My Two Favorite Christmas Stories

On this glorious Christmas day, I thought I’d share my two favorite Christmas stories. The first one is the original, which is not very poetic, but it reminds us what we’re actually celebrating. The second one is an epic poem written a couple thousand years later, meant to serve as a humorous and gentle reminder of the exact same thing – what we’re celebrating today.

Enjoy!

Luke Chapter 2, 1-20

Christ Born of Mary

1 And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This census first took place while Quirinius was governing Syria. 3 So all went to be registered, everyone to his own city.

4 Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, 5 to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was with child. 6 So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. 7 And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

 

Glory in the Highest

8 Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. 10 Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. 11 For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”

13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying:

14 “Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”

15 So it was, when the angels had gone away from them into heaven, that the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” 16 And they came with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the Babe lying in a manger. 17 Now when they had seen Him, they made widely known the saying which was told them concerning this Child. 18 And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 19 But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told them.

 

How the Grinch Stole Christmas

By Dr. Seuss

Every Who Down in Who-ville Liked Christmas a lot...

But the Grinch,

who lived just north of Who-ville,

did NOT!

The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.

It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.

It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all,

may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

 

But,

whatever the reason,

his heart or his shoes,

he stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,

staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown

at the warm lighted windows below in their town.

For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath,

was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.

 

"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer.

"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"

Then he growled, with his Grinch fingers nervously drumming,

"I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!"

 

For,

Tomorrow, he knew…

…all the Who girls and boys

would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.

And they'd feast! And they'd feast!

And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast beast.

Which was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least!

 

And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.

They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd sing!

And they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!

And the more the Grinch thought of this Who-Christmas-Sing,

the more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"

"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"

"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming!

…But HOW?"

 

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

 

"I know just what to do!" The Grinch laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grinchy trick!"

"With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Nick!"

 

"All I need is a reindeer..."

The Grinch looked around.

But, since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.

Did that stop the old Grinch…?

No! The Grinch simply said,

"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead!"

So he called his dog, Max. Then he took some red thread,

and he tied a big horn on the top of his head.

 

THEN He loaded some bags and some old empty sacks,

on a ramshackle sleigh and he hitched up old Max.

 

Then the Grinch said, "Giddap!" And the sleigh started down,

toward the homes where the Whos Lay a-snooze in their town.

 

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.

All the Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care

when he came to the first little house on the square.

"This is stop number one," the old Grinchy Claus hissed,

and he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

 

Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.

But, if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.

He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue

where the little Who stockings all hung in a row.

"These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

 

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,

around the whole room, and he took every present!

Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums!

Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!

And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grinch, very nimbly,

stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimbley!

 

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whos' feast!

He took the Who-pudding! He took the roast beast!

He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.

Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Who-hash!

 

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.

"And NOW!" grinned the Grinch, "I will stuff up the tree!"

 

And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove,

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!

Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

 

The Grinch had been caught by this tiny Who daughter,

who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why,”

"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"

 

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick,

he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,

"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side."

"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear."

"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

 

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head,

and he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.

And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,

HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

 

Then the last thing he took was the log for their fire!

Then he went up the chimney, himself, the old liar.

On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.

 

And the one speck of food that he left in the house,

was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

 

Then he did the same thing to the other Whos' houses

leaving crumbs much too small for the other Whos' mouses!

 

It was quarter past dawn... all the Whos, still a-bed,

all the Whos, still a-snooze when he packed up his sled,

packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!

The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

 

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,

he rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!

"Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.

"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!"

"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"

"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,

Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"

 

"That's a noise," grinned the Grinch, "That I simply MUST hear!"

So he paused. And the Grinch put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started in low. Then it started to grow...

 

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!

It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

 

He stared down at Who-ville! The Grinch popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

 

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

was singing! Without any presents at all!

 

He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

 

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,

stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"

"It came without ribbons! It came without tags!"

"It came without packages, boxes or bags!"

 

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!

"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."

"Maybe Christmas... perhaps... means a little bit more!"

 

And what happened then…? Well... in Who-ville they say,

that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,

he whizzed with his load through the bright morning light,

and he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!

And he…

 

…HE HIMSELF…! The Grinch carved the roast beast!

 

Merry Christmas, to all, and to all a good night!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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The 2024 Do-it-Yourself Christmas Letter

You fool! You’ve done it again, haven’t you? St. Nick is heading down the chimney in a week and you’ve forgotten to write your Christmas letter. Typical.

I mean, if you somehow managed to get it in the mail today and post-date it so you don’t look like the slacker that you are, there’s still a chance – albeit elfin in size – that the USPS can get it to your loved ones (and all the rest of the people on that list) before the yule log burns out.

But that leaves you no time to actually get a coherent letter written to put in those envelopes. Is this a hopeless mess? Of course! I mean, it would be if it wasn’t for your old pal Smidgey Claus.

Once again, I’ve got you covered. I have created the 2024 Universal DIY Christmas Letter Grid, just for you. Simply pick one item from each column in order to string together a sentence that captures the essence of your 2024. Repeat as needed to fully recap this wacky ride of a year.

Now, get to it. There’s no time to lose.

