Hallmark Channel, You're Killing Me ,,,

For the few of you out there still living within the limitations created by Time-Warner's Basic Cable, the holiday season this year has already taken an alarming turn.  Recent reductions in the channel offerings available to those of us unwilling to pay a $100.00 plus monthly cable bill has placed many in a rather precarious position; one that even those of us (like me) with long-time subscriptions to 'Netflix' have yet to come up with a suitable solution for.  In fact it sometimes seems that the only channel providing reasonable cable cinematic efforts on TV is the Hallmark Channel.

Don't get me wrong here, I really like to watch movies and normally have no real objection to the 'made for TV' type that represent the common fare on Hallmark Channel.  The plots on their films are fairly well written (though sometimes horribly formulaic), the obvious Canadian studio production values of these films are solid, and where else could one go to see all of the great character actors from serial TV and old movies since "The Love Boat" and "Love American Style" went off the air.  The problem however, is that since I no longer receive AMC, TMC, TNT, or even the "Sharknado" movie on the ScyFy channel from the friendly folks at my cable company; Hallmark's offerings are damn near the only alternatives available on the channels remaining. 

I have therefore been plunged in recent days into a world of non-stop Christmas movies through their current "Countdown to Christmas" schedule.  This is bad enough for someone who's long been suffering from a near terminal case SCSS (Santa Claus Similarity Syndrome); but making the symptoms even more tortuous lately are the diabetic-destroying sugar levels in the romance and romantic comedy story lines that are woven into Hallmark's holiday offerings.  

Listen, I like my 'chick flicks' as much as any other sports-addicted, chest thumping, Neanderthal, but this expanded exposure to the 'Dark Side' of movie making has gotten completely out of hand.  My anxiety over the situation has reached a point where I've had to monitor my sleeping habits; lest I drop off with the TV on and find myself being subliminally programmed with an overdose Christmas spirit and more weepy sensitivity than any member of my gender can willing be asked to contain.  

The fact that I'm able, and even willing to write about the recent impact of this not-too-subtle re-programming (brainwashing) should indicate to even the least discerning how ghastly my own personal situation has become.  The further admission that this recent exposure has probably allowed me to 'grow as a person' should in fact be recognized by the rest of my gender as symptomatic of the terrifying potential harm that this network's offerings represent to the species.  

The fact that I'm not currently seeing anyone (and admitting that publicly as well), adds insult to injury by forcing me to watch this "Groundhog Day" programming schedule by myself.  The entire situation is serious enough that I've actually begun to fear future retention of my 'Man Card'.  Heaven help me, but it's lately gotten so bad as to find me writing down late night tear-stained 'Post-It' notes with the URLs of dating websites in a desperate (and mostly pathetic) search to re-create the happy ending from the most recently viewed cinematic effort.  (Fortunately, I come to my senses in the morning; belch, fart, scratch myself, and run such notes through a paper shredder immediately afterward.)

So if you're out there Time-Warner, I'm begging you!  Please give me back ESPN or Spike TV and allow me to return to my former (and mostly insensitive) nature.  Stop taunting me with the choice between the cable upgrade required to allow me to view the manly TV I long for and the prescription medications that I require to survive.  Don't force me to replace the take-out and microwavable high in salt, high in trans fat meals that I usually consume in front of the TV set watching football games with the Dog Food that the government and mainstream media have threatened me with for years as the only way I will have left to make ends meet.  

Come to think of it, don't force me to begin a letter-writing campaign to my Congressman or Senator with desperate appeals for greater government regulation in the cable industry at the very least; or better still, Cable TV subsidizing.  (Isn't full cable a right in this country, after all!) 

While there's more that I'd like to say on the subject, right now I'm feeling a little too emotional to properly express myself.  Besides, "The Santa Suit" with former "Hercules" star Kevin Sorbo is about to come on the Hallmark Channel, and (sniff, sniff) I don't want to miss it.   

 

It's Not The Heat, It's the Humility

Well the predicted high for Sunday here in beautiful Mission, Kansas is 102 degrees, but of course we get a bit of humidity here as well, so the heat index will probably be closer to 113. Now I know that's not a big deal in many places around the world, but here in the KC area, it's what we sometimes call "damn hot".  More than that however, it's uncomfortable for someone of my advanced years and calorically challenged condition.

