Falling leaves? Cold winds? New television programming? No. Calendar kiosks everywhere are the sign of fall truly being upon us. Every year the pestilence falls upon us all, eager to tempt us with cute puppies, kittens, lighthouses, Hooters waitresses, scenic vistas of faraway places we hope we’ll get to next year. All of it predicated on your forgetting that come January 20th every damned thing there will be half off.
Resist! Resist, I say! Stop and oogle the oiled-up pictures of people with better genes and more time to spend in the gym than yourself, if you must. But don’t spend! Don’t encourage this cancer that kills trees and entreats you to just HANG IN THERE with it’s cutsie-wootsie widdle snookums-pudding kitty.
Unless you need a Christmas gift for dad, that is. Because jeez, what the hell else are you going to buy the old man this year?
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
Well I used to say something in my profile about not quite being a “tinker, tailor, soldier, or spy” but Tom stole that for our about us page, so I guess I’ll have to find another way to express that I am a man of many interests.
Hmm, guess I just did.
My tastes run the gamut from sophomoric to Shakespeare and in my “professional” life I’ve sold things, served beer, written software, and carried heavy objects… sometimes at the same place. It’s that range of loves and activities that makes it so easy for me to love DC – we’ve got it all.