 

COLUMN 1	COLUMN 2	COLUMN 3	COLUMN 4
We lost	container ships	in	the Opening Ceremonies.
We got delayed by	Simone Biles	after	the Eras Tour.
We opened	Boeing 737 doors	during	Tyson vs. Paul.
We cried about	AI	in the middle of	men’s pommel horse.
We prayed for	Caitlin Clark	since	the leap year.
We marveled at	Elon Musk	prior to	an unscheduled rapid decompression.
We pardoned	CrowdStrike	from	exploding pagers.
We gained	Steven Nedoroscik	in the face of	the election.
We worried about	Trump vs. Harris	throughout	the Baltimore Key bridge collapse.
We abandoned	the Kansas City Chiefs	despite	the flooding.
We lived without	Cybertrucks	before	a Microsoft Windows update.

 

There you go. Now add a “Merry Christmas,” sign, and send. You’re all set.

No need to thank me. It’s just what I do. Now crack open another bottle of your favorite holiday cheer, put your feet up, and let’s see what 2025 has in store for us, shall we?

Merry Christmas, y’all!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Eggnog?

Yes, it’s that time of year again, when the debate rages around the yule log, merry and bright – is it spelled “eggnog” or “egg nog?” One word or two?

While you argue amongst yourselves, I thought I’d share my foolproof recipe for this traditional holiday beverage.

Ingredients:

6 large egg yolks

3/4 cup sugar

2 cups milk

2 whole cloves

Pinch cinnamon

1 cup heavy cream

1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg (lightly packed)

1-1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

4 egg whites

Your favorite bourbon whiskey

 

Instructions:

Gather together all the ingredients except the bourbon, and find a large saucepan. Throw all of the gathered ingredients into the trash and use the saucepan to defend yourself against anyone attempting to give you eggnog. Pour the bourbon over ice and enjoy with or without regular Coca-Cola. Your choice!

Eggnog, as the name explicitly states, contains eggs as a primary ingredient. You are not Rocky Balboa. Eggs are not a beverage. They are meant to be eaten with bacon and used to make cookies and cakes. They are basically snot until cooked, and therefore it should be obvious to anyone not to drink them.

Eggnog was invented long ago during a horrific drought and ensuing bourbon shortage, by some very poor, very uneducated peasants. It remains unclear if the dairy cows were underproducing due to the drought, or the peasants just got bored with the straight cows’ milk. What is perfectly clear is that these foolish people did something unspeakable – they added raw eggs to their milk.

When the drought was over and other people heard about what they had done, the egg-sucking peasants tried to save face by pretending it was a good idea and adding bourbon to make it a “festive” holiday drink. In reality, they were just trying to get drunk and forget they were drinking eggs.

We’re better than that. Let’s not perpetuate this horrible mistake onto another unsuspecting generation. Stop the madness. Keep your children safe.

Tell them to just say no to nogs of any kind.

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Ask Smidge - Get the Elf Off the Shelf

We are three weeks from Christmas, and if you’re like many of our sad, pathetic Ask Smidge readers, you’ve started moving a little toy elf named Pumpernickel or Frostbite around the house this past weekend, or if you are a total idiot, even before that.

Perhaps you were even foolish enough to get a pair of them, and you’re forced to come up with wacky elf pair ideas each night.

Or perhaps, you don’t have an Elf on the Shelf yet, but your kids have been bugging you and you’re contemplating the idea.

Maybe you’ve dodged multiple bullets and have no idea what an Elf on the Shelf is or what I’m even talking about.

Well, have no fear! Our asksmidge@gmail.com inbox has been overflowing with Elf on the Shelf-related questions, and as always, we have all your answers.

 

 

 

Smidge,

We’ve held off getting an Elf on the Shelf ever since our kids were born, but now our oldest is in kindergarten and hears about the other kids’ elves all the time. Should we cave in and get one?

Undecided in Union City

 

Dear Undecided,

Each family needs to weigh the pros and cons of these types of holiday tradition decisions for themselves, because each family is special and unique, but there is no way in hell you should ever get an Elf on the Shelf. Never, under any circumstances. It’s like twenty-five-plus days of having to remember the tooth fairy, but much more annoying and involved. Move your children to a new school or move your family to a new town if you need to.

 

 

 

Smidge,

I’ve heard the term “Elf on the Shelf” before, but I must confess, I don’t know what it is. Can you explain?

Lost in London

 

Dear Lost,

We’re not 100% sure if it was intended to be a harmless children’s book before it became a gigantic commercial time and money suck, or if it was diabolically planned from the beginning to invade every home in the free world and ruin Christmas, but that is essentially what it is. Hope that helps. 

 

 

 

Smidge,

My husband and I are running out of ideas for what to do with Popcorn, our Elf on the Damned Shelf. We’re only a few days in and he’s already pulled every new toilet paper and kitchen cooking prank we could think of, and quite frankly, we’re getting tired of cleaning up his messes. Besides, inflation is killing our family budget. We can’t afford to be wasting toilet paper and food anymore. My husband has searched for new lower-cost, lower-mess ideas on the internet, but none of them are exactly appropriate for children. Please help.

Empty in El Segundo

 

Dear Empty,

My advice would be to have Popcorn leave a nice note with a candy cane for each kid stating that Santa needed him back at the North Pole permanently due to a horrific industrial accident with the machine that clamps both sides of the Etch a Sketches together, and the resulting multiple-elf shortage on the assembly line. Viola’! No more Elf on the Shelf to deal with, and the kids are happy because they received a plausible explanation and a candy cane.

