, with the other being Priscilla.
Since she was a kitten, BigE has followed me around the house like a puppy. Where I go, she goes. When I’m sitting, she’s on my lap. She does this with other people, including my not-so-calm 5-year-old son, Braden. People visiting our house have commented that they’ve never seen such a friendly cat before.
As any pet owner can testify, the life of most pets, especially cats, is full of routines. They get fed at certain times, they are playful at other times and they sleep quite a bit of the time. Disrupting the routine with a trip to the veterinarian or taking a vacation for a few days can be upsetting to pets.
BigE is no exception. When I took her to the vet last week, I figured this would be the last time her routine would ever be disrupted, because I didn’t think the news would be good. She stopped eating and drinking after several days of vomiting everything she consumed. Consultation with a vet assistant my wife knew and online information indicated she probably had kidney failure and would need to be euthanized.
Dr. Kelble took one look at her and diagnosed a different problem: she had swallowed some thread.
While it sounds like a minor problem, thread to a cat is nearly as deadly as the poison that killed Socrates. Inside a cat, thread acts like a knife, cutting through intestines until the cat becomes as deathly ill as it had become for me.
Dr. Kelble performed emergency surgery on BigE, and afterward said we’ll need to keep our fingers crossed, as the thread sliced through her intestines in seven spots. He noted she is a cat, though, and cats are resilient creatures, able to come back from such injuries. He said he wouldn’t be so optimistic with a dog.
Staying at his office for two days, BigE still refused to eat or drink. She was probably still groggy from the surgery and weary of her temporary home, because she ate and drank shortly after coming back home. Less than a week later, she’s her old self.
In fact, she’s her younger old self, as she’s sleeping on top of me, which she had stopped several years ago, and doesn’t seem to be as timid of feet as she was just several weeks ago. Maybe he gave her some sort of youth injection.
I was prepared for BigE’s final end – even making Braden say a final goodbye to her. Like other pet owners, it’s something we have to face sooner or later, given the life expectancy these animals have. But a good veterinarian can fortunately delay this, as I found out. It’s nice knowing these people are out there to help us keep our pets longer.
BigE is a female named after Elvis Presley (get it, Big “E”). Our other cat is also a female named Priscilla. I’ve had her for more than 10 years now, two years after meeting my wife, Jenny, but three years before marrying her. She is far and away the pet I’ve owned the longest and also the pet who’s been the most loyal and friendly. Only one of the other dogs, cats, turtles, crabs, snakes and rabbits I’ve owned compare to her, with the other being Priscilla.
Since she was a kitten, BigE has followed me around the house like a puppy. Where I go, she goes. When I’m sitting, she’s on my lap. She does this with other people, including my not-so-calm 5-year-old son, Braden. People visiting our house have commented that they’ve never seen such a friendly cat before.
As any pet owner can testify, the life of most pets, especially cats, is full of routines. They get fed at certain times, they are playful at other times and they sleep quite a bit of the time. Disrupting the routine with a trip to the veterinarian or taking a vacation for a few days can be upsetting to pets.
BigE is no exception. When I took her to the vet last week, I figured this would be the last time her routine would ever be disrupted, because I didn’t think the news would be good. She stopped eating and drinking after several days of vomiting everything she consumed. Consultation with a vet assistant my wife knew and online information indicated she probably had kidney failure and would need to be euthanized.
Dr. Kelble took one look at her and diagnosed a different problem: she had swallowed some thread.
While it sounds like a minor problem, thread to a cat is nearly as deadly as the poison that killed Socrates. Inside a cat, thread acts like a knife, cutting through intestines until the cat becomes as deathly ill as it had become for me.
Dr. Kelble performed emergency surgery on BigE, and afterward said we’ll need to keep our fingers crossed, as the thread sliced through her intestines in seven spots. He noted she is a cat, though, and cats are resilient creatures, able to come back from such injuries. He said he wouldn’t be so optimistic with a dog.
Staying at his office for two days, BigE still refused to eat or drink. She was probably still groggy from the surgery and weary of her temporary home, because she ate and drank shortly after coming back home. Less than a week later, she’s her old self.
In fact, she’s her younger old self, as she’s sleeping on top of me, which she had stopped several years ago, and doesn’t seem to be as timid of feet as she was just several weeks ago. Maybe he gave her some sort of youth injection.
