2010: Best. Year. Ever.

“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” Joni Mitchell once wrote. A quarter of this year has come and gone. And what better time to post a review of the best year that I have had in the 28-plus years I have been on this planet so far? Why is that, you ask? Let me count the ways. But I think it’s a good idea if I start at the beginning.

When the countdown reached zero, a cacophony of joyous screams and plastic horns welcomed 2010. The sky was instantly ablaze with fireworks. Greens and reds and purples and yellows streaked across the velvet sky leaving faint starburst imprints of smoke. The faint smell of gunpowder crept through the air. That’s one great way to start off the year: at the Happiest Place on Earth. Well, technically a couple of yards outside of it. Disneyland sold out much earlier than I thought it would so the family and I got into California Adventure, but on the upside got free day passes to Disneyland valid at anytime in 2010 (which we would later use to spend my Dad’s birthday). I’ll be honest; I had low expectations spending the New Year with family, but ended up having a blast. The booze and smoked turkey legs helped a tad.

When Jaaaaaaa met L. A.

I remember a few years ago, I felt down for no particular reason. It was just one of those bad days where I was tired of feeling so damned lonely. It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t go to sleep. Normally, I’d put on music until I felt better or started to feel drowsy but nothing was working the way it usually did. To remedy the situation I decided to bring on the big guns and was about to play some Beach Boys. Brian Wilson’s mastery of harmonies tends to calm me down, but I had the urge to hear something different. That was when I turned to YouTube to find covers of God Only Knows. It may seem shallow, but I clicked on the still with the cute blonde girl playing the ukulele. I mean, who wouldn’t? I found myself listening to all her covers and the few originals that she posted. What can I say? I was in love.

Her name is Julia Nunes and she’s gained a whole lot more recognition since then with a dedicated fan base. Being the nerd that I am, I decided to send her some fan love in the form of a comic strip, which she later featured on her cover of the Beatles’ All My Loving. Suffice it to say that should I ever need to put a smile on her face, I can always put one of Julia’s videos on. Fast-forward to January 14, 2011 where she would play a gig at The Echo in Echo Park. It’s a small venue where a seedy part of town meets a hipster part of town. She performed. We, the fans, were entertained. And there was mingling afterwards. When I told her who I was, she actually referred to me as “that guy.” Good times, indeed. She’s as sweet, nice, and cute in real life as she is on the computer monitor. I’d later see her again when she was back in L.A. for VidCon. And yes, it was just as awesome.

Don’t tell me what I can’t do!

I realize that I never gave myself closure as far as my LOST mission. The mission was a fail, but in no way would I consider it, in any way, a failure. I got two (technically one and a half) autographs from the show’s cast. The first was Jorge Garcia who was kind enough to lend his help in getting others to sign the poster. Of course it wouldn’t be characteristic of my life if it went on from there and ended the way it should have. I misread ONE word in the letter that Jorge sent back with my poster, which TOTALLY changed what he was trying to tell me. And like an idiot, I posted what I misinterpreted on the internet and was thusly grilled by not only the new protector of the island, but by a slew of random people as well. Those were not fun times. I posted an open apology to Jorge Garcia and while he never formally accepted said apology, his posts in which he gave me a deserved scolding were deleted. His other posts were left as is. That’s good enough for me.

The second autograph should only count as half since it wasn’t on the poster itself. When I saw that Harold Perrineau had a facebook account, I definitely had to add him. Did you know that he is as talented a singer as he is an actor? He’s not one of those performers that go on stage for the sole purpose of being the center of attention. He genuinely seems to be having fun up there and loves nothing more than to see the audience having a good time as well. How do I know this? Well, he performed at the Universal CityWalk and I went there to see him. I bought one of his CD’s, which he signed. It’s not exactly an autograph on the poster, but it’s an autograph nonetheless and that’s good enough for me.

I’ve got a dog. His name is Jack and though he wasn’t named after Dr. Shephard he does play a bit part in this mission. I walk him at around the same time, pretty much every day. And while I never grew the cojones to walk up to Sam Anderson and ask for his autograph, he does on occasion bump into Jack and me. It’s funny, you’d never associate a man who courteously smiles and greets a random guy walking his dog in the afternoon with an actor whose résumé is as long as Sam Anderson’s. So I didn’t get his autograph at all, but a friendly nod in my direction is good enough for me.

Now, I know the initial stage of my mission was to find four cast members and have them sign the poster. But at least I got to meet and/or interact with at least four. If you were keeping count I’ve mentioned one who signed my poster, one who signed a CD, and one who’s cordial to my dog and me. Well, it turns out fate stepped in (or was it Jacob?) and decided to get me to that magic number of four. I didn’t approach her as I thought it would be awkward to randomly approach a 14-year-old girl at Porto’s. I was there to get some lunch when Madeline Carroll bumped into me. That brings it up to four cast members, and that’s good enough for me.

I suppose it’s a sign of maturity or something like that when you learn to distinguish between settling and being content. I’m happy with what I was able to accomplish and actually managed to see some sort of potential in myself that I wouldn’t have otherwise have seen if I hadn’t started on this crazy mission in the first place. I could continue and talk about the polarizing (pun intended) finale of the show, but it wouldn’t do much to sway those who loved or hated it. I will say that I thought the sixth season, as a whole, was sadly the show’s most bland. But the last episode did bring closure to the characters and if only for that, I enjoyed it. As far as plot devices, I was never a big fan of the flash-sideways. For those who absolutely hated the finale, take solace in the fact that the obsession is finally over… for now.

Unconventional

I had made it an annual pilgrimage. San Diego Comic Con, which has changed its name to