 

 

 

Smidge,

Our eight-year-old son was on TikTok and saw a compilation video of some less-than-appropriate Elf on the Shelf scenarios, including an Elf passed out with a Barbie doll and surrounded by empty beer cans, and an Elf “refilling” the See’s candy sampler, if you get my drift. What should we do?

Blindsided in Buffalo

 

Dear Blindsided,

Just explain to your son the unfortunate truth that some elves aren’t as good and wholesome as other elves. You can let him know that it’s not their fault. Their elf parents probably just let them indiscriminately surf the internet on apps like TikTok when they were eight years old, and that’s why they ended up bad. Cheers!

 

 

 

Smidge,

I have completely blown it. We had so much going on this weekend with family coming into town and crazy holiday shopping emergencies, etc., that I put Cupcake out but forgot to move her for three days! Our little girl never said anything to me, but I found her this morning looking up at the hanging light fixture over our dining room table crying. Cupcake has been hanging upside down from one of the lights since Sunday morning, and my daughter wanted to know if she was OK. What should I tell her? Please help!

Heartbroken in Hoboken

 

Dear Heartbroken,

No problem. Just let your daughter know that sometimes when little boys and girls don’t live up to their potential and disappoint their parents, their elves refuse to move. That’s a two-fer! You’re off the hook for accidentally neglecting your Elf duties, and your daughter will surely be trying a little harder in all her endeavors. You’re welcome.

 

 

 

Well, there you have it, folks. All your vital Elf on the Shelf questions answered and all your crises averted. You’re welcome.

Have a fabulous (and hopefully Elf-free) Christmas!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Ask Smidge – The 2024 Turkey Edition

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and if you’re like most of our Ask Smidge readers, you’re just now trying to figure out what to do. That big, fancy meal isn’t going to cook itself, and you have no idea what you’re doing. It’s a scary situation.

Believe me, we understand. Many of you know nothing about cooking anything other than Pop-Tarts and Cheerios, so naturally you have turned to the only truly trusted source for all things culinary – the Ask Smidge advice column.

Our asksmidge@gmail.com inbox has been inundated with poultry-related questions. You ask, we answer! (As always in a fact-based, scientific, and completely non-made-up-on-the-spot manner. We’re here to help, after all.)

 

 

Smidge,

I know absolutely nothing about cooking a turkey. What temperature do I use and how long should I cook it?

Novice in Norfolk

 

Dear Novice,

There is nothing to it. First you have to weigh the bird. Do this while it is still alive, so you can just walk it onto your bathroom scale. Once you remove the feathers and the feet, you’ll cook the bird on high-ish for around 90 minutes per pound. Carve and enjoy.

 

 

 

Smidge,

This is my first time doing anything at all with a turkey. We bought a frozen one at the store this week. Do I need to thaw it before cooking?

Frozen in Fort Worth

 

Dear Frozen,

Thawing is a personal choice. A thawed bird will be slightly juicier, but a frozen turkey will have a crispier skin. If you put it in the oven frozen, simply add five or so minutes per pound to your cook time.

 

 

 

Smidge,

I have never purchased or cooked the turkey before, and I don’t know what size to get. Do they even come in different sizes? We have three teenage boys and my sister has two teenage girls and a grown son. Please help.

Shopping in Santa Barbara

 

Dear Shopping,

Yes, turkeys do come in various sizes. Economy, Compact, Standard, Midsize Convertible, and Full Size SUV. You probably want to plan for about ten pounds of bird for every high schooler, so I’d look for one at your store in the 70-80 pound range to be safe.

 

 

 

Smidge,

I’ve helped with the turkey before, but I’ve never been in charge of the stuffing, and I’m lost. Where do I start?

Breadless in Bangor

 

Dear Breadless,

Stuffing could not be simpler, because the turkey does all the work. Stuffing is nothing more than full-size dinner rolls that cooked down inside the bird. As the turkey cooks, the rolls break apart naturally and form into the smaller stuffing pieces that you know and love. Just buy a couple extra packages of dinner rolls and cram as many of them as you can into that bad boy before you pop it in the oven. The turkey does the rest!

 

 

 

Smidge,

I’m in charge of everything this year, and I don’t know anything about how to make gravy. Do you even make it, or do you buy it? Help!

Dry Dinner in Denver

 

Dear Dry Dinner,

As with stuffing, gravy is a breeze because the bird does all the work. Gravy is not sold in stores, because it is a natural byproduct of the turkey cooking process. All turkeys are fed a rich diet of corn starch, flour, and butter from a young age, so as they cook, the carcass secretes the ready-to-eat gravy. Yum! That’s why you always cook a turkey in one of those big pans. Makes sense, right? Enjoy!

 

 

 

Smidge,

I’m cooking the bird for the first time this year, so I’m thinking about switching it up and deep frying it in oil. What do you think?

Oiled in Omaha

 

Dear Oiled,

Deep frying a turkey can be a great option, depending on where you live. You’re in Nebraska, where it’s likely to be cold this Thanksgiving, so I’d say go for it. If you were in a warmer climate, I would probably advise against it. That’s because there is a 100% chance that you will set your house on fire when attempting a turkey deep fry. You folks in the frigid Midwest will enjoy the extra warmth, while the raging grease fire would just be an inconvenient distraction for people in Florida and California, really adding no benefit to the day.

