I have been told that cultivating an “attitude of gratitude” is healthy.
If I am feeling grateful, then it follows that I will not be anxious and angry at that moron I was behind on the freeway yesterday. The one who was driving in perfect synchronization with the car to my left, like they were Blue Angels pilots. When I finally zoomed past him, he pretended to not be doing it on purpose and refused to make eye contact. He ignored my sideswiping-Mad Max-in-“The Road Warrior”-type swerves at him.
Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunh . . . aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
I am grateful for deep breaths.
Here’s what else is on my gratitude list:
I am grateful for electric nose hair trimmers. It may seem trivial, but nostril mustaches are disgusting. Have you ever been talking to someone and an elongated nose hair starts waving at you in time with their exhalations?
I am grateful to discover that I don’t have to rat on Captain Kangaroo the Mafia boss, whose crime syndicate includes underboss Mr. Green Jeans, Caporegime Mr. Bunny Rabbit and soldier Mr. Moose, because it was all just a nightmare.
I am grateful for camp skits. One of my favorites was when we did mashups of old TV shows. We came up with “Mr. Rogers Texas Ranger,” starring a very gentle, wonderful man named Lanny Partain in the title role. As he was changing into his loafers, a thief broke into his house. He calmly looked out into the audience and said, “Boys and girls, can you say “roundhouse kick?” Then delivered one.
I am grateful that Anakin Skywalker brought balance to The Force even though I’m not sure exactly what that means.
I am grateful that whatever local governmental agency in charge of disposing of road kill evidently has no money to perform that service. Some may be repulsed by the sight of the slowly decaying raccoon I have driven by on Air Base Parkway for two weeks now, but I prefer to look upon it as a free outdoor anatomy lesson.
I am grateful for the movie “Fight Club,” which showed how much fun it is to speculate on who I would like to fight. So far, my list includes Hitler, Mr. Whipple, any Kansas City Chiefs fan (with one arm tied behind my back to make it a tad fairer), Justin Bieber, Gilbert Gottfried and a life-sized Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot.
I am grateful that I can still hear. In 1978, my then-best friend Wayne Thomas found a huge plastic tube among the construction materials in our neighborhood and attached a 12-inch speaker to one end. Then we would take turns crawling inside with our heads almost touching the speaker and would crank songs that were popular then, such as Sweet’s “Love is Like Oxygen” and Queen’s “We Will Rock You.”
I am grateful for people who have the mistaken notion that simply because I write columns for the Daily Republic (usually from my couch) that I can do all sorts of things that I cannot. The reason I am grateful is they keep me entertained. Here is a partial list of things I cannot do: write an intriguing feature story on your nose hair; get Brad Stanhope’s autograph (he’s a fictional character unlike the aforementioned Mr. Whipple), and explain why you put an even number of socks into the dryer, but extract an odd number.
I am grateful to be emceeing the Arty Awards for the sixth straight year on Sept. 8 because my contract says that after my fifth consecutive year, I can forgo wearing a suit and just host it wearing a Metallica T-shirt.
I am grateful that I don’t say “bless you” when someone sneezes, but remembering the amount of yucky stuff blown out of their faces with ferocious velocity when seen in super-slow motion, instead say the more appropriate “Eewwwww!”
I am grateful that my computer has a working “delete” button for the 127 extremely long emails already sent to me by “Star Wars” geeks who are geekier than me with the subject line: “How Anakin Brought Balance to the Force.”
Reach Fairfield writer Tony Wade at [email protected].