CRANKY'S CHRISTMAS BLOG

Cranky has had a helluva year, and he thinks you should know about it. He never got into the writing of Christmas Letters, those long meandering tomes about what the family has done the past twelve months, but the internets, with all their interconnected tubes and stuff, give him another avenue of presentation.

Cranky’s year started with open heart surgery, his second such operation. At issue was a bad valve. No sweat for the docs: they opened Cranky up, sliced and diced, and were done by lunch. As for Cranky, he was a hospitalized zombie for close to a week, and then an agitated over-medicated basket case for three months. Restless leg syndrome? Cranky had it day and night. Sleep was an occasional thing.

While Cranky was recuperating, he was fired from his contract job editing stuff for some federal agency. Talk about hard-hearted.

So Cranky ended up training as a Patent Examiner for the U.S. Patent Office. One problem was that Cranky was in a training class whose instructor was an angry little guy from somewhere in Central Asia, which was also where Attila the Hun was from. Cranky hadn’t been yelled at that much since Army basic training some forty years ago.

The second problem was that Cranky’s field of patent applications was something called business methods patents. Talk about garbage. A patent is supposed to be about an invention, but business methods patents are just mostly lengthy wordy descriptions of how to shuffle paper. Many of the so-called inventions are no more than feeding data into a computer, letting the computer massage and manipulate the data, and getting some result.

Six weeks into his career as a Patent Examiner, Cranky, as he was leaving for the day, handed his security badge to the guard, saying, “I ain’t coming back.” The guard commented, “Bad day, huh.” Cranky responded, “Bad month.”

So Cranky was back in the ranks of the unemployed. Weeks of unsuccessful job hunting went by, as did weeks of watching the family’s savings evaporate. Even what Cranky thought of as his ace-in-the-hole job didn’t pan out. Given his outdoor experience and several decades of buying their stuff, Cranky figured he could always get a job selling outdoor gear at REI. But his lack of knowledge about modern fabrics and about how one should dress for looking good in the wilderness apparently were reasons for no second interview. Those plus the fact that when asked how previous employers would characterize him, Cranky responded: “trouble accepting authority.” Anyway, Cranky is transferring his business to Hudson Trail Outfitters or Eastern Mountain Sports.

In the meantime, Cranky’s oldest daughter and her husband quit perfectly respectable jobs and move into Cranky’s basement. Bringing with them two dogs the size of ponies. The dogs are named Biff and Biff.

Cranky’s other daughter gets married in some place on the back side of Idaho. Cranky lets off steam by belting out the Righteous Brothers’ “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” and Elvis’ “Suspicious Minds” at a local karaoke bar. The daughter moves to Kuwait.

Finally, as the year wound down, Cranky landed a temporary writing job at, of all places, the U.S. Senate. The downside is that Cranky is putting in far too many hours. The upside is that it’s a paycheck.

So from Cranky and his family—Ms. Cranky, daughter #1, husband, and Biff and Biff in the basement, daughter #2 and husband in Kuwait—Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Pleasant Holidays, and all that stuff.