 

 

Well, there you have it, America. You’re all set to cook the perfect turkey and have an enjoyable day, with or without a life-threatening house fire. Your choice.

Have a tasty Thanksgiving!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Netflix and Ill Will

About a month ago or so, I tried to watch a show on Netflix. The Netflix I pay for. It told me I couldn’t watch anything because too many other people who don’t pay for my Netflix were busy using it.

I didn’t like that answer, so I went through the annoying process of changing the password to kick everyone else out. If my sons in college want to watch Netflix, they can pirate it from some teenage “free” TV app like all their friends do, dammit.

Everything was back to normal after the password change until two days ago when I got a series of emails from Netflix.

Now, I get “A new device is using your account” emails from my streaming apps all the time, usually when one of the boys or my wife watches something on their phone. I’ve become accustomed to ignoring them, because they never give any useful information. It’s always “Device: Smartphone. Location: North or South America.”

I got a few of those usual “new device” emails and then some new ones. “Thanks for adding an Extra Member account” was the subject of one, and “The $7.99/month Extra Member fee has been added to your bill” was the subject of another.

Normally, I would immediately discount those as spam, but they looked legitimate enough that I investigated further. Sure enough, they were coming from the real Netflix. Hmm… I don’t think I like this…

When I logged into Netflix from my computer – something I never do because I am 52 years old and only watch TV on TV’s – I discovered that, lo and behold, some jackass had logged into my account and made themselves at home.

I have always tried to keep my TV streaming passwords simple and all the same, because I will inevitably have to “type” them into the screen using the remote arrow keys and the enter button, which, as you know, is almost as annoying as a popcorn kernel fragment stuck between your teeth, or trying to fish something small out of your garbage disposal. I guess my universal streaming password was a little too unsophisticated, because some total rando apparently figured it out.

I didn’t even bother asking one of the boys if they did it, because they aren’t that dumb. They know we have taxes, fees, and penalties around here for unauthorized stupidity. I’ve been preparing them for having to answer to the IRS since they were old enough to know what money is.

It would be one thing if this guy had simply hacked the account and watched Netflix on one of the existing profiles. That probably would have gone undetected. Sure, the show recommendations and “already watched” would have gotten squirrely, but we probably would have shrugged it off and assumed Netflix was out of whack, or accused my mother-in-law of using the wrong profile.

But no, this winner made himself his own profile named “FAUSTO,” complete with a stupid-looking Anime-ish face, and then proceeded to purchase an Extra Member pass, just for himself. I guess he also got tired of getting kicked out of my Netflix and fixed the problem in his own way.

I’m honestly not sure whether to face palm or tip my cap to his gutsy move.

Either way, the Netflix password has been beefed up, along with all the other streaming passwords, just in case Fausto likes Hulu or Paramount Plus as much as Netflix. There’s an afternoon of my life I won’t get back.

And seriously, Fausto, my Netflix subscription is like twelve bucks a month. If you can’t afford that, you shouldn’t be watching TV in the first place. Get off your ass and get a job!

As for me, I’m just giddy with anticipation about getting to “type” the new longer and more complicated password with the handy remote control arrow button system for every streaming service on every TV.

I think I’m actually starting to miss paying for cable…

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Band Together to Lose - Repost

With the college and pro football seasons in full swing, and Thanksgiving right around the corner, it’s time to look back on a historic gridiron moment and give thanks that we weren’t part of the band.

The 42^nd anniversary of The Play at the end of The Big Game is almost upon us.

If you are unfamiliar, I’m not being generic or randomly capitalizing words like I normally do. The Big Game is one of the oldest college rivalries in the United States, which began in 1892 right here in the Golden State, when Stanford University played Cal Berkeley for the first time.

No one wore helmets or shoes, and the ball was not just pigskin – it was a live pig. The final score was Cal at a half pence and Stanford at a quarter shilling. It was a jolly-good contest!

The rules and scoring have been refined over the years, but The Big Game lives on. The 127^th Big Game is next Saturday, November 23^rd. Home field swaps each year, and it’s an even year, so the game will be at Cal, as it was on that fateful day in 1982.

The Cal Bears led 19-17 in the final minutes of the 85^th Big Game, but at the end of the fourth quarter, the Stanford Cardinal (named after a pine tree, of course) mounted an impressive comeback.  

Starting from their own 13-yard-line, on a dismal 4^th and 17, Stanford, led by THE John Elway himself, drove all the way down the field to kick a go-ahead field goal with only four seconds left on the clock.

I’m not sure why Cal had been ahead at all, because having John Elway was a clear advantage for the Cardinal since he was already the quarterback for the Denver Broncos at the time. He was just back in town visiting family over the Thanksgiving break.

Be that as it may, with what should have been the final score of Cal 19 – Stanford 20 up on the scoreboard, Stanford kicked off to run out the remaining four seconds on the clock, and so began, The Play.

The Cal Bears recovered the short kick and were immediately swarmed by the Stanford special teams defense. The Stanford special teams marching band was behind them, waiting patiently behind the end zone for the clock to say 0:00.

