These days, there aren’t many material things I want. I own too many electronic gadgets already, and I’m satisfied with my Korean-made automobile.
My house is adequate and probably even oversized for our needs, and while you always need clothes, I still look at opening them on Christmas with the same joy that a 10-year-old boy does when he unwraps a brown sweater.
So, what could I use?
Last year I asked for a wrecking ball to knock down that horrific eyesore known as the old PTL Tower, and instead I was given a head-scratching impasse where the tower continues to sit unimproved for yet another year. I could have gotten more use out of a lump of coal. For the amount of time it has taken to renovate the tower I could’ve chiseled a diamond out of that lump.
This year, maybe I should ask to have any column written about a local place I like to be stricken by my editor and burned to ashes. I’ve already had the J&S Italian Deli, Johnny K’s and the Bavarian Deli shutter their doors shortly after I detailed how joyous my taste buds were at their offerings. I had a column about the Gametime Grill ready to go as well. I don’t want to curse any other favorites.
Maybe I should use reverse psychology. I LOVE eating at Walmart!
A lot of my wishes tend to not be actual things at all. I’d like there to be the elimination of most YouTube videos, especially ones that parody the latest song topping the charts by a teeny-bopper. Might as well put a time limit on them, too. Anything over two minutes can go to the trash heap so we don’t have to see people sobbing personal pleas or compilations of funny cats and groin kicks that just waste 15 minutes of our lives.
If there is a material object I’d like, it would be “The Idiot’s Guide to the Fiscal Cliff.” I’m trying desperately to figure out where this cliff is, how far I’ll fall off of it, and who I’m supposed to blame for creating it. I guess that’s the Cliff’s Notes on the cliff.
Regardless of whether any of the above ends up in my Christmas stocking, I’ll settle for soaking up the joy of friends and family at the holidays and seeing the joy of the kids opening their gifts. But make no mistake, if somebody gives me that darned wrecking ball, I’ll happily take it!
Reach Scott Cost at firstname.lastname@example.org to send that bloody wrecking ball.