I was prepared for BigE’s final end – even making Braden say a final goodbye to her. Like other pet owners, it’s something we have to face sooner or later, given the life expectancy these animals have. But a good veterinarian can fortunately delay this, as I found out. It’s nice knowing these people are out there to help us keep our pets longer.
Plan will make combover popular
I’m bald. I’m not afraid to admit it, as I have done several times before in this column.
I’m also not afraid to offer solutions to remedy baldness, even though I proudly believe it’s something that doesn’t really need to be remedied. I do so because it’s fun.
My latest solution, one of which I told my wife I’m going to do, is to make the combover in vogue.
Men have used the combover for decades to make it look like they have more hair on their heads than they really do. It’s never worked, because it’s clear all who have tried this before are shameful of their baldness and style their hair without the advice of professionals. I could lock myself in the bathroom in front of a mirror for an entire day and would come away looking no better than anyone else with a combover.
But, if I went to a professional hairdresser first and discussed my goal, I think we could come up with a combover together that would be the king of combovers. The professional could advise me on how I should grow the hair I do have, and when it reaches the right length, we would style it in such a way that people with full heads of hair would be jealous of me.
The hair I do have is short right now. I’ve kept it short for years now, because it does make me look less bald. It’s a proven trick many bald and balding men successfully use. And I still have hair that grows on the sides and back of my head. It doesn’t grow on an ever-expanding round patch on the top of my head. When my hair isn’t short, it appears as though I am wearing a white monk’s hat on my head.
All this means I’m the perfect person a brave hairstylist can work with to create the world’s first hip combover.
Upon successful completion of this killer combover, we’ll have to market it to the rest of the world, and the best way to do so would be to recreate it on the head of a popular bald/balding celebrity, because celebrities are (sadly) the types of people others follow, creating trends and eventually popular culture.
I will want recognition for my achievement, so before I allow any celebrity the use of my combover, I’m going to trademark a name – the Steuckover – and will contractually require the celebrity to refer to it as such when discussing it with reporters.
I know the Steuckover will take other forms, much like the Rachel did in the mid 1990s, and I will be honored by all of them. Eventually, they’ll become too popular and the mass public will start hating it, as the public tends to do. Millions of people will take to the Internet to trash the Steuckover, and just as quickly as it became popular, it will be gone.
But give it another 10 years or so. It’ll be back. Maybe in the form of the “ironic” Steuckover, or the “retro” Steuckover. I’ll be happy with whatever form it takes.
Once the Steuckover becomes a thing, I know it’ll only last initially for six months at most. I’m already working on the next trend – the cool toupee.
Author’s note: My wife, Jenny, wishes to comment on this. A loving husband, I’m happy to give her some space, even though she relegates me to a small sliver of space on our bed at night. This is what she has to say:
“To all fellow wives of balding husbands with odd senses of humor... I apologize for and do not condone the idea presented in this column. Be assured that I do own a pair of clippers; however, should the Steuckover take hold, I will be assembling an ‘embarrassed wife’ support group.”
I’m also not afraid to offer solutions to remedy baldness, even though I proudly believe it’s something that doesn’t really need to be remedied. I do so because it’s fun.
My latest solution, one of which I told my wife I’m going to do, is to make the combover in vogue.
Men have used the combover for decades to make it look like they have more hair on their heads than they really do. It’s never worked, because it’s clear all who have tried this before are shameful of their baldness and style their hair without the advice of professionals. I could lock myself in the bathroom in front of a mirror for an entire day and would come away looking no better than anyone else with a combover.
But, if I went to a professional hairdresser first and discussed my goal, I think we could come up with a combover together that would be the king of combovers. The professional could advise me on how I should grow the hair I do have, and when it reaches the right length, we would style it in such a way that people with full heads of hair would be jealous of me.
The hair I do have is short right now. I’ve kept it short for years now, because it does make me look less bald. It’s a proven trick many bald and balding men successfully use. And I still have hair that grows on the sides and back of my head. It doesn’t grow on an ever-expanding round patch on the top of my head. When my hair isn’t short, it appears as though I am wearing a white monk’s hat on my head.
All this means I’m the perfect person a brave hairstylist can work with to create the world’s first hip combover.
Upon successful completion of this killer combover, we’ll have to market it to the rest of the world, and the best way to do so would be to recreate it on the head of a popular bald/balding celebrity, because celebrities are (sadly) the types of people others follow, creating trends and eventually popular culture.
