7. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
I’m not gonna lie, I can more or less recite this entire special line for line. I’ve seen it so many times, but I still love it… The main reason: the majority of the characters act like complete douchebags throughout the entire thing. I’m talking about the head Elf, Rudolph’s father Donner, and old Kris Kringle himself. Complete assholes. And I will admit that when I was very little I used to cry when the Abominable Snow Monster came on screen. But I grew out of that a couple years ago.

Anyway, here’s proof that Santa acts like a jerk:

6. How the Grinch Stole Christmas
Talk about a timeless classic… I still get so wrapped up in this when I watch that I am genuinely excited when his heart finally grows at the end. Great music of course, but my favorite part is when the circle of Whos swings open like a gate at the end when the Grinch “whizzes” with his load to give all the toys back. Also, I can’t help but think of Monty Python when I hear the music play as he lifts the sleigh above his head.

5. Rocko’s Modern Christmas
I always felt like this show was overlooked and underrated. The Christmas episode, also titled “Can’t Squeeze Cheer from a Cheeselog,” finds our wallaby protagonist searching for a little Christmas cheer in a world seemingly gone mad. This fits in very well with the show, which was often about Rocko looking for a little sanity in a crazy world anyway. But it especially fits in with the spirit of the holiday season, so this episode ends up being one of my favorite X-mas moments.

It seems pretty much impossible to find a good clip online, so this is all you get:

Every year, TV shows give us an attempt at a heartwarming holiday episode. Every year, movie studios crank out countless Christmas-themed movies, hoping to stumble upon another classic. We, their audience, have to endure the sappiness, the stupidity, and the embarrassments that are the vast majority of them. Luckily, every once in a while someone really does manage to squeeze a little Christmas cheer into a TV special or film, and I appreciate these moments by celebrating them annually. Here’s a list of some of these instances: ten Christmas specials and movies that don’t suck.

10. The Snowman
No dialog in this one, just beautiful colored pencil-style animation, a great soundtrack, and the story of a boy and his snowman. Sure, the snowman comes to life, but this is no Frosty. The whole thing feels like the kind of vivid dream you’d have as a child, and the ending will stick with you long after its 25-minute run time.

9. Merry Christmas Mr. Bean
I’m a big fan of the whole Mr. Bean series, but this is one of the finest episodes. I always loved the scene where he conducts the brass quartet playing Christmas carols in a variety of styles (all depending on how he swings the conducting baton, of course). Later, Bean gets his head stuck in a turkey so big that it could feed the entire country of Turkey for a day, and he has one final mishap that drives his “girlfriend” away, despite the fact that it was a rare display of good intentions on his part.

8. A Muppet Family Christmas
This one used to play on TV when I was a kid. It features the whole Muppet gang shacking up at Fozzy’s mother’s house for a big family-style Christmas. It’s hard not to get caught up in their puppety good will, and the hour-long special is topped off with a singing snowman, the Swedish chef trying to cook Big Bird, and appearances from the Fraggles and Jim Henson himself.

The Daily Show does such a great job of providing comedy yet remaining sensitive while covering international tragedies. Last night’s reaction to the Mumbai attacks was a perfect example because it also contained a hefty dose of profane catharsis, making for a very satisfying bit.

Every year of my life, I learn a little bit about myself (I really can say the alphabet backwards while intoxicated). Every year, I marvel at how my life has developed over the past 365 days, how I’ve changed, the people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had, and how life never ceases to fascinate me. This year was all that, plus a little more. I think I may have grown up more in the past year of my life than in the rest of my 20s combined, for a number of reasons.

As a disclaimer, I still enjoy many childish, stupid things. But much of my life so far has been wallowing in a tepid pool of immaturity, one that I’ve seemingly started to climb out of at least a little during the ripe old age of 25. I grew out of a few behaviors that I never pictured myself growing out of. I finally had some tangible realization that I am, in fact, not invincible—something that just about every guy has to discover, I think, but no less grounding of an experience even when you know it’s coming.

I started occasionally feeling like an adult for the first time in my life, too. After a few years of watching many of my friends and former classmates getting married, I thought I must be way behind in thinking marriage sounded like the most insane idea in the world to me right now. It still does, of course, but it was just that feeling that came along with it, the feeling that I’d never start feeling “grown up,” that I started shedding a bit recently. One weird moment was the day I finally realized that I can literally do anything I want, any time I want. Wanna go to Hawaii for a week? I can do that. Want to drive to San Francisco just to look at seals on the wharf for a weekend? No one will stop me. It seems such a stupid thing that I should have known all along, but it just never even occurred to me until now. Those seem to be the things that made me start becoming a little more self-aware and grown up—things that I felt like I should have known all along, but were inexplicably foreign to me.

