Another Saturday Night

Saturday night is upon us. Many Y2K survivors are heading out for spin-dip and diluted alcoholic beverages. Some may even be commissioning the services of a liaison from the outer reaches of the Holyoke flats. Despite the many plans perpetuating moral turpitude among his peers, one Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan has planned to do quite the opposite.

Today, to most, is known as Saturday. Though to Mr. Michael, this day has taken on an entirely different meaning. Years ago, a tradition was introduced by Mr. Michael's father. Each Saturday, the Hourihan boys and their adoring father would devote the evening to rolling pretzels, preparing assorted chocolate and fruit dips, and sharing fables of young adulthood.

This long-standing tradition of spending Saturdays with Mr. Michael's father came to be known as Dadurdays.

Dadurdays have become integral in the Hourihan household, such that Mr. Michael and his brothers often find themselves thinking obsessively about it on Friday evenings. And this, my dear readers, brings us to present day.

Just last night, Mr. Michael found himself daydreaming about warm, salty pretzels. Even though it was a full day away, Mr. Michael was so compelled by these daydreams that he could not even bring himself to leave the house. Several invitations had been extended, but Mr. Michael felt he had no choice but to remain home and guard the sacred pretzel ingredients.

You see, Mr. Michael is a man of such character and conviction that he cannot be swayed. Some young men of similar age and demographic may find themselves lured by hordes of franchised restaurant servers seeking a night of fiscal indiscretion and irreparable liver damage. Mr. Michael is above such fleeting attempts at id satisfaction. And be not confused that Mr. Michael is apathetic or indolent, as this is truly not the case. Rather, Mr. Michael has clearly defined priorities by which he quite nobly lives his life.

And so it was, last eve, that Mr. Michael remained at home guarding the precious ingredients that would later become a delicious treat and a means by which father-son bonding occurs. By a quarter past nine, Mr. Michael had nodded off, slumped against a fifty pound sack of flour and the course ground salt, corner torn open for a preemptive taste. Dreams of making pretzels and sharing stories of straight sex were abound. Morning was oh so near.

Mr. Michael awoke to his mother wiping a few stray salt crystals from his dried and cracking lips. He went about his routine in the usual fashion, but it seemed something was not quite the same. Sure, it was Dadurday, but Mr. Michael no longer had pretzels on his mind.

It was by eight o'clock this evening that Mr. Michael made an unexpected announcement. Mr. Michael was planning to spend the night with friends, thus abandoning his father (and brothers) on Dadurday. Mr. Michael had received an invitation to watch silent films and shoot animal tranquilizers. Never before had such an opportunity been presented, and certainly not on Dadurday.

Though it left his father in tears, Mr. Michael left his home with the deliberate plan to become inebriated and wild. Mr. Michael's father circled the town for hours in hopes that he might find Mr. Michael's car, planning to make every attempt to convince him to return home to Dadurday.

Mr. Michael was nowhere to be found. He was laying in a dark room, strobe lights flashing sporadically, crack smoke and black light cannabis posters providing ambiance, with his mouth gaping open and an animal tranquilizer needle still lodged in a forearm vein. How stark a contrast from his night prior.

It was Mr. Michael's father's worst nightmare unfolding before his very eyes. Back home, the farmstand preserves were over-boiling on the stove. The entire pretzel-making endeavor was seemingly at its end.

Dadurday had truly become Sadurday.

DK

A Letter Of Recommendation: Michael Hourihan

 

It is with the utmost confidence and sincerity that I present this recommendation on the behalf of Mr. Michael Kieran Finbar Hourihan. Mr. Michael imbues all those he meets with a sense of spirituality, camaraderie, maturity and leadership that is impossible to ignore. In fact, it is for these very reasons that Mr. Michael has been asked to perform the sacrament of marriage.

Those most familiar with Mr. Michael would likely find him running youth groups at the local seminary, offering meals at the West Springfield soup kitchen, and lending a hand and watchful eye to the elderly as they cross busy streets downtown.

Mr. Michael is a diamond in the rough. A true rarity in modern days. It is uncommon to find persons in our society today who can be appropriately referred to as a pillar of the community. Mr. Michael is just that.

When others of similar age and demographic are frequenting lounges, bars, champagne rooms, and bordellos, Mr. Michael can be found spending time with family. Mr. Michael has found a wonderful talent in crochet work and enjoys spending Sunday brunch preparing pastel-colored infant wares with his mother. Saturday nights are typically reserved for rolling homemade pretzels with his father and brothers, which Mr. Michael enjoys dipping in assorted chocolates and farmstand preserves.

I've had the privilege of knowing Mr. Michael in various social circles. I have watched Mr. Michael grow from a confused, restrained young man into a caring, wholesome and truly egalitarian member of our community. Though his advances are often mottled by his modesty, Mr. Michael is consistently revered to be a role model and a patriarch well before his time.

I am eager, elated and enamored to have been afforded the opportunity to recommend such a wonderful man for the duties of Justice Of the Peace. May the Lord find you kindly.

DK

Crocs: I Want to Wear Them......Now

Today, I feel like I'm officially ready to kiss winter goodbye and dust off the old Crocs. That's right. Crocs. I wear 'em. I enjoy 'em, and for me there is no superior footwear for the warm weather.

Before I go any further, I should mention that the winter does not stop me from wearing Crocs products. I have boots and fur-lined varieties as well. They're warm, and easy to slip on when taking out the dogs or chasing kids off of my snow banks.

But with the warm weather comes an interest in planting and gardening, and just spending time in my yard. For those days, I choose Crocs over all others. When I'm done in the yard, I can literally hose off my shoes and they're good as new for the next round.

Now, many people I know have shared in the common belief that Crocs are shoes for people who've given up.

But given up on what?

My Crocs actually aid in my productivity. They make it easier for me in the winter because my boots are entirely waterproof and warm. They make my warm weather activities a breeze, since I have Crocs sandals, closed-toe shoes and even canvas shoes (which are so comfortable that I wouldn't mind sleeping with them on).

The traditional Crocs design is far from attractive. It looks like a garden shoe. Mostly because it is a garden shoe. But not all Crocs are created equal.

I'm not advocating for the people who show up at restaurants in their Scooby Doo pajama pants, winnie the pooh hooded sweatshirt, and crocs. Those people have given up. Absolutely. Especially if they have giant gold earrings with their name on them.    .........Just sayin'...................................You don't need to give up on life, or own a Subaru Outback, to wear Crocs.

But to ignore that Crocs have evolved such that they are now often unrecognizable to the unfamiliar eye is just ludacris. People who feel that they are above Crocs are jumping on a bandwagon that is no longer relevant. I'm not arguing that there is a Croc for every occasion. But I am saying that there are many occasions for which my Crocs are completely functional and appropriate, and more so than any other footwear I have ever owned.

So let the rash of jokes begin. I wear Crocs. I drive a Cube. And in the summer I wear capri pants. Take it or leave it. That's who I am.

DK