I will want recognition for my achievement, so before I allow any celebrity the use of my combover, I’m going to trademark a name – the Steuckover – and will contractually require the celebrity to refer to it as such when discussing it with reporters.
I know the Steuckover will take other forms, much like the Rachel did in the mid 1990s, and I will be honored by all of them. Eventually, they’ll become too popular and the mass public will start hating it, as the public tends to do. Millions of people will take to the Internet to trash the Steuckover, and just as quickly as it became popular, it will be gone.
But give it another 10 years or so. It’ll be back. Maybe in the form of the “ironic” Steuckover, or the “retro” Steuckover. I’ll be happy with whatever form it takes.
Once the Steuckover becomes a thing, I know it’ll only last initially for six months at most. I’m already working on the next trend – the cool toupee.
Author’s note: My wife, Jenny, wishes to comment on this. A loving husband, I’m happy to give her some space, even though she relegates me to a small sliver of space on our bed at night. This is what she has to say:
“To all fellow wives of balding husbands with odd senses of humor... I apologize for and do not condone the idea presented in this column. Be assured that I do own a pair of clippers; however, should the Steuckover take hold, I will be assembling an ‘embarrassed wife’ support group.”
‘Favorite Things’ doesn’t have to end with Oprah’s talk show retirement
Oprah Winfrey is set to retire her long-running and mega-popular talk show in September, taking with her the annual tradition of “Oprah’s Favorite Things” in which she simply tells people what her favorite things are and then gives one of each those items to every member in the studio audience. Among her favorite things this year was the newly redesigned 2012 Volkswagen Beetle, a car so cool she was only allowed to show the lucky recipients its silhouette until they receive it in late spring.
Since Oprah’s tradition shouldn’t be completely abandoned just because she’s moving onto other endeavors, I’ve decided to pick up the mantle and start “Scott’s Favorite Things.” Unfortunately, I don’t have Oprah’s money nor her influence, so I don’t have the ability to give away these items to my audience. You’ll just get the part where I tell you what my favorite things are.
I’m going to start with the one item I have with me nearly all the time – my fourth generation iPod Touch, the smaller and cheaper version of the iPad that Oprah named as one of her favorite things.
As I type this, I’m listening to music through the stereo attached to my Touch, which houses more than 2,000 of my favorite songs. When I’m at work-related meetings or interviewing someone, I record what I hear with the voice recorder on it, and when I’m out and about and see something I want to photograph, I take a picture with it. I’ve also got nearly 100 cool apps and games on it that I play and do things like read other newspapers. It also checks e-mail, takes video, allows for Skype calling and FaceTime (video conferencing – usually with my wife when I’m at work and she’s at home), and provides weather updates.
Next on my list is “High Violet” by The National, easily the best album of 2010. I wasn’t familiar with this band at all until I heard the song “Bloodbuzz, Ohio” from the album this spring. Based on the song, I picked up the album from Radio KAOS in Stevens Point and found myself infatuated with it. Coming a close second is “Brothers” by the Black Keys, which I’ve also found myself listening to over and over again.
Movie-wise, I’ll recommend “How to Train Your Dragon,” “Kick-Ass” and “Inception” as favorite must-owns for 2010. “Dragon” and “Kick-Ass” are fun films that provide something new with each viewing, while “Inception” is another mind-blowing film from Christopher Nolan, who also brought us “The Dark Knight” and “Memento.”
Another favorite thing my wife and I bought this year is a Panini maker. Whenever we need a quick, good meal, we use it to make delicious sandwiches deli-like in taste. These sandwiches are especially good when we use Asiago cheese bakery bread.
While I can’t be Oprah in giving away all of my favorite things, I can offer plenty of laughs with the last of my favorite things: YouTube videos. Go to YouTube and search for “Double Rainbow Guy,” “Bed Intruder” followed by “Bed Intruder Remix,” “Charlie Bit Me,” “Sneezing Panda” and “Zombie Boy.” Most of these videos should inspire a few chuckles, which is forever priceless compared to many of the items I’ve recommended that will be outdated in a few years.
Since Oprah’s tradition shouldn’t be completely abandoned just because she’s moving onto other endeavors, I’ve decided to pick up the mantle and start “Scott’s Favorite Things.” Unfortunately, I don’t have Oprah’s money nor her influence, so I don’t have the ability to give away these items to my audience. You’ll just get the part where I tell you what my favorite things are.