When the four seconds of regular time had expired, the Stanford special teams marching band proceeded jubilantly onto the field in a very disorderly fashion to celebrate their “win.”

The only problem was that the game was still going because the Bears were busy lateraling the ball backward. Three laterals later, the Cal Bears were inside a protective swarm of Stanford band members, many of whom were providing some of the necessary Cardinal-on-Cardinal blocking for the Bears players to pull off two more miraculous laterals and steamroll into the end zone for a touchdown.

Gary Tyrrell, a Stanford trombone player, was the Cardinal’s last line of defense, but he and his instrument were absolutely leveled in the end zone at the conclusion of the miraculous drive. As KGO radio’s Joe Starkey had an on-air aneurism, the scoreboard was changed to Cal 25 – Stanford 20, and so concluded what Joe hailed as "the most amazing, sensational, dramatic, heartrending, exciting, thrilling finish in the history of college football!!" right before he dropped to the ground like Gary Tyrrell and his trombone.

So, as you enjoy The Big Game next Saturday, remember to give thanks. Give thanks that you weren’t one of those band members, or one of those Stanford players that was blocked by a member of their own band.

And also remember the important lesson that Trombone Tyrrell taught us all that day – if you’re going to go out on the field to help, at least learn how to tackle.

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Ask Smidge - Daylight Savings Time

Many of us have once again experienced our twice-yearly tradition that can only be described as utterly insane. A few days ago we “fell back,” and moved all our clocks back an hour on Saturday night. Or should I say, most of our clocks. A few states don’t do it at all, and for those of us that do, let’s be serious about that sprinkler timer in the garage. You have never changed that one.

This time of year is great, because I think we all really appreciate the four-month period when the sun goes down just after lunchtime.

Anyway, the asksmidge@gmail.com inbox has been overflowing with time change-related questions, and as always, we have answers.

 

 

Smidge,

I heard the federal government was passing a law getting rid of the stupid clock changes. When does that happen?

Hopeful in Hartford

 

Dear Hopeful,

You may have heard that, but you were tragically misinformed. The “Sunshine Protection Act” was introduced in 2022, but has been stalled ever since. Seems no one could agree on whether to keep standard time or go to permanent daylight savings time. You see, government officials are, by nature, complete morons, as evidenced by the name of the bill. They no doubt believe that passing this law will actually affect how much sunlight is in one day. The weight of that responsibility is too much for their tiny brains and they are frozen in fear. It will never happen. You can hold your breath if you want, but while you’re at it, you should also officially abandon all hope.

 

 

 

Smidge,

We have little kids. The time change is especially hard on them every year, and therefore especially hard on us as parents of little kids. What can we do to minimize the pain?

Hurting in Harrisburg

 

Dear Hurting,

I feel your pain. Our kids were little once and I remember it all too well. When we fell back in November they were knocking on our door at five A.M., and when we sprung forward in March we needed a jackhammer to dislodge them from their beds in time for school.

The good news is that they sell melatonin products for kids now. I would recommend getting a humidifier and wiring it up to an oscillating pedestal fan in their room. In November you can crush up the whole bottle of melatonin and mix it into the water tank on the humidifier. In March, simply swap the melatonin out for methamphetamines.

 

 

Smidge,

I can never figure out how to change the clock in my car. What should I do?

Confused in Concord

 

Dear Confused,

Don’t sweat it. About half of the cars built before 2018 don’t even have the ability to set the clocks. You just get what you get. You can always disconnect your car battery and then reconnect it right at noon or midnight, but that’s a big hassle. Your best bet is to pretend your car is simply in a different time zone than you are. So, for part of the year you would just know that even though you’re on eastern time, the interior of your car is on central time, and do the math in your head accordingly. As a bonus, you’ll always have a plausible excuse for why you were two hours late for work. “Sorry boss, converted the wrong direction this morning. My bad.”

 

 

 

Smidge,

How did Daylight Savings Time even happen? I heard Benjamin Franklin invented it. Is that true?

Amazed in Anaheim

 

Dear Amazed,

No, Benjamin Franklin did not invent Daylight Savings Time. He was actually intelligent. That story has been going around for years because he wrote about it, in jest, in an essay in 1784. He didn’t even suggest changing the clocks. He was writing a letter to the editor in a Paris newspaper, and he was joking that the French could save money on candles if they just got out of bed earlier. He was right. Also, humor wasn’t as funny in the 1700s.

No, we have a New Zealand bug scientist to thank for the idea of changing the clocks – he wanted “more daylight” to search for bugs (I’m not making that up), and like the French, couldn’t figure out the “just get your ass out of bed earlier” life hack. And, of course, we have the Nazis to thank for actually putting the clock changes into practice during World War One. Technically, they weren’t the Nazis yet, but same difference. Classic Nazi move.

 

 

 

Smidge,

How come some states do DST and other don’t?

Curious in Cleveland

 

Dear Curious,

I wish I knew! By law in the United States, it is up to the states to decide if they want to change their clocks or not. While many states are smart and don’t do it, and I’m usually a fan of extremely limited federal government powers, in this case I do not agree. It should be all or nothing. Here’s why: We already have time zones, which although obviously necessary, are still confusing. Just think about those poor people who live and work near the time zone line. If you lived right on the line, how would you ever know store hours, or what time practice starts. How would you ever plan anything?

