The Pumpkins Are Coming, The Pumpkins Are Coming

Family Portrait (…sometimes, I wonder if I’m adopted…)

Yes, listen indeed, my itty bitty children and you shall hear… As legendarily proclaimed by Paul Revere during his renowned midnight ride to warn citizens of the impending harvest hayrides and incessant fall festivals with their outrageous apple bobbings and gluttonous blue ribbon pie contests. At least, I think that’s how it went.

Steady yourselves and hold fast. Local cafés around the country will display exorbitant lines of leggings-wearing, post-yoga, pre-brunch patrons salivating for that sweet, hot-gourd-infused nectar. Yes, give me some of that black, boiling bean juice stirred with a creamy, chemical-enhanced syrup. What does “other natural flavors” on the ingredients list mean anyways?

Be still my beating heart. Or maybe run away. Pumpkin-colored, pumpkin-flavored everything is near and already here.

Pumpkin spiced lattes/coffee, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin bread, pumpkin cake, pumpkin cupcakes, pumpkin juice, pumpkin casserole, pumpkin bologna, pumpkin soap, pumpkin deodorant, pumpkin toothpaste, pumpkin hats, pumpkin costumes, pumpkin vitamin water, pumpkin ornaments, pumpkin displays, pumpkin yoga pants, pumpkin candles, pumpkin mugs, pumpkin cigars, pumpkin wine, pumpkin spiced pepper spray, and pumpkin buckets for holding all your pumpkin stuff.

For some, today’s reflection will be exhilarating and ingratiating. For others, shear anxiety and terror. Is there a National Pumpkin Day? More like Indulgence Day. A time when we can truly celebrate what America’s all about: consuming copious amounts of calories in celebratory cause.

And if you’re wondering whether pumpkins are a fruit or a vegetable—well then, they’re definitely a pie.

You know the rest. In the books you have read…,


A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!

– excerpt from “Paul Revere’s Ride” by Henry Wadsworth Longellow

Shirt Tags Are—Just the Worst

Once a week, I sit down at my home desk and contemplate the cosmos. I make odd observations about life, our world, and society. Usually, these musings turn into me just complaining about random nonsense as I shout into the empty, dark void of the Internet. Anyone unfortunate enough to be exposed to my various virtual ventilations has unbeknownst to them become a small part of my self-medicated, self-therapy sessions.

Do you remember how shirts used to have these really annoying and itchy tags in the back of the collar until someone realized that they could just print the same information directly into the fabric? Yeah, those were awful. But do you know what’s worse than having a hideous tag scratching the back of your neck all day? Having an infuriating tag cutting into the side of your abdomen all day.

Seriously, who thinks that these terrible torso tags are any better than the collar tags of lore? At least before, the aggravation was symmetrical. Now my burden to bear is isolated to one side. It makes me think of what the Apostle Paul was referring to when he bemoaned his “thorn in the flesh” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). Are these thorns in the side some corporate conspiracy to make consumers constantly anxious and agitated so we’ll waste more money on buying their stuff?

Do you have a prickly, tickly life-tag in your side that just won’t go away? Sometimes we can cut them out without doing any harm. Other times, we just have to carry on and let it make us stronger. Either way, my hope is that we can all find contentment in whatever cotton-picking, irritating circumstances we find ourselves in.

But for real, why do we even need the tags sewn into the shirts? Are they really necessary? A shirt tag, regardless of its size, shape, structure, location, affinity, denomination, etc., would still be a horrible shirt tag. Let’s just get rid of those dreadful things.

For the 2020 presidential election, I’ll be running on the sole campaign platform of abolishing shirt tags. Let the people be free. Let the shirts be tagless! See you at the polls: Finanigans 2020.

Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way. – Viktor E. Frankl

When YouTube Thinks You’re Depressed

Man, I’ve got a headache… must be a caffeine-ache since I haven’t had my third cup of coffee today.