I’m going to start with the one item I have with me nearly all the time – my fourth generation iPod Touch, the smaller and cheaper version of the iPad that Oprah named as one of her favorite things.
As I type this, I’m listening to music through the stereo attached to my Touch, which houses more than 2,000 of my favorite songs. When I’m at work-related meetings or interviewing someone, I record what I hear with the voice recorder on it, and when I’m out and about and see something I want to photograph, I take a picture with it. I’ve also got nearly 100 cool apps and games on it that I play and do things like read other newspapers. It also checks e-mail, takes video, allows for Skype calling and FaceTime (video conferencing – usually with my wife when I’m at work and she’s at home), and provides weather updates.
Next on my list is “High Violet” by The National, easily the best album of 2010. I wasn’t familiar with this band at all until I heard the song “Bloodbuzz, Ohio” from the album this spring. Based on the song, I picked up the album from Radio KAOS in Stevens Point and found myself infatuated with it. Coming a close second is “Brothers” by the Black Keys, which I’ve also found myself listening to over and over again.
Movie-wise, I’ll recommend “How to Train Your Dragon,” “Kick-Ass” and “Inception” as favorite must-owns for 2010. “Dragon” and “Kick-Ass” are fun films that provide something new with each viewing, while “Inception” is another mind-blowing film from Christopher Nolan, who also brought us “The Dark Knight” and “Memento.”
Another favorite thing my wife and I bought this year is a Panini maker. Whenever we need a quick, good meal, we use it to make delicious sandwiches deli-like in taste. These sandwiches are especially good when we use Asiago cheese bakery bread.
While I can’t be Oprah in giving away all of my favorite things, I can offer plenty of laughs with the last of my favorite things: YouTube videos. Go to YouTube and search for “Double Rainbow Guy,” “Bed Intruder” followed by “Bed Intruder Remix,” “Charlie Bit Me,” “Sneezing Panda” and “Zombie Boy.” Most of these videos should inspire a few chuckles, which is forever priceless compared to many of the items I’ve recommended that will be outdated in a few years.
Black Friday involves strategy, braveness some husbands don’t have
Most people receiving the paper today (Friday, Nov. 26) who planned on shopping during the busiest shopping day of the year, commonly known as Black Friday, have probably already done so, since some stores open as early as 3 a.m. to take advantage of all the eager shoppers searching for great deals.
I’m not amongst this group, because I have a brave wife, Jenny, who does this for me. While she’s battling crowds, lines, lack of parking spaces and other people who may grab the last item of something on sale, I’m at home, with our 5-year-old son, Braden, who is oblivious to the fact a good number of the items under the tree on Christmas for him were purchased with her blood, sweat and tears this morning.
I told Jenny we’d set up our fake tree, the 15-year-old one that once belonged to my parents that we’ve been threatening to throw away for years but which always seems to survive another holiday season. I hate the tree with a passion, because putting it together takes out nearly all the fun of the holidays before they even begin, but I’d rather be doing that than taking on the shopping crowds.
Before Braden came along, she towed me along with her. Getting up at 3 a.m. to stand outside a store in nearly subzero temperatures in hopes of getting an inexpensive television was, at the time, a painful moment I said I never wanted to relive, although looking back on it I’ve since come to the conclusion it’s one of those “story” moments I’ll fondly remember forever, and one I hope to tell Braden and his children some day.
Braden was the main reason I was allowed to stay home on Black Friday. Another big factor was the emergence of a friend of Jenny’s who took her with her, schooling my wife in the art of Black Friday shopping.
This friend told Jenny she needs to know what specific items she wants from each store, and those items should be retrieved as quickly as possible when the store opens and then checked out just as quickly in order to get to the next store. They start at Kohl’s at 3 a.m., go to Target at 4 a.m., head to Walmart at 5 a.m. and then end the main spree at Menard’s at 6 a.m. They then spend the rest of the morning going back to some of those stores and hitting up other stores such as Best Buy and Michael’s while the big sales are still effective, getting items that were not on their immediate must-have lists.
This strategy has worked fairly well over the years, as Jenny has always come home with the items she’s wanted. And numerous other items.
