Deck the Halls. DECK THEM!

Faithful readers may recall my previous tales of the types of lawn decorations to which one might be subjected in the suburbs.

Well.

The ghosts came down not two days after Halloween and that same morning, though I was not awake to watch, a large and whimsical inflatable turkey took their place. It took me a day and a half to notice that the thing I sighted from the front window was not still the ghosts and Tigger-vampire. The turkey was up until the weekend after the holiday. We had an empty front lawn until three days ago. Now, when I mused that Christmas might be our landlords' holiday, I had no idea I'd be this right. I now live in a house that proudly displays all of the following, in plushly inflated and glowing nylon and from L to R as one stands on the sidewalk facing the house: a large polar bear in a night cap; a small holiday sleigh piloted by Santa; a (real rotating) carousel with whimsical riders; another festive Tigger and Pooh Bear combo; a second Santa popping from a present (two Santas? Doesn't it freak the children?); a family of snowpersons; and, at the center of it all and blocking my view of the lights across the street, a 15-ft tall snowman (height includes Lincoln-like stovepipe hat, natch...) clutching something that looks like a baseball bat in his airily muscular arms.

I don't think "fa la la la la" when I see a 15-ft snowman clutching what looks like a baseball bat outside my front window; I think, what is that snowman doing with that baseball bat, and is he on my side?

The decorating holidays are weighted to the autumn and winter. It's all down hill from here.

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Happy birthday to my Mom, as of yesterday!

You must choose, brothers and sisters...

Each day I get to pick: will I be sad today or will I be furious?
How nice it is, sometimes, to have the choice.
How lucky I am, to have options.

Today I am furious.

I am a ball of effing fire. Touch me and die, infidels. Don't make me get my Two-By-Four of Truth and bend this entire city of bean-bakers over my knee and beat some sense into it.

Today's middle finger salute goes out to the potential employer who gave me the phenomenal high hat about their most recent opening. Now truly, if I am being passed over and *ignored completely* for more qualified candidates, that's one thing. Meritocracy? Sure, why not; I'm a winner in that scenario. But if I am being passed over because I've made strong physical choices and present a somewhat "alternative" countenance, I must lodge my objection. I cannot force people to see me as I see myself, but I can say that those who, like me, make these choices in mature adulthood do so knowing that our hard work must ultimately speak for us. We refuse to lie about who we are, because bringing ourselves to work in deceit serves no one. I can guarantee that I work twice as hard as someone who does not have piercings and tattoos because I *choose* to overcome stereotypes everywhere I go. My career so far is a testament to performance speaking louder than looks; after all, the currency of business is, in addition to actual currency, performance.

I surely hope that my experience so far with this potential, highly desirable employer does not indicate that they prefer a certain face for their operations. Without a chance, I won't get the opportunity to change their minds about people like me. And it's a shame when a good learning moment gets wasted.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on my boots.

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Happy birthday Dad! Today you are 63 and that is impressive! I wish very much that you would quit smoking! You almost did three years ago, so why not try again!