“I’ll see you at three o’clock.”

“Which three o’clock?”

What if you lived in one time zone and worked in another? That’s my idea of what hell would be like. So, why have we allowed individual states to further complicate things by not changing their clocks when the rest of us have to? It’s absolute madness.

 

 

 

Smidge,

I use my phone as my alarm, but I always lose sleep on these crazy time change nights. I know my phone will adjust the time change automatically, but I always end up waking up ten times in the night to check my alarm. How does it know to adjust my alarm so I wake up on time?

Tired in Tampa

 

Dear Tired,

I am assuming you are originally from either France or New Zealand… Your phone adjusts your alarm so you wake up on time by using the same tracking software that recognizes your normal everyday patterns to give you more of what you want. It’s best not to think about it too much. Just enjoy the convenience.

 

 

 

Well, there you have it, folks. All the answers to your vital DST questions. You’re welcome. (Please keep in mind, Ask Smidge always has answers to your burning questions, but we never said they were good ones.)

If you live in one of the good states, just know that the rest of us are jealous. And if you’re a poor, unfortunate clock changer like me, don’t despair. It’s just a short four months until we get to see the sun again and the clock in your car is back to being on the same time zone as you are. Keep the faith!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Halloween Candyholics Anonymous

I need to get myself to an HCA meeting (Halloween Candyholics Anonymous) right away.

My name is Marc, and I have a Halloween candy problem.

[all together] Hi Marc.

I have purchased “all the Halloween candy we’ll need” three times now. I’m praying there won’t be a fourth trip required.

Two weeks ago, I brought home the first load, and thought, “We have a lot here. I can just open this one bag and have a few.”

That’s how it starts.

I could try to deflect and tell you that my wife and two of my sons were in the bags too, which they DEFINITELY were, but deflecting is not going to get me the help I need.

I had to go back to the store so quickly that I don’t even want to mention how quickly, but let’s just say it’s more accurate to measure the time frame in hours instead of whole days.

And do I care what kind of candy I give out to the neighborhood kids? No. Who even knows what kind of crazy candy the kids like these days. But do I help myself by buying candy I don’t like? Of course not.

I actually go the other way in a big way, searching out the mixed bags of candy bars that have Mounds and Almond Joy, because I’m the only one in the family that likes those, so I know there’ll be more for me. I acknowledge that I have a problem.

And don’t even try to sell me those “minis.” You know the tiny little Snickers “bars” that are only the size of a quarter. That’s just two or three times as much unwrapping I’ll have to do to get what I need. It’s fun size or larger, pal. No funny business.

I could sort of justify the first restock return trip, but the second restock trip was shameful.

The store didn’t even think people should still need Halloween candy or pumpkins. The pumpkin bins were a shambles and all the Christmas candy was already out on the shelves. There was only one small section of Halloween candy left down at the end, presumably just for the candyholics and terminal procrastinators.

I’m scared of what I might find if another trip is necessary. Come tomorrow night I might have to have Son Number Three make a quick lap around the neighborhood in whatever costume we can cobble together just to restock our bowl.

I just hope that when the kids come to the door I can control myself. I’m not sure what my wife will do if I become known as the mean old man that steals candy from the kids at his door instead of giving it out.

I need help. And another peanut butter cup, come to think of it.

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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I'm "Watch the Grass Grow" Old

I am unhappy to report that I have found the surest sign of my aging, to date.

I mean, don’t get me wrong – there have been plenty of signs along this road. For instance, it’s been a long time since I could get on or off the couch without making some sort of groan, grunt, sigh, or popping sound.

I can’t tell the shampoo from the conditioner in a new shower, and I never think to inspect everything with my glasses on before I get in. If there is a third option for body wash, it’s all over. The Lord only knows what I washed and “shampooed” with that morning.

I keep Advil in most every room of the house and all the cars, I really can’t watch TV without the subtitles, and don’t even get me started on strange cars parking in front of my house!

Obviously, I’m getting old, but I wasn’t aware just how old until we got rid of our backyard play structure. A few months ago, a young couple with two little girls became the next caretakers of the behemoth wooden tower-o’-fun, and we were left with a large open area at one end of our backyard.

Many ideas about what to do with the space were brought up by my wife, all of which sounded either prohibitively expensive or prohibitively difficult. She finally agreed to my relatively simple suggestion of “lawn,” and so began my latest project.

Simple does not always mean easy, and I am not going to lie to you – digging trenches for the sprinklers to service the mere 540 square feet of new lawn almost did me in. Normally, digging sprinkler pipe trenches is not a big deal, if you live in a place that uses dirt for the ground.

Our neighborhood doesn’t use dirt. We use round, river rock cobblestones to hold up our houses here. You can’t dig in our neighborhood with a shovel. The shovel just makes a ping noise and stops dead on a rock the size of softball, two inches underground. That rock is surrounded by other rocks, ranging in size from golf ball to volleyball, which continue no matter how far you dig down with your pickaxe and digging bar.

The small spaces between the rocks are usually filled in with dirt, but in this case, they were mostly filled in with tree roots, since the whole 540 square feet of would-be lawn is under a massive tree of unknown species. (I have never known what any of our trees or bushes actually are, and I don’t care, as long as they don’t fall onto the house. So far, so good. I think the rocks hold them in place.)