Having learned from the master, Jenny has ventured out on her own the last several years. This year, she’s aiming to purchase a Nintendo DSlite from Walmart for $89 ($40 off the regular price), an area rug from Target for $20 ($20 off the regular price) and a slew of other items we spent listing based on the ad “leaks” available to view on blackfriday.com.
We spent Sunday night strategizing by making a list of the people we need to purchase gifts for, and then picking items we thought would best suit those people. If all goes well, our Christmas shopping may be 95-percent complete before I even wake up Friday.
I’m even giving Jenny a mission. I’m sending some money and a list with her to purchase some $10 Playstation 3 games, just for me. I don’t expect her to get everything on my list, but even if she gets just one or two it will seem like a good holiday season for me, even after Braden and I tackle the stupid tree.
I’m not amongst this group, because I have a brave wife, Jenny, who does this for me. While she’s battling crowds, lines, lack of parking spaces and other people who may grab the last item of something on sale, I’m at home, with our 5-year-old son, Braden, who is oblivious to the fact a good number of the items under the tree on Christmas for him were purchased with her blood, sweat and tears this morning.
I told Jenny we’d set up our fake tree, the 15-year-old one that once belonged to my parents that we’ve been threatening to throw away for years but which always seems to survive another holiday season. I hate the tree with a passion, because putting it together takes out nearly all the fun of the holidays before they even begin, but I’d rather be doing that than taking on the shopping crowds.
Before Braden came along, she towed me along with her. Getting up at 3 a.m. to stand outside a store in nearly subzero temperatures in hopes of getting an inexpensive television was, at the time, a painful moment I said I never wanted to relive, although looking back on it I’ve since come to the conclusion it’s one of those “story” moments I’ll fondly remember forever, and one I hope to tell Braden and his children some day.
Braden was the main reason I was allowed to stay home on Black Friday. Another big factor was the emergence of a friend of Jenny’s who took her with her, schooling my wife in the art of Black Friday shopping.
This friend told Jenny she needs to know what specific items she wants from each store, and those items should be retrieved as quickly as possible when the store opens and then checked out just as quickly in order to get to the next store. They start at Kohl’s at 3 a.m., go to Target at 4 a.m., head to Walmart at 5 a.m. and then end the main spree at Menard’s at 6 a.m. They then spend the rest of the morning going back to some of those stores and hitting up other stores such as Best Buy and Michael’s while the big sales are still effective, getting items that were not on their immediate must-have lists.
This strategy has worked fairly well over the years, as Jenny has always come home with the items she’s wanted. And numerous other items.
Having learned from the master, Jenny has ventured out on her own the last several years. This year, she’s aiming to purchase a Nintendo DSlite from Walmart for $89 ($40 off the regular price), an area rug from Target for $20 ($20 off the regular price) and a slew of other items we spent listing based on the ad “leaks” available to view on blackfriday.com.
We spent Sunday night strategizing by making a list of the people we need to purchase gifts for, and then picking items we thought would best suit those people. If all goes well, our Christmas shopping may be 95-percent complete before I even wake up Friday.
I’m even giving Jenny a mission. I’m sending some money and a list with her to purchase some $10 Playstation 3 games, just for me. I don’t expect her to get everything on my list, but even if she gets just one or two it will seem like a good holiday season for me, even after Braden and I tackle the stupid tree.
Team Coco gets last laugh with debut of ‘Conan’
I’m with Team Coco, extremely happy that he’s back to television.
Team Coco, for those who don’t know, is Conan O’Brien, late night talk show host.
For 17 years he hosted “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” the 11:35 p.m. talk show that followed “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” and then for seven months he took over “The Tonight Show” until Leno ruthlessly stole it back.
Following a large settlement to essentially kick him off NBC, and a nine-month waiting period, Conan is back on late night, as host of the simply titled “Conan” on basic cable station TBS. The show, which immediately makes Leno’s and David Letterman’s show obsolete, debuted Monday, Nov. 8.
His return was spectacular, beginning with a filmed piece simply titled “Last season on ‘Conan.’” Filmed as a highlight of the “previous” season, it started with Conan telling NBC officials by phone that he was not going to move his show half-an-hour later, as they had requested to put Leno back to 10:35. “What can they do to me?” he joked after hanging up the phone.
“Godfather”-style, they gun him down, like Sonny Corleone. He doesn’t die, though, and after driving his wife nuts at home, he’s forced to get a job. Unfortunately, he finds he’s not suited for work as a fast-food waiter or a clown. But then someone suggests basic cable. Before he knows it, he’s back on television.
