Spring Break
Dear Christian - A beautiful distraction
Christian Rose
Issue date: 12/1/08 Section: Culture
Dear Readers,
This is my last column of the semester, so I wanted to spend a moment trying to wrap up the essence of what this column is about. You know, a sort of last-ditch effort to capture just what it means to be Christian of the "Dear Christian" column.
While sipping my $4.52 eggnog latte (bourbon not included), I hope sincerely I have made a few of you laugh or even perhaps think about what I attempt to get across, often in a very round about way.
I was positive I was going to have a great epiphany allowing me to write a sentence which would catapult a catharsis, sure to sway those readers who are still blogging of my ineptness as a kind of weekly therapist.
I instead kept thinking about the Thanksgiving scandal I recently caused.
The night before the holiday, my brother traditionally has people over to socialize, play cards, drink and be merry before the actual season of stress begins.
Among those at the party are his fellow colleagues, co-workers and a motley crew of neighbors from the surrounding subdivisions.
Suffice it to say, most are balding, gaining weight and, thanks to the booze, losing their inhibitions.
As a side note, albeit an important one, I have discovered middle-aged suburbanites are surprisingly spry after a couple of strong cocktails.
Even those who were buttoned-up and tied to a ball and chain when they enter through the front door are dramatically different once a few highballs are guzzled.
The mild mannered corporate accountants actually turn into beer-pong playing frat boys.
For this transformation, I attribute a mixture of alcohol, the floundering holiday economy and the suburban Stepford-wife mentality.
Coincidentally, this phenomenon affects the male population as well. It is just sometimes referred to as the stereotypical mid-life crisis. It is the same difference.
My brother, always the gracious host, tells me beforehand that I may bring a guest to the party. This was a good idea because, until most of the booze is consumed, his parties tend to be stuffy and the guests treat me as if I were the bastard red-headed stepchild.
This is my last column of the semester, so I wanted to spend a moment trying to wrap up the essence of what this column is about. You know, a sort of last-ditch effort to capture just what it means to be Christian of the "Dear Christian" column.
While sipping my $4.52 eggnog latte (bourbon not included), I hope sincerely I have made a few of you laugh or even perhaps think about what I attempt to get across, often in a very round about way.
I was positive I was going to have a great epiphany allowing me to write a sentence which would catapult a catharsis, sure to sway those readers who are still blogging of my ineptness as a kind of weekly therapist.
I instead kept thinking about the Thanksgiving scandal I recently caused.
The night before the holiday, my brother traditionally has people over to socialize, play cards, drink and be merry before the actual season of stress begins.
Among those at the party are his fellow colleagues, co-workers and a motley crew of neighbors from the surrounding subdivisions.
Suffice it to say, most are balding, gaining weight and, thanks to the booze, losing their inhibitions.
As a side note, albeit an important one, I have discovered middle-aged suburbanites are surprisingly spry after a couple of strong cocktails.
Even those who were buttoned-up and tied to a ball and chain when they enter through the front door are dramatically different once a few highballs are guzzled.
The mild mannered corporate accountants actually turn into beer-pong playing frat boys.
For this transformation, I attribute a mixture of alcohol, the floundering holiday economy and the suburban Stepford-wife mentality.
Coincidentally, this phenomenon affects the male population as well. It is just sometimes referred to as the stereotypical mid-life crisis. It is the same difference.
My brother, always the gracious host, tells me beforehand that I may bring a guest to the party. This was a good idea because, until most of the booze is consumed, his parties tend to be stuffy and the guests treat me as if I were the bastard red-headed stepchild.
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