That at least, is the conclusion that I've come to in describing the case for those of us who can only use the word 'fit' when describing the clothes that we used to wear, but which are too small for us now.  Or in my case, those of us for whom the term "smokin' hot" is only used to describe the lit end of the cigar often plugged into my pie hole.  Of course it would probably be far more comfortable in such conditions to find myself soaking in the local municipal pool; but a member of the male of the species participating in such activities is required to go 'topless' in public, and many would consider the exposure of so much pasty white flesh (which would likely turn rather quickly to the color of a well-cooked lobster) to be showing a lack of respect to fellow pool goers. As a believer in the rule of law, I might even go so far as to say that I have far too much respect for indecency laws in this country to go shirtless in such weather (or any other for that matter).

Respect is likewise part of the issue to be considered as I contemplate the humiliating effect that such an appearance has made on the shambles of my social life.  While I freely concede the idea that there are very few women compatible with the Curmudgeonly existence and stogie-smoking lifestyle that I enjoy these days, I am nevertheless not ready to rule out the possibility that (dare I say it) dating might yet lie in my future.  Such contemplations seem far less realistic however when I see the figure that I cut these days, unless of course the women in question were to be of the sort that have romantic fantasies of Sydney Greenstreet ("The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca), Orson Welles (from his Gallo wine days) or Lionel Barrymore ("It's a Wonderful Life").  

Then of course, one must consider the possibilities if such social interaction should follow its natural course.  There's always a chance, however unlikely, that romance might ensue.  Eventually such consideration seems doomed to run into a situation where the previously mentioned removal of a shirt (or heaven forbid, even more) rears its ugly head. A genuine respect for the fairer gender on my part could easily be seen as reason enough to prevent one of them from the sight of undress that such a situation could lead to, if not actually require. 

It's sometimes strange to consider the curious condition of this personal situation; as I was in my youth little more than a skinny, clumsy, tow headed rug rat.  In those days I consumed mass quantities of every sort of food group known to mankind without a care in the world, and without gaining enough weight to keep me upright in a strong wind. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I should note that this consumption was indeed prodigious, with the exceptions of uncooked tomatoes, cooked cabbage, and pickles.  Such discriminating taste convinces me not only of discerning judgment, but that I was never pregnant.)  During High School days I even took to the use of protein powder supplements in the hope of packing on enough weight to gain further stability on hockey skates, but never managed to satisfy either my coaches or myself and felt humiliated by my failure as a consequence.

These days however, it's the opposite.  Though a better cook than I am often allowed to prove, I use little of that training in the culinary arts; since calorie counting was never a part of the style in which I gained my knowledge.  Food preparation method not withstanding however, I seem to gain weight these days merely by looking at a recipe of ingredients, let alone actually preparing or eating them.  This is not to say that I don't occasionally sit down at the table with the rapacious longing of a python contemplating a meal larger than itself. (I saw this picture once on the Internet of this python that  had eaten an alligator ... oh, never mind.  Look it up yourself.)  Nor is this that I don't understand that the snake in question only eats once a week or so and I'm still pounding down two squares a day, but you get message.

The bottom line of such indulgence is that where once I was considered too small for the game of hockey, I now tip the scale far enough to place myself in the position of a large tight end or linebacker in football, and far too close to the scale (pun intended) which would allow me to take my place on the offensive or defensive line.  This in spite of the fact that I often find myself walking as much as 20-25 miles a week.  I am however, contemplating some rather serious lifestyle changes in the hopes of changing my attitude, my fortunes, and the numbers on the scale.  I won't go into detail on them now, but promise to annoy you with it in the future if these efforts begin to produce any worthwhile results.  

In the meantime however, I am bracing up for a weekend heat wave with all of the enthusiasm (and much of the size) of a beached whale.  And though the numbers on the thermometer do indeed seem high, they are are in fact paltry when considered against the one staring back at me when I can lean over far enough (without falling) to read the ones on the scale.  I have already promised myself not to slack off on my weekend routine of perspiring perambulation regardless of the temperature, moisture content in the air, or the volume of material required to decently cover myself.  The efforts of exercise are in fact those of self-improvement (OK, they're an excuse to smoke a larger cigar) and heaven knows I can use some improvement.  As for the relative discomfort involved, after having lived both here in the Kansas City area and in south Georgia; I believe that I can say with confidence that when it comes to the discomfort involved it's not the heat, it's the humility.