But I think the biggest step in this latest chapter’s awkward stumble into adulthood was the shocking (and slightly horrifying) epiphany that the mindset of feeling young never really does change too much. Sure, you may feel a little older and a little wiser, but there’s not going to be a magic switch at age 40 that makes me feel like a responsible grown up. I’m still probably going to feel more or less how I feel now in another 20 years. It makes sense, of course. How many 50 year olds have made stupid, childish decisions? Plenty. Remember thinking how old a 45 year old seemed when you were a kid, but you couldn’t understand why they always insisted, “Hey, I’m not old yet!”

And along with that bit of knowledge comes the slightly more disturbing part: it never is going to get any easier. In fact, all the easiest stuff is behind me. Being a kid and wanting so hard to be “grown up” was the easiest time I’ll ever have for the rest of my life. But you’d never understand that as a child.

So here’s to another year of learning, another year of exploring, another year of living. I have a long way to go (hopefully), so I’d better roll up my sleeves and prepare for the road ahead. And when anyone asks me if I feel older today, my answer will be simple: no! Now that I’m starting to feel like an adult, 26 seems pretty damn young, indeed!

While watching TV recently, a commercial came on for the American Express business card. In it, a man puts down his credit card to pay for lunch. On his card is a drawing of the comic book character The Flash, and he is laughed at, presumably for being childish, unattractive, and for maxing out his toy Playskool credit card.

But out of the corner of my eye, something else caught my attention about his card. Take a closer look at the screen shot below:

That’s right; thanks to DVRs and the ability to pause TV, I was able to confirm that it is indeed my credit card, which the dude must have stolen from me. And yes, my Brown Fabrics company is thriving.

Dear Ringo Starr,
Hi. It’s Evan. You don’t know me, but I’m a lifelong Beatles fan. There seem to be a lot of those out there, and apparently you’ve come across quite a few in your day. I’m sure you’ve gotten lots of fan mail saying how much your music has meant to them, how they can’t even convey the importance of Beatles songs in their life. They probably ask for a lot of autographs, too–for a little memento that maybe they’ve somehow managed to express a fraction of their appreciation to you.

But no more, I suppose. After seeing the video you posted on your website last week telling people not to send you any mail (presumably ever again) starting October 20th because you’ll just throw it in the dumpster, I figured it just must have been too much for you.

Maybe it’s only fair. You’ve spent decades having to scribble your name with a Sharpie, maybe you think that you deserve a break. I sign credit card receipts far more than autographs, so there’s no real way for me to empathize with you. But I just thought I’d throw a few off-the-cuff thoughts your way, from the perspective of a fan and wannabe musician, to maybe make your next attempt at something like this go a little more smoothly:

1) You know what’s a lot easier than making half your fans think you’re a jerk by telling them you’ll throw out anything they send without a second thought? Just stopping without telling anyone. If I sent you a Beatles lunchbox to sign and never got it back, I’d say “that’s too bad. I didn’t really expect Ringo Starr to mail something back to me anyway.” Then I’d forget about it forever and still think you were likely a charming guy.

2) Next time you decide to alienate a portion of your fanbase, try not to leave any loopholes open. For example, you only requested that no one send you fan mail or stuff to sign anymore. I couldn’t help but notice you failed to mention anything about hate mail, which ironically you may be receiving a lot more of soon (not from me, of course).

3) Don’t patronize us by continually saying “peace and love” to dull the blow of your message. If that got people out of stuff, it would have been used countless times in history. The folks at Enron could have said, “peace and love everyone, we screwed you out of your life’s savings while we got even richer, but we’re doing it with peace and love,” and all the employees would have said “well, my life may be ruined, but at least the CEO was shooting me some super positive vibes!”

I guess you’re a really important guy. I guess you chose this seemingly arbitrary moment in time for a good reason. And I guess this letter just missed being posted on October 20th, but please don’t try to throw my humble little website away. Not that you’ll be reading this anyway… You have far too many better things to do.

Sincerely,
Evan.
(Still a Beatles fan.)

I dug this one out of the ol’ photo archive:

Christmas morning, still in my PJs. Besides the fact that I’m playing it left-handed (how could I be so ignorant???) I think this is good foreshadowing. That Kermit the Frog banjo is pretty awesome. I really, really loved banjos when I was little. I even got one at some point, but I can’t play it very well. It’s time to learn so I can do justice to the enthusiastic kid in this picture.

I recently discovered the morbid genius that is “Garfield Minus Garfield,” a project in which beloved comic fat cat Garfield is removed from each frame of the perennial strip, revealing Jon Arbuckle’s incredibly sad existence.