Thank god. Late night just isn’t the same without Team Coco.
I started watching him when he debuted in 1993. He was an awkward redhead nobody had ever heard of before, despite successful writing gigs on “Saturday Night Live” and “The Simpsons,” and his first few months were painful to watch because he looked uncomfortable in front of the camera.
But then he got confident, found his groove and redefined late night with characters and skits like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, the Masturbating Bear and “In the Year 2000…” In college, my friends and I ignored Leno and Letterman, but gladly watched Conan. He spoke to us with his self-mocking humor.
When NBC announced five years ago that he was going to become the new “Tonight Show” host, I thought somebody at the network was really smart. That person must have left when NBC made the stupid decision to get rid of him.
In the end, though, it worked out for the better. On basic cable, Conan is free to be more edgy and do things the older “Tonight Show” audience didn’t appreciate.
And when he draws the younger audience away from “The Tonight Show,” the audience advertisers care about, he’ll have the last laugh, along with plenty of other laughs he’ll provide to his loyal following.
UPDATE: Since this column was published in November of 2010, I've become addicted to Jimmy Fallon's show. I still like Conan, but Jimmy is the funniest late-night guy on television. Check out his Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Charlie Sheen impressions.
Team Coco, for those who don’t know, is Conan O’Brien, late night talk show host.
For 17 years he hosted “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,” the 11:35 p.m. talk show that followed “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” and then for seven months he took over “The Tonight Show” until Leno ruthlessly stole it back.
Following a large settlement to essentially kick him off NBC, and a nine-month waiting period, Conan is back on late night, as host of the simply titled “Conan” on basic cable station TBS. The show, which immediately makes Leno’s and David Letterman’s show obsolete, debuted Monday, Nov. 8.
His return was spectacular, beginning with a filmed piece simply titled “Last season on ‘Conan.’” Filmed as a highlight of the “previous” season, it started with Conan telling NBC officials by phone that he was not going to move his show half-an-hour later, as they had requested to put Leno back to 10:35. “What can they do to me?” he joked after hanging up the phone.
“Godfather”-style, they gun him down, like Sonny Corleone. He doesn’t die, though, and after driving his wife nuts at home, he’s forced to get a job. Unfortunately, he finds he’s not suited for work as a fast-food waiter or a clown. But then someone suggests basic cable. Before he knows it, he’s back on television.
Thank god. Late night just isn’t the same without Team Coco.
I started watching him when he debuted in 1993. He was an awkward redhead nobody had ever heard of before, despite successful writing gigs on “Saturday Night Live” and “The Simpsons,” and his first few months were painful to watch because he looked uncomfortable in front of the camera.
But then he got confident, found his groove and redefined late night with characters and skits like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, the Masturbating Bear and “In the Year 2000…” In college, my friends and I ignored Leno and Letterman, but gladly watched Conan. He spoke to us with his self-mocking humor.
When NBC announced five years ago that he was going to become the new “Tonight Show” host, I thought somebody at the network was really smart. That person must have left when NBC made the stupid decision to get rid of him.
In the end, though, it worked out for the better. On basic cable, Conan is free to be more edgy and do things the older “Tonight Show” audience didn’t appreciate.
And when he draws the younger audience away from “The Tonight Show,” the audience advertisers care about, he’ll have the last laugh, along with plenty of other laughs he’ll provide to his loyal following.
UPDATE: Since this column was published in November of 2010, I've become addicted to Jimmy Fallon's show. I still like Conan, but Jimmy is the funniest late-night guy on television. Check out his Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Charlie Sheen impressions.
Halloween should be all about peanut butter kisses
To a household of people trying to lose weight, and with a little boy who doesn’t need to be “sugared up,” Halloween is a bit of a holiday from hell. While some may say the holiday – if it can be called that – is then successfully living up to its reputation and intended purpose, I’ll disagree, mainly because I belong to this family.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Halloween; in fact, I believe it’s the third best one, right behind Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the decorations associated with Halloween, and the costumes people come up with for the occasion can be pants-splitting hilarious.
And the entire tradition of going from house to house dressed in a costume and asking people for candy is mind-boggling in a “can we really do that?” sort of way.