Happy Valentine's Day

Being a Curmudgeon sometimes carries terrible responsibilities, and one of them is occasionally bursting the bubble on the humbug that society often perpetrates on itself. Today's particular bit of nonsense is today's Hallmark Holiday, one more commonly known as Valentine's Day.  

Originally known as St Valentine's Day, it was a celebration of the Catholic martyrs born on this day. The holiday was rather confusing however, as the Catholic Church originally recognized eleven St Valentines, only two of whom were given homage on February 14th. Perhaps even more confusing (and wonderfully ironic) is that the holiday dedicated to the concept of romantic love was originally designed to celebrate the birth of a Roman Catholic priest (Valentine of Rome) and a Catholic bishop (Valentine of Terni), both of whom were sworn to celibacy.
 

Others trace the holiday and its rituals to the pagan worship of Juno, the Roman goddess of love and marriage. Like many other pagan holidays, it's said that they and their practices were simply co-opted by the early Catholic Church and used for their own purposes. Without boring you with the history of the holiday through the ages; I can say that it managed to survive through the Middle Ages and had evolved into the practice of giving cards by the 19th Century (with North America following England in doing so). The first commercially mass produced Valentine's Day cards in the US appeared around 1847 in Massachusetts.  

Of course growing up in Chicago, we were never allowed to forget that of 1929, when six members of the George "Bugs" Moran gang and Dr. Reinhardt Schwimmer were gunned down in a Chicago garage in the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre". The primary target, Bugs Moran, managed to be absent from the event and survived to see many more St. Valentine's Days before dying of cancer in 1957. Credit for the "hit" was given to Al Capone and his henchmen, though no one was actually convicted of the crime. Al himself, in further holiday irony, died of cardiac arrest in 1947 likely linked to Syphilis (a sexually transmitted disease) that he had contracted years before.  

Today however, anyone showing up with nothing but a card (or a machine gun) in hand will likely receive a chilly reception on this winter holiday of romance. Like many other gift-giving holidays, rampant consumerism has long since taken over the true spirit of the day. Candy, teddy bears, lingerie (pajamas for those of you of a less libidinous inclination), flowers, and dinner are now the expected minimum offerings to show a loved one you care. Anyone with true feelings for a significant other on this day however, will cough up enough for jewelry or a car (nothing says love like a new pickup truck, after all). 

 Now just to prove that I am not entirely without a heart where this day is concerned (no jokes about conservatives here please), I will point out that I got married for the first time on Valentine's Day. I'm sure that there are some cynics out there who might say that I did so, not out of a true sense of romance, but instead in a miserly effort to save myself from having to buy the woman in question jewelry that year.  Others might see more of a long term strategy in combining the future burdens of both a Valentines Day and Anniversary presents in every year after (but who would believe that I could be that clever). 

In the spirit of full faith and disclosure, I will also point out that I admitted to the date of that first marriage early in my relationship to my 2nd wife, thereby eliminating Valentines Day as a romantic holiday for us. (She didn't want to celebrate the anniversary of my first marriage, go figure ...) 

I'm actually sorry to say that I will be without romantic entanglement again this year on Valentine's Day (evidently Curmudgeons [or at least this one] do not apparently cut the romantic figure that they once did), but take some consolation in the fact that I will also not be caught up in the commercial madness that the day has become. Besides, I consider myself an incurable romantic (you could tell from this posting, right?), and limiting myself expressions of affection on a single day would be incomprehensible. 

In fact, I would have to say that anyone who places all of their romantic eggs in this one basket can make no such similar claim. I will go further and say that any man who only shows that he cares on Valentines Day can make no claim to manhood at all, and any relationship which requires a day to remind two people of the love and affection that they feel for each other is probably doomed already. 

I will therefore call out this Hallmark Holiday for what it is, a sham and a humbug, ill used to celebrate what true romance is all about; and a weak excuse to firm up the bottom lines of candy makers, jewelers and florists. Having now gotten that off of my chest, and while wearing my heart on my sleeve ... Happy Valentine's Day.
 

Valentines Day ... Humbug

Being a Curmudgeon sometimes carries terrible responsibilities, and one of them is bursting the bubble on the humbug that society often perpetrates on itself. Today's particular bit of nonsense the day's Hallmark Holiday, more commonly known as Valentine's Day.  

Originally known as St Valentine's Day, it was a celebration of the Catholic martyrs born on this day. The holiday was rather confusing however, as the Catholic Church originally recognized eleven St Valentines, only two of whom were given homage on February 14th. It seems even more confusing to me today however (and particularly ironic) that a holiday originally designed to celebrate a Roman Catholic priest (Valentine of Rome) and a Catholic bishop (Valentine of Terni), both of whom were sworn to celibacy, are honored with a day of secular romance.

Others trace the holiday and its rituals to the pagan worship of Juno, the Roman goddess of love and marriage, which seems to make more sense (if you take off the whole Sainthood part). Like many other pagan holidays, it is said that they and their practices were simply co-opted by the early Catholic Church, to be used for their own means on this calendar date. I will not continue to bore you with the history of the holiday through the ages; but will however let you know that it did manage to survive through the Middle Ages and had evolved into the practice of giving cards by the 19th Century, with North America following England in doing so. 

The first commercially mass produced cards in the US were in fact credited to around 1847 in Massachusetts. Of course one of the most famous of St Valentine's Days, was that of 1929 when six members of the George "Bugs" Moran gang and Dr. Reinhardt Schwimmer were gunned down in a Chicago garage in the "St. Valentine's Day Massacre". The primary target, Bugs Moran, managed to be absent from the event and survived many more St. Valentine's Days to die of cancer in 1957. Credit for the "hit" was given to Al Capone and his henchmen, but no one was actually convicted of the crime. Al himself, in a further irony of the holiday, died of cardiac arrest in 1947 likely linked to Syphilis (a sexually transmitted disease) that he had contracted years before.  

Today however, anyone showing up with nothing more than a card (or heaven forbid, a machine gun) in hand will likely receive a chilly reception. Like many other a gift-giving holiday, consumerism has captured the true spirit of the day. Candy, teddy bears, lingerie (pajamas for those of you of a less libidinous inclination), flowers, and dinner are now considered the expected minimum offerings to a loved one. Anyone with true feelings romance on this day however, will cough up the big bucks for jewelry or a car (nothing says love like a new pickup truck, after all). 

And once again, we allow the peddlers of the world to turn romance into a the opportunity for obscene profit, while the gullible lover is backed into a corner where the only path to demonstrating true affection is one which leads to considerable debt. Now just to prove that I am not entirely without a heart where this day is concerned (no jokes about conservatives here please), I must point out that I got married for the first time on Valentine's Day. I am sure that there are some cynics out there who might say that I did so, not out of a true sense of romance; but in a devious effort to save myself from having to buy jewelry that year, and from the future burdens of both a Valentines Day and Anniversary present every year after (but who would believe that I could be that clever). 

In the spirit of full faith and disclosure, I will also point out that I admitted to that first marriage date early in my relationship to my 2nd wife, thereby eliminating Valentines Day as a romantic holiday. (She didn't want to celebrate the anniversary of my first marriage, go figure ...) I must also admit that I have been single for the last eight years, reducing the number of romantic holidays that I have been required to celebrate (and the fact that I am getting old and fat can have no bearing on this, I'm sure).

I'm sorry to say that I will be without romantic entanglement again this year on Valentine's Day, but take some consolation in the fact that I will also not be caught up in the mindless consumerism that the day has become. Besides, I consider myself an incurable romantic (you could tell from this posting, right?), and that means that having to limit myself to the expression of affection on a single day would simply be incomprehensible. In fact, I would have to say that anyone who places all of their romantic eggs in this one basket can make no such similar claim. I will go even further and say that any man who only shows that he cares on Valentines Day is no man at all, and any relationship which requires a day to remind two people of the love and affection that they feel for each other is probably doomed already.

I will therefore call out this Hallmark Holiday for what it is, a travesty ill used to celebrate what true romance is all about; and a weak excuse to firm up the bottom lines of candy makers, jewelers and florists. It has therefore become, in my humble opinion, little more than humbug.

On that note, Happy Valentines Day to one and all ...