Holidaze.

It's getting to be that time of year where everybody seems to be talking about getting ready for the "holidays." Of course, they're talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas. I love both these holidays, I'll admit it. I just don't get why these two holidays are the sole recipients of the genericized nomenclature "holidays."
They're great holidays, don't get me wrong.

Who doesn't love that the Indians and pilgrims started getting along, even though the pilgrims were total dickheads? As we can see in this picture, the love affair between guys with beards and guys wearing fur vests is as old as America itself.



Or that Jesus was born in a barn before he grew up to develop a distaste for the 2010 AL Wildcard winner.


Or that an overweight cat-burglar in a red velour jumpsuit chills with a snowy Frankenstein falsely granted life by a bewitched head-piece?



Hold on, we have to take a second and talk about how messed up the above season's greeting really is. "Christmas joy warms the heart." Seriously, Santa? You're standing there with a snowman and you're advocating warming things up? That arm around Frosty's shoulders is looking less like a friendly embrace and more like a maniacal death grip from a psychopathic Kris Kringle.

Pretty Pointless.

We went out last night, for some pretty run of the mill Thursday night stuff, like dropping 10 dollars on 50 cent beers and riding home in the trunk of a car. This isn't a story about boozing, though. This is a story about friendship.

I was talking to this girl who I have had a couple classes with and would say I am loosely associated with. Define "loosely associated" here as only chatting with each other in social contexts where alcohol has played a role. However, when ever we encounter each other during the weekday, a greeting does not pass. What gives? we wondered. It just doesn't add up. Why can't we be friends when we're not hammered? There are a couple reasons, I guess. The prescient worry that blacking out has erased the memory of your tavern encounter or the trepidation that you will appear as a friendless spazz who translates talking in a bar to real friendship. Either way, once you leave the bar, you're pretty much strangers again.

I recognize that this course of events plays out all the time. In fact, it happens so much that my friends can be labeled as one of two things: my bar friends and my real world friends. A lot of people have this categorization in their minds, and I feel like it's a system that works. But, occasionally, you might want to bring one of your bar pals into your real life sphere. This can be a tricky transformation, but it can be done. First, you have to get hammered. This helps the process by getting everyone loosened and in their natural element. So, once you get nice and plastered you have to broach the subject. Say something like, "Hey, man, let's be friends in the real world." Then, shake hands. It is imperative that you shake hands. Boom. You're friends in the real world. It seems easy, but you've got to be careful. I don't know why, but I always like to include a little caution in my articles.