I only needed to put in nine sprinkler heads, but the trenching ran me out of Advil in every room in the house and two of the cars. When I had recovered enough to stand up almost straight, and the new pipes were in the ground and buried, we brought in some beautiful new rock-free topsoil and leveled it all out.

I spread the new grass seed and raked it into the amazing new dirt ten days ago, and in those ten days I have found out how old I really am. I have probably inspected the new lawn area between 50 and 75 times since the seed went on. I have told people I don’t even know about my new grass sprouts that started to happen five days ago. The people I do know are now avoiding me, but I don’t care, because I’m in my backyard staring at my “lawn.”

When I was able to, I even got down on my hands and knees to inspect the little shoots and look across all of them at eye-level.

I had no idea the amount of joy I would get from seeing that one bare patch over there start to show some green yesterday.

I mean, what the hell?

This kind of thing sneaks up on you. One minute you’re skateboarding through life without a care in the world, and the next you’re mad that they rearranged the grocery store. It was fine the way it was.

But it wasn’t until this week that I realized I was “watch the grass grow” old.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check and see if that middle section has filled in any since this morning. It’s warm today!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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When Life Gives You Lemons, File a Class Action

I am happy to report that I have once again been included in the American Dream. Yes, I’m eligible to be part of another class action lawsuit!

Unbeknownst to me until I received the letters, I have had beef over the years with Toyota, Verizon, Master Card, Visa, Wells Fargo, and many, many others.

I never joined any of those class actions, but as far as I know, I at least did actual business with them all. This latest one is extra special.

“Smidge’s Little Lemonade Stand” has been invited to join a class action against Visa and Mastercard for those SOB’s misleading and possibly unconstitutional interchange fees. We’ve got them on the hook for $5.5 billion!

“What the hell is ‘Smidge’s Little Lemonade Stand?’” you might be asking yourself, just as I was when I received the letter last week. I puzzled over it for a minute or two until I remembered Juan the illegal hot dog vendor in Berkely, CA.

“Of course!” you’re saying to yourself. “Juan the hot dog guy!”

No?

Well, back in September of 2017, Juan set up an unlicensed hot dog cart outside a stadium, and was promptly ticketed by the police, who took his $60 as evidence. Cell Phone Guy was there to record the whole thing, berating the police for doing their jobs in the process, claiming we all have the right to distribute and/or ingest unlicensed and, most likely, unsanitary hot dogs.

Cell Phone Guy then started a GoFundMe “for” Juan, even stating in the description that he didn’t know Juan or even know how to find Juan again. The GoFundMe raised over $90,000.

In response to that ludicrously misplaced generosity, I immediately started a GoFundMe for my kids’ unlicensed and definitely unsanitary lemonade stand. I openly pleaded for the police to come to our neighborhood, confiscate their profits, and shut them down.

Sadly, we did not garner nearly as much support as Juan, and only raised $55, all of which was donated to the Roseville Police Activities League – a day I’m sure their fundraising team will never forget.

Well, as it turns out, RPAL may be in line for another sizeable donation stemming from our illicit lemonade activities, because those snakes over at the credit card companies apparently scammed our helpless GoFundMe. We only netted $55, but the Lord only knows how much people actually donated. There’s a chance we reached our original goal of a million dollars, but the excessive interchange fees left us with a fraction of that. Who knows?

That’s why we owe it to America and the kids at RPAL to join this class action and get back what is rightfully ours! After all, there’s $5.5 billion on the table.

If my class action lawsuit math is correct, a year or so from now Smidge’s Little Lemonade Stand should receive a check for $1.12. If Cell Phone Guy joins the class “on behalf of” Juan, he may be able to get as much as $67.50.

I just pray that the lawyers will be able to make ends meet for the year while they wait for their checks for $55 million to arrive!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Umchina, That Guy is Good! - Repost

I have an Amazing Facts desk calendar, and I have to tell you, a lot of the times the facts are slightly less than “Amazing.”

For instance, today I learned how many times some actor named Max Schreck blinked in the nine minutes he was on screen in a 1922 movie. It was once.

Earlier this week I learned that badgers have helped make a number of important archeological discoveries, none of which I cared about.

I even learned how much genuine yak hair the Broadway run of Cats went through making wigs in the eighteen-year span of the musical. It was 3,247 pounds. Not only did I not care at all about that statistic, but I also reacted poorly to it on a personal level since my mom made me go see an off-off-off-Broadway (Sacramento, CA) production of Cats when I was young, and I still haven’t recovered from how much I disliked it.

I’m not going to lie to you. This calendar is not great. It’s not even very good. But I stick with it each day, just hoping for that odd gem that might make learning about yak wigs at the world’s worst musical all worth it. Well, on Wednesday, September 27^th my perseverance paid off.

On that fateful day I was treated to one of the funniest things I’ve learned in a long time. And after I got done laughing, my heart immediately went out to all the young Korean men out there.

Here’s the “Amazing Fact:”

 

Umchina, a Korean term meaning “mom’s friend’s son,” is used to describe a person who’s better at everything than you are.

 

How prevalent moms shaming their kids for lack of achievement must be in Korean society to have a one-word term for it. Wow! Nice job, Korean moms. Maybe take it down a few notches, huh?