When my wife, Jenny, our 5-year-old son, Braden, and I hit the streets of Plover on Sunday for trick-or-treating, I assumed the candy haul would be about the same as when I was a kid – about half an ice cream pail full of assorted candy, half of which would be the peanut butter kisses in the black or orange wrappers. I often ate all the candy I collected the same night.
Trick-or-treating has evolved since I was a kid, because Braden didn’t collect one peanut butter kiss. Either they don’t make them anymore, the government declared them unfit for consumption (which wouldn’t be surprising, given their tendency to become harder than a rock if exposed to temperatures less than 50 degrees for more than half an hour), or my hometown of Wautoma is strangely unique in the fact peanut butter kisses are only the norm there, and not elsewhere.
In addition, the amount of candy Braden collected was literally 12 times the amount I collected. He filled up an entire canvas shopping bag in a little more than two hours, which may not seem like all that much until you discover exactly how much those bags can hold. At home, we emptied the candy contents of the bag into two giant salad bowls and came to the realization we have enough candy to last the entire family until well past Christmas.
And it’s all good stuff, like miniature candy bars, a few full-size candy bars, individually packaged licorice sticks and rice crispy treats, granola bars, packages of Milk Duds and M&Ms, and even some small bags of chips.
It was all so good that only the truly unusual items stood out to Braden – a package of silly bands, a green stick of licorice, a spider ring, a tube of play dough, and a skeleton decoration. Those were all the items he wanted first.
He wants the candy, too, but Jenny and I limit the amount of sugar we give him, as we’re not big fans of “Hyper Boy.” This means we do not give him any in the morning, and he gets a few items when he gets home in the evening, but only if he’s been a good boy. At this rate, we figure he could get through all the candy by next Halloween.
That’s only if Jenny and I weren’t helping him eat it. We generally keep this type of food out of the house, because if you don’t have it, you won’t eat it. But since we have it, both of us have dipped our paws in the bowls more than a few times. Somebody’s got to eat it, I guess.
I know a solution. More peanut butter kisses. All our problems will be resolved.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Halloween; in fact, I believe it’s the third best one, right behind Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love the decorations associated with Halloween, and the costumes people come up with for the occasion can be pants-splitting hilarious.
And the entire tradition of going from house to house dressed in a costume and asking people for candy is mind-boggling in a “can we really do that?” sort of way.
When my wife, Jenny, our 5-year-old son, Braden, and I hit the streets of Plover on Sunday for trick-or-treating, I assumed the candy haul would be about the same as when I was a kid – about half an ice cream pail full of assorted candy, half of which would be the peanut butter kisses in the black or orange wrappers. I often ate all the candy I collected the same night.
Trick-or-treating has evolved since I was a kid, because Braden didn’t collect one peanut butter kiss. Either they don’t make them anymore, the government declared them unfit for consumption (which wouldn’t be surprising, given their tendency to become harder than a rock if exposed to temperatures less than 50 degrees for more than half an hour), or my hometown of Wautoma is strangely unique in the fact peanut butter kisses are only the norm there, and not elsewhere.
In addition, the amount of candy Braden collected was literally 12 times the amount I collected. He filled up an entire canvas shopping bag in a little more than two hours, which may not seem like all that much until you discover exactly how much those bags can hold. At home, we emptied the candy contents of the bag into two giant salad bowls and came to the realization we have enough candy to last the entire family until well past Christmas.
And it’s all good stuff, like miniature candy bars, a few full-size candy bars, individually packaged licorice sticks and rice crispy treats, granola bars, packages of Milk Duds and M&Ms, and even some small bags of chips.
It was all so good that only the truly unusual items stood out to Braden – a package of silly bands, a green stick of licorice, a spider ring, a tube of play dough, and a skeleton decoration. Those were all the items he wanted first.
He wants the candy, too, but Jenny and I limit the amount of sugar we give him, as we’re not big fans of “Hyper Boy.” This means we do not give him any in the morning, and he gets a few items when he gets home in the evening, but only if he’s been a good boy. At this rate, we figure he could get through all the candy by next Halloween.
That’s only if Jenny and I weren’t helping him eat it. We generally keep this type of food out of the house, because if you don’t have it, you won’t eat it. But since we have it, both of us have dipped our paws in the bowls more than a few times. Somebody’s got to eat it, I guess.
I know a solution. More peanut butter kisses. All our problems will be resolved.
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