Should Have Gotten an A

In keeping with the spirit of the season, I thought I might share one of my old term papers from college that I dug up over the weekend. It’s from my Philosophy class, when we were asked to research the life of a saint. Below is my final draft. The grade I received is not important.

Nicholas’ childhood was in many ways reflective of his adult life, but in many ways quite different. Nicholas was born in what is now known as Death Valley, California to very loving parents who provided a modest lifestyle for themselves and their son. His father was a cobbler, while his mother ran a daycare that catered exclusively to midgets.

Growing up without any brothers or sisters, the midget children often served as Nicholas’ playmates. As he grew older, he often got them to do his chores by compensating them with the allowance money he earned for supposedly doing the chores himself.

In school, he was a very good student, but not very social; preferring on most occasions to concentrate on his studies rather than engage in extracurricular activities. Try as he might, his father could not persuade him to play any sports, but he frequently found young Nicholas timing himself as he climbed in and out of the windows to the family home. The boy would climb through a window as quickly as possible, then repeatedly try to break his own record.

“You’re a strange kid,” his father often remarked.

Nicholas was a very obedient son, rarely getting into trouble, and he grew to enjoy the company of the midget children for more than just their agreeable nature and strong work ethic. Other than delegating the responsibilities of his weekly chores, the only time his parents could recall him acting out was as a teenager, when he complained of the heat.

“Do you have any idea how #*&@ing hot it is here?” Nicholas would ask.

“Are you hot? I never really notice the heat,” his mom would say.

After graduating high school, Nicholas decided to change the circumstances of his environment and attend college up north. He received a full academic scholarship to Harvard, but turned it down to instead attend the University of Vermont. He preferred Vermont because of its higher ranking on the Princeton Review’s list of Top 100 “Party Schools.”

He could feel his social shell chipping away. He didn’t want his college career to be just about studying. He felt he needed to meet people and let his hair down once in a while. A lifetime spent in the desert will do that to a person.

Upon arriving on campus, he was an instant hit. Classes were a breeze, which left plenty of time to attend parties and enjoy a beverage or two. And enjoy them he did. While many of his classmates fell into the trap of packing on the “Freshman 15,” Nicholas out did them all and quickly added the “Freshman 35” to his once wiry frame.

It was during this time that the newfound heavyweight let his devilish side come out. He loved to take his friends out to the local pubs, order a few rounds, and then slyly ask every co-ed that walked by, “So, have you been a good girl this year?”

But besides his fun-loving wild side, Nicholas was also popular for his gullible nature, and willingness to please. Perhaps feeling the need to make up for all the chores he didn’t really do, he frequently offered to write all of his friends’ papers, and managed to earn very good grades for each of them. His academic legend only grew once his peers learned that he always waited until the last minute to start each assignment, regularly finishing two dozen term papers in a single night.

While he enjoyed impressing his classmates, Nicholas eventually became bored with school and suspected he didn’t have many real friends. His suspicions were confirmed when the knocks on his door stopped after he refused to do anyone else’s homework. It was at this time, midway through his junior year, that he discovered the co-op program offered by the university and jumped at an opportunity to work in Norway with a reindeer breeder.

Nicholas soon found Norway’s climate to be even more to his liking than Vermont’s. He also discovered that reindeer can do some things he never dreamed possible.

He enjoyed working on the farm and spending time with the farmer and his family, particularly his daughter, who was in the same year of school as Nicholas. The work was much different than his studies, and it didn’t come as easy to him, but he still felt at peace there. He felt like he was home.

But despite his new surroundings and responsibilities, Nicholas’ fiendish side never really left him. Upon seeing published reports of a new American invention that was getting world-wide attention, he couldn’t help but taunt the two brothers responsible from clear across the ocean. He sent many a letter to North Carolina that went something like this:

Dear Orville and Wilbur,

Congratulations! I hear that you managed to keep your “flying machine” airborne for up to 100 feet. Sounds like you boys will be zipping around the world in no time flat. Ha ha! Losers.

Sincerely,

Nick Claus

After a few months, he also sent a letter to his parents telling them he would not be returning to school. In it, he described finding what he was meant to do, and how he had fallen in love. Despite his good fortune, the fact that he would not be finishing school did not sit well with his father.

“I told you we should have raised him Jewish,” he exclaimed to his wife.

For years the elder Claus repeated this sentiment whenever the subject came up. Nevertheless, Nicholas soon married the farmer’s daughter, Conchita, and they made plans to start a life of their own together.

Being that they were both social misfits, the newlyweds didn’t feel the need to live in a big city or bustling suburb. So, coupled with its virtually non-existent tax laws, the North Pole seemed like an inviting place to settle down. With the few dozen reindeer that her father had given them as a wedding present, Conchita and Nicholas packed their things and made the top of the world their ultimate destination.