The task of removing our furry orange friend is not the most monumental, seeing as how there’s very little art involved in the background of this comic that’s been cranked out by a factory (a laugh factory?) for decades now. But the results are both hysterical and a major downer. Never before have we been so forced to address Arbuckle’s hopeless desperation. No longer is his pain padded by feline punchlines that he could never hear in the first place.

I tip my hat to the creator of this darkly funny concept. I can only hope that I don’t turn into Jon Arbuckle someday.

I never quite understood when people worried about their personal indie cred. For some people, listening to a pop band that sounds polished and radio-ready is equivalent to selling their soul to Lucifer. That sentiment is fine if the band sucks. But what if the song really is catchy and really is fun to listen to? You shouldn’t have to apologize for anything. Sure, maybe you’re a devout follower of Bright Eyes, but so what if you hear a Paramore song on the radio and think “hey, that actually kinda rocks?” You’ve done nothing wrong. If someone else thinks you’re somehow less legit as a human being now, I don’t know why you’d want to hang out with them in the first place. Their approval means nothing.

The opposite situation is just as mystifying. With some people, if you say “hey, you should listen to ‘Red Eyes and Tears’ by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, it’s a bitchin’ song,” they’ll crinkle their nose and say “I’ve never heard them on KROQ, I don’t want to listen to them.” What they don’t seem to realize is that they had never heard of the All-American Rejects a couple years ago, but the band still existed. There’s a LOT of great music that will never be heard on the radio. There’s also a LOT of ass-kickin’ tunes that rock the airwaves. And it’s more than OK to listen to them both.

It’s sort of like clothing, and how people dress like hipsters, goths, punks, rockers, or whatever. In order to completely fit in and be accepted into certain walks of life, you have to dress like them. (This doesn’t apply to everyone, of course, but I generalize to make a point.) I can think of nothing more ironic than the cliques that represent rebels or outcasts that won’t embrace you unless you look like they do. No one has dressed a certain way their whole lives. They’re all changing their lifestyles to fit in where they feel like they belong. Personally, I’d rather belong right where I already am.

Or maybe I don’t really belong anywhere. That’s sort of how it’s always been, anyway. I never really fit into a certain group in High School. But I never really cared. I always felt like being in one group would limit my access to the others, that I could never get the full experience of life from a single perspective.

But forget that philosophical crap. I’m talking about music. Listen to what you like, period. Forget all the pretense and preconceptions and just enjoy music for what it is. Remember why you love it in the first place. Only then can you really appreciate everything it has to offer. I like Crowded House. I like Elliott Smith. I like AC/DC. I like Muddy Waters. I like Elbow. I like Aerosmith. I don’t care who thinks what about the music I listen to. And I don’t care that the way I dress doesn’t do much to define who I am (though that could always change as I am making my way through an image-obsessed music industry).

Sometimes I don’t fit in as well because of this attitude. But I’ve found that fitting in less often means standing out more.

Nothing here is set in stone
Nothing’s ever set in stone
Everything I have some day will fall apart and fade away

-The Bravery

Why do humans search for meaning in life? Why does the fear of regret prompt us to follow dreams, pursue grand plans, and make us try to live a life that will serve a purpose and allow us to say “I lived a meaningful life” before we die? Is the fear of being forgotten in our genes? Do atheists and theists alike agree that there is some bigger picture that we have a duty to minister to? Why is it part of human instinct to justify one’s own existence?

No other animal does that. Every other being has the same instinct, purpose, and day to day goal: survival. Sure, we have that instinct, but the ability to ask “why” makes our lives completely unique. In some ways I’ve answered my own question: with more advanced brain power, we can’t help but kill some time wondering about shit. Who hasn’t looked at a dog and thought, “boy it would be nice to just sit around all day, be happy and not get bored.” But it’s like Marvin the Paranoid Android from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; he’s so amazingly smart that you couldn’t possibly give him something to think about that would completely cure his boredom or ease his depression. We have to occupy ourselves with curiosity.

But while I am sporadically envious of the blissfully ignorant, my abstract thinking ability has also revealed to me the ludicrousness and futility that is the survival instinct in itself. Our own demise is guaranteed, even most animals seem to realize that. So not only do we fight to last as long as we can, we have the irresistible urge to procreate to ensure that something of ourselves or our species continues on. But why? What is the point of surviving only to meet our ultimate doom when the planet is destroyed or when the universe collapses back on itself?

There may be an abundance of unknowns regarding life, but one of the few things we know with some certainty is that everything we know will come to an end at some point, even if that point is in the distant future. So is our constant clamoring for meaning simply our way of dealing with this one seemingly unavoidable truth, this great uncertainty caused by a single certainty?

Well, I have my personal theories. But who the hell knows?