So, I think the Internet thinks I’m depressed. Or at least YouTube/Google thinks I’m depressed. Lately, I’ve been getting these advertisements on a daily basis telling me that maybe I need to speak with my doctor about an antidepressant. Here are my thoughts about that:

  1. Get out of here! Algorithms need to stop trying to sell me stuff. Ya think you know me with all your profiling and predicting software, but you don’t know me! Just because I searched for videos of funny, fat baby animals doesn’t mean that I subconsciously desire to regress back to an infantile stage of development so that I can nurse and reclaim the soft, succulent baby pudge fat that I so desperately yearn for.
  2. Why does Google think I’m depressed? Recommendations are based on my search activity, but I honestly can’t think of anything that would trigger these ads. Perhaps it’s because I’m a millennial(ish), and we’re all supposedly depressed. Or maybe it’s because I consume copious amounts of caffeine, and anyone who needs that many stimulants must be depressed.
  3. Speaking of caffeine, this particular ad features a guy at a coffee cart, and all I can think about is “That looks delicious! I’d like some coffee please. How can I be depressed when I’m so stoked for some more of that sweet, sweet nectar of heaven, that roasted, brewed black elixir of my transcendent dreams?”

In all seriousness though, depression is nothing to take lightly. If you’re struggling, then please know that it’s ok, and please, please reach out to someone and get help. There are 24/7 hotlines that you can call, and you can even schedule counseling sessions with a professional online. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and everyone needs a little help sometimes. We were never meant to do this life alone. My opinion: we all need counseling. Everyone can benefit from speaking with a counselor at least once in their life. Or you could be an overachiever like me and live fulltime with/marry a counselor.

Also, does anyone know how to unsubscribe from the GoogleTube?

Let not the world’s deceitful cares the rising plant destroy,
But let it yield a hundredfold the fruits of peace and joy. – John Cawood

Words are Weird: Fruit

Can you find the hidden treat?

A frenzied reflection on particular English words with absolutely no regard for history, etymology, or context.

Some health-conscious people recommend eating fruit for dessert to satisfy one’s sweet tooth rather than cake or ice cream. Well, I have news for those people. Fruit is not dessert. And it doesn’t satisfy my voracious sweet tooth.

Sure, fruit can be sweet, and it’s certainly more nutritious than that Twinkie or McFlurry, but let’s not kid ourselves here: it’s not dessert. Being good for you almost defeats the purpose of dessert in my opinion. Dessert is meant to help teach us about the brevity of life—I’m just one fried Oreo away from a heart attack, and that’s what makes life worth living. Life, like dessert, is meant to be savored. I’m not discouraging you from eating fruit. You should do it. Because you know we do need fiber to get rid of all the crap in our lives, both literally and figuratively.

But some fruits are just plain weird. And our names for them are weird. Let’s consider a few select examples.

The new kid on the block says, “Hi, I’m Grapefruit.” Confounded, the kid down the street replies, “No, I’m Grape… and I’m a fruit.” Seriously, who is grapefruit trying to fool? You know it’s not a good sign if you have to put the word fruit in your name. It’s like your overcompensating: “No, seriously, I’m a fruit, I promise! I know I taste like a sour wet rag, but I’m actually really healthy for you. I probably cure cancer or something.” And grape? What part of that nuclear-powered, enlarged, abomination of a citrus fruit communicates grape? Again, this was just grapefruit trying to fool and mislead people into accidently eating it.

Does anyone even like Cantaloupe? It’s like the Smarties of fruit. I have no idea how they stay in business. You know how you know that a fruit is pretty much useless? When a restaurant offers you a complimentary side of fruit salad, and it’s basically 90% cantaloupe. Hey, I wanted mixed fruit; not a bowl of this queasy orange-colored packing foam. The actual fruit rind itself looks hideous. Makes me think of some kind of extra-terrestrial spider egg. Just the worst. Don’t even get me started on that name. It’s gibberish. Sounds like I’m getting a can of antelope meat.

But you know what? Who cares what I think? If you like grapefruit and cantaloupe, then good for you. Don’t let me judge your fruity pebble fancies. Some people even eat fruitcake as if that’s supposed to make any sense. Pretty sure there’s no fruit in there, and it just makes the cake less of a cake. It’s that whole trying-to-convince-people-that-fruit-is-a-dessert thing again. Make dessert great again. But you do you. Be the wild, terrifying frugivore you want to be. Life is short. Make the most of it.

Also, apparently strawberries (no straw?) aren’t really berries (at least in the botanical sense). But watermelons are. Also, also bananas and pineapples don’t grow on trees; they’re more of an herb or grass. And there’s definitely no apple to a pineapple. I should know because I once tried to go bobbing for pineapples… and I’ll just let your imagination fill in the rest of what happened.

Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day

The Grrreat Tiger Theory

I recently saw a trailer for the upcoming Mister Rogers movie starring Tom Hanks. So. Super. Stoked. That man was and still is a national treasure. God bless Mister Rogers, his soft-spoken, stoic, cerebrally strange puppets and all those sweaters.

If you haven’t kept up with the man’s legacy, then you’re missing out. In our home, we watch Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. Ya can keep your over-produced, premium-subscription, serialized dramas. Give me big-eyed, silly, anthropomorphized animals in wool cardigans anytime.

And look, here’s the thing: Daniel Tiger is a veritable genius. Throughout history, humanity is gifted these truly remarkable people that change the course of society. Leonardo da Vinci… Galileo Galilei… Isaac Newton… Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart… Albert Einstein… Daniel Tiger (I apologize for only listing white Western men… and one oversized kitty). It’s like the great man (person) theory that proposes most of history can be understood and explained by the significant impact of highly influential individuals—great people.

Not that I give a tremendous amount of credence to that theory but let me just share some tiger wisdom with you today. Allow me to drop some truth bombs into your brain cavity. Keep in mind that these are all meant to be sung with a little jingle:

“Keep trying, you’ll get better! Try, try, try!”

“It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. Little by little, you’ll feel better again!”

“When you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath—and count to four. One, two, three, four.”

And of course:

“When you have to go potty STOP, and go right away. Flush and wash and be on your way!”

There’s a little song solution for every life situation. All throughout the day, my family is singing these little melodies to help us get through the grind and struggles.

So, when you’re facing today’s trials and attempting to navigate the winding labyrinth and corridors of life: take a moment, take a breath, and sing a little ditty. It’s not if these things happen; it’s when. Take a lesson from our furry feline friend Daniel Tiger. Keep trying, never quit. Believe in yourself. Learn to regulate your emotions. Don’t poop in your pants—that one’s especially important. And please, would we, could we all just be neighbors?

“Ugga Mugga. – Daniel Tiger”

Finley Walker

For Whom the Belt Tolls

I hate belts. If you know me, if you really know me, then you know this about me. I only wear belts if it’s absolutely necessary. Why do we do this to ourselves? In the name of fashion? It’s a noose for your hips; a tourniquet on your waist restricting the blood flow to the lower extremities. When I’m forced to wear a belt, I feel like my body has been sentenced to death by prolonged hanging and strangulation.

On that note, I hate buttons and fasteners and zippers too—anything that makes my pants a fixed, stagnant size. I am, after all, still a growing boy. I may be done growing vertically, but I’m certainly still growing horizontally, especially in parenthood, and so, I need some extra growing room. In fact, there are many days when a pair of pants may fit me in the morning but become too small after the spontaneous buffet luncheon. To my wife’s chagrin, I am often secretly not even wearing my trousers buttoned. I just allow the organic tension and traction of my gut to secure the pants to my bum. And when we’re at home… forget about it, all bets are off—belts are off.

This is why I was so excited when elastic waistbands came back into fashion. Elastic hasn’t been in style since I was about five-years-old. But they’re so much better, literally. The only thing that could be better than elastic waistbands is no waistbands. Bring back long tunics and casual cassocks for the common people. Way more practical and efficient.

Seriously, it doesn’t make any sense. The force of gravity is constantly trying to pull your pants down, and what do we do? We try to unnaturally fabricate a futile denim infrastructure to rebel against the laws of physics. Let’s just design better clothes. If it were socially acceptable, I would simply cut out a head hole in the middle of my bedsheet and wear that as a kind of minimalist poncho. It’s super economical. Plus, I’d be ready to take a nap anywhere. It’s like a Snuggie, but better.

So, I say, if life’s got you in a stranglehold, if you feel like the breath is being choked out of you by seemingly random and arbitrary circumstances and social norms, then I say, release those bonds! Let every chain be broken. Cast off all that hinders, entangles, and ensnares. Like a Greek athlete of antiquity who competed completely butt-naked, lay aside every weight and encumbrance, and run with endurance the race set before you (Hebrew 12:1)!

Well… Maybe keep some clothes on. I’m not a nudist, just prejudice against the pant patriarchy.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friends’ were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

John Donne