Once they settled in, the Clauses found their new home much to their liking. Mrs. Claus took up baking and, thanks to her husband’s insistence, started a daycare that was eerily similar to the one Nicholas’ mother ran when he was a child. A few years later, Nicholas began to oversee a highly successful toy manufacturing operation. Following the ambition he discovered after leaving school, he went on to engage in unprecedented world-wide philanthropy. It was his devotion to giving year after year that earned him his sainthood.

He was lucky enough to earn the honor while still alive, yet the matter of his current existence has been a hotly debated topic. Despite no real evidence indicating his death, and the fact that his number of reported sightings is even greater than that of Elvis, many people question whether Nicholas was ever born. The sheer physics required to achieve his generous feats is often sighted as the reason why his existence must be fabricated. But to this day his story lives on. As do his appearances at the mall.

He typically limits public visits to this time of the year, due to the ever-growing media scrutiny, but he’s out there. So if you see him, be sure to wish him and Conchita a Merry Christmas. And a Happy Hanukkah.

Looking For Bling in All the Wrong Places

By virtually all accounts money is hard to come by these days. People are losing money on home sales, stores don’t have any due to lagging retail numbers, and penny pinching will only increase as job losses continue to soar.

The sob story of this past week bordered on the surreal as we learned that Wall Street guru Bernie Madoff lost $50 billion of other people’s money. (The stress must have done something to Madoff’s brain because the New York Times reported that days before being arrested, he actually invited two senior employees to his home to tell them his business was all a big scam.)

Let’s not forget that governors are trying to sell vacated Senate seats, and auto makers and giant lending institutions are asking for loans from Congress. Which, when you think about it, is absurd because Congress will only pull the funds from the public and, as mentioned earlier, the public doesn’t have any money, indicated by slipping home values, lagging retail sales and mounting job losses.

It’s getting so bad that a guy can’t even rob a pro shop with underwear on his head anymore.

But believe it or not, there’s someone these people could have turned to - a group that could have helped them all, if they had just thought to ask.

The New York Yankees.

In the midst of this economic black hole, the Yankees are, to use a term that’s well out of my 30-ish white guy vernacular, “making it rain.” Six hundred million-dollar contracts are being handed out to every free agent on the market, including to those that don’t even play baseball.

Instead of wasting their time in front of Congress, the big three automakers should have asked for a few billion from the Steinbrenners. Then in exchange, each company could have offered the team one of its automobiles and the Yankees could have been the first organization to welcome back the bullpen car.

If the governor of Illinois was so hard up for some dough, I’m sure the Yankees could have slipped him some under the table and then have taken control of the vacant Senate seat. Once in power they could permanently designate the Cubs as their Double A affiliate.

And Madoff could have benefited the most of all of them. All he had to do was get in front of the team’s general manager, Brian Cashman, and tell him that with a little money up front, he could create the appearance of magnificent returns without actually producing anything of real value or substance. The next thing you know, Bernie Madoff would have been the new Alex Rodriguez.

If only all these poor saps had realized this before stepping in it so deep. After all, the Yankees love to grant wishes. For the past eight years, they’ve been making dreams come true for everyone who lives outside of New York by not winning the World Series.

Thank you Yankees!

Don't Expect Miracles

I TOLD you it was a holy day!

And apparently, in celebration, people have already begun spreading Christmas cheer.

Hard to Watch? You Aint Lion

If you’re an idiot like me, perhaps you listen to sports talk radio on a regular basis. And if this is the case, you may have heard/been beaten to death with the argument that the NFL should cancel the tradition of having the Detroit Lions play on Thanksgiving. I ask, why not have the NFL cancel the Detroit Lions?

I think the poor people of Detroit have suffered enough. Their three leading job producers – GM, Ford and Chrysler – are suffering horrible revenue losses and are likely to instill massive layoffs; it’s cold year round; their state touches Canada, and the city’s most accomplished athletes play something called hockey.

It just seems cruel that they be subjected to the Lions week after week. At the very least, the NFL should move them to a city that has never had a professional football team. Like Cincinnati.

It’s hard to imagine how a person, in this case owner William Clay Ford, can be allowed to pull in millions of dollars from the city and its citizens while providing a product so putrid. Some would argue he provides no product at all. And Mr. Ford, you can no longer use the excuse, “Hey, Pairs Hilton does it.” Something must change.

The team’s despair has even begun to spread around the league. Instead of rejoicing over the virtually guaranteed win that comes with playing the Lions, other teams no longer want to face them. Many players have said that telling people they beat Detroit is like saying, “I knocked over a fat lady on crutches,” or “I can recite the alphabet faster than my dog.” Congratulations.

So the next time you complain about watching the Lions on Thanksgiving, just remember you could be watching them 16 Sundays a year from September through December. Then say a prayer of thanks that your state doesn’t touch Canada.