I kind of love running low on groceries and seeing how many days I can make it before the next trip. Not only does it force you to get creative with your meals, but it also exposes those “good idea at the time” items (I’m looking at you, can of pumpkin purchased October 28th) for what they are.

I just had a late night dinner of 1/4 a can of pineapple bits, a handful of raisins, a slice of cheese, a pickle, and a cup of wild berry (decaf) tea.

Help me plan breakfast.

Your palette:

-1 can diced tomatoes
-1 can pumpkin
-7 kinds of tea and cocoa
-6 straws of spaghetti
-M&Ms (pink)
-pesto
-red wine (for breakfast?)
-pickles
-freezer-burned peppers

You have your orders. Make me breakfast.

“At the Festivus dinner, you gather your family around…and tell them all the ways they disappointed you in the last year”

My friends and I have been celebrating Festivus for years, first encouraged by Mr. Croft in Idea of Man, and then on our own. We focus primarily on the Airing of Greivances. The contributions have grown a little weak as we spend less and less time annoying each other (it’s particularly sad when the most contact you’ve had someone is reading their away message), but alcohol can usually be counted on to bring out some old pet peeves.

One of my all-time favorite grievances (against me) was when Chris launched a passionate attack about how I misled elementary school classmates about the name-brand quality of the cereal his mom bought. I don’t remember doing this, but I do remember that she bought Hydrox instead of Oreos, which is one of those substitutions you just can’t make in life. Of course, the Tringale household benefitted from a liberal 3-cookies-each policy, while my parents stuck to an authoritarian limit of two cookies per serving.

And apparently we’re not alone in celebrating a holiday that originated in a mid-90’s sitcom: Sales of aluminum poles are skyrocketing.

So whatever your holiday, I hope it’s a good one.  And a merry one, if it’s tomorrow.

Festivus video below…YouTube makes you do it this way now.  Nice purchase, Google.

My 21st and 22nd birthdays were polar opposites. My 21st was a Saturday night, with everyone I’ve ever met (at UMD anyway) at the bar, with the Red Sox having just destroyed the Yankees and swept the World Series. My 22nd was a Monday night, where 6 good friends showed up anyway and helped me pretend the night had some significance.

So in short, turning 22 sucks because it’s a letdown after turning 21. But 23 is the perfect middle between being too old for your college friends and too young for your work friends. And it’s Election Day this year, and with any luck I’ll be able to read the news without fighting the urge to vomit for the first time since 2000.

And 23 is Michael Jordan’s number.

(This last piece of logic doesn’t apply to turning 45)