I’d be willing to bet that even if the term wasn’t invented to be spitefully humorous, that’s at least how it’s used by today’s Korean youth. At least I hope so.

 

“I’ve got no chance on this test. Mr. Umchina in the front row is going to blow the curve for all of us.”

 

“How’d the game go, honey?”

“Not great. Their starting lineup was Umchina city.”

 

When I told one of my buddies about this fabulous new word I discovered, he asked what the Korean term for “wife’s friend’s husband” was. Now that’s one we need to know!

I hear about him all the time. That guy is good!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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Solar Meltdown

We got solar panels in November of 2018. It was exciting! Our power company, the universally loved PG&E here in Northern California, finally made the decision easy for us after we had a $600+ bill that summer. More on them later.

Now, when you get solar, you are excited about making electricity instead of having to buy it. You get a cool app on your phone that shows you the real-time solar production happening on your roof. You can see that the panels in the direct sunlight are pumping out 1.56 kWh each! You have no idea how much 1.56 kWh is – or even what it is – and you have no idea how each individual kWh translates to your electric bill, but you’re pretty sure it’s a really good thing!

If you think that PG&E will tell you how each kWh translates to your bill, you are wrong. They say that they are showing you on your bill, complete with numbers and charts, but what they are really showing you is Chinese algebra with no equals signs and no dollar amounts. More on them later.

Anyway, your electricity bills continue to come every month, but now they are much, much, much lower. You are happy. Eventually, you start to see a dollar figure show up in the corner of the bill labeled “Expected True-up Amount.” On your one-year anniversary of getting solar, your true-up amount is due. This is the difference between the amount of electricity you used and the amount you produced.

The true-up is the one thing on your bill expressed in dollars, and it is not negative. You owe them money. And you owe them more money than you think you should because you have a LOT of solar panels on your roof, and they were not cheap. This is when you find out that PG&E pays you about $0.0000000023 for every kWh you produce, but charges you roughly $756.00 for every kWh they send you. More on them later.

You go through another year of checking the app and getting happy about how many kWh’s you’re making when it’s sunny, cursing the clouds and rain, and watching your estimated true-up number rise and fall through the seasons, betting yourself on where it will land come solar anniversary time.

After a few years, you realize the true-up is staying fairly steady at a few hundred bucks, and you check the app less and less often. And if you got solar in 2018, by 2024 you hardly ever check the app, and basically ignore the true-up number.

You ignore it until three days ago when you were online paying your PG&E bill and you glanced over to see the Estimated True-up Amount they are showing is three times higher than your mortgage payment. Umm, what?

You initially think that something went wrong over at PG&E. Maybe your SmartMeter broke and they can’t see how much your solar panels are producing. But then you go outside and see that the SmartMeter seems to be on and working just fine.

Then you grab your phone and go to check the app that you haven’t looked at since you can’t remember when. The app is requiring you to log in and that’s when you vaguely remember looking at the app a month or so ago and seeing the same login screen and saying to yourself, “I have no idea what my login info is. I’ll check that later when I’m near my password list.”

When you finally get the app open, you see that it is not showing any production at all yesterday, or the day before. The app talks to the panels through a gateway that is located in an electrical box under the solar panel shutoff switch. You get a screwdriver and open that box to see that there is no power at all to the gateway. You check the circuit breakers, but a visual inspection shows they’re all in the ON position.

That’s when you call the solar installation company and they start walking you through the troubleshooting procedure. After a few questions, they recommend turning the whole system off and back on at the main breaker. When you go to touch the main breaker switch, it falls loosely away from the ON position to the middle “tripped” position.

Holy…

When you flip the breaker OFF and then ON, the gateway immediately comes to life, and your SmartMeter suddenly changes direction from “Receiving” to “Delivering.”

Son of a…

And on that day, September 30^th, 94 degrees at 3:00pm, you go back through the app and finally figure out that your solar panel main breaker tripped off on July 11^th and 1:26pm.

Mother…

Not only was my giant solar array just an ugly roof decoration for over two and a half months, but it was off and useless at the worst possible time – during the hottest two and a half months that California has seen in a very long time. We had multiple record-breaking heatwaves when our A/C ran all day and most of the night, without a single solar cell on my roof doing anything about it.

Now, I know that there are more than a few places I can go look whenever I want to make sure my solar panels are on and functioning, and I’m well aware of the fact that I failed to check any of them during probably the two and a half most critical solar power months in our system’s history.

But here’s my problem with you, PG&E. You know I have solar. You know I used to send you electricity every month. You know I didn’t abandon the house because I’m still paying my bills and sucking down kWh’s at a furious pace. So why in the hell is there not a note in bold at the top of my August bill saying, “HEY! YOU DIDN’T PRODUCE A SINGLE kWh LAST MONTH!!”?

Don’t bother answering – I already know how much you’re looking forward to sending me this year’s true-up bill.

Again, I know I only have myself – and possibly a crappy main breaker – to blame. So why am I complaining, you ask? I’m not complaining. I’m trying to prevent this from happening to anyone else.

If this cautionary tale saves even one of you from the same fate, then it… would be amazing if you considered sharing some of those savings with me so I can pay my horrendous true-up bill.

Thanks in advance!

See you soon,

-Smidge

 

Copyright © 2024 Marc Schmatjen

 

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