I’ve been writing this column for almost 19 years, and it’s not easy to come up with something to discuss every single week. At this point, I’ve written over 950 allegedly humorous essays (and based on reader feedback, at least 20 of them were, in fact, funny. If you’re curious — or a masochist — you can find many of them at my blog: MerryCatholic.com).
Recently, I’ve been wondering if I’ll make it to 1,000 columns or not, because it’s becoming more and more difficult to find interesting topics.
Recently, I’ve been wondering if I’ll make it to 1,000 columns or not, because it’s becoming more and more difficult to find interesting topics.
It’s true that politics provides a never-ending stream of insane activities to comment on. But the sanctimonious bloviating from elected officials these days is so infuriating, I’ve decided to steer clear of politics, just to keep my blood pressure in check.
Recurring themes over the years have included the adventures at my workplace, my affection for the Red Sox, and the completely unexpected fact that I keep getting older. However, I’ve pretty much beaten those subjects to death. And now, if I write one more time about my cranky customers, or the Sox’ lousy starting rotation, or my 3 a.m. bathroom visits, I will be the first one to fire off a nasty letter to myself.
So, it occurred to me that maybe it’s time to put this experiment to bed. I’ve said all I can say — and usually multiple times per subject. Maybe it’s time to pull the plug on this weekly column.
Just when I was getting ready to inform the editors that they should start looking for someone else to fill this space, one of my daughters called and informed us that we are going to be grandparents. Hurray! What great news!
Recurring themes over the years have included the adventures at my workplace, my affection for the Red Sox, and the completely unexpected fact that I keep getting older. However, I’ve pretty much beaten those subjects to death. And now, if I write one more time about my cranky customers, or the Sox’ lousy starting rotation, or my 3 a.m. bathroom visits, I will be the first one to fire off a nasty letter to myself.
So, it occurred to me that maybe it’s time to put this experiment to bed. I’ve said all I can say — and usually multiple times per subject. Maybe it’s time to pull the plug on this weekly column.
Just when I was getting ready to inform the editors that they should start looking for someone else to fill this space, one of my daughters called and informed us that we are going to be grandparents. Hurray! What great news!
After shedding some tears of joy, I grabbed a notebook and started scribbling ideas for new essays, all revolving around the theme of being a grandpa. In a few hours, I came up with 950 topics. So, it looks like you’re going to be stuck with me for at least another 19 years.
I have to admit I’ve rolled my eyes quite often whenever a friend or coworker started yakking about grandparenthood. “Um, sure,” I’d say with a forced smile, “I’d love to see another 50 photographs of your new granddaughter. After all, it’s been almost two days since you’ve subjected me to, er, I mean, shown me pictures of her.”
Also, when I would walk around town, I’d often see guys wearing hats that proclaim, “Let me tell you about my grandchildren.” I figured they must have lost a bet or were being punished for some egregious transgression. No one would wear something like that in public voluntarily, right? If so, there must be some kind of weird virus that afflicts grandparents and completely removes their self-awareness skills and causes them to act goofy. I already act goofy way too often, and my self-awareness skills are mediocre at best, but even then, I’d never wear a hat like that or harass my coworkers with an endless stream of photographs.
I have to admit I’ve rolled my eyes quite often whenever a friend or coworker started yakking about grandparenthood. “Um, sure,” I’d say with a forced smile, “I’d love to see another 50 photographs of your new granddaughter. After all, it’s been almost two days since you’ve subjected me to, er, I mean, shown me pictures of her.”
Also, when I would walk around town, I’d often see guys wearing hats that proclaim, “Let me tell you about my grandchildren.” I figured they must have lost a bet or were being punished for some egregious transgression. No one would wear something like that in public voluntarily, right? If so, there must be some kind of weird virus that afflicts grandparents and completely removes their self-awareness skills and causes them to act goofy. I already act goofy way too often, and my self-awareness skills are mediocre at best, but even then, I’d never wear a hat like that or harass my coworkers with an endless stream of photographs.
And then my daughter called. And then I cried. And then that weird virus must’ve gotten into my bloodstream, because all I want to do now is tell people about Little Monty.
By the way, my daughter’s last name now is Montecalvo, so I immediately started calling the unborn baby “Little Monty,” which makes my daughter very happy. (I am using, of course, the definition of the phrase “very happy” that means: has the urge to hit me in the head with a ball-peen hammer.)
Anyway, there are still five more months to go before he is born, but in the meantime (and for the next 19 years), let me tell you about my grandkid!!
By the way, my daughter’s last name now is Montecalvo, so I immediately started calling the unborn baby “Little Monty,” which makes my daughter very happy. (I am using, of course, the definition of the phrase “very happy” that means: has the urge to hit me in the head with a ball-peen hammer.)
Anyway, there are still five more months to go before he is born, but in the meantime (and for the next 19 years), let me tell you about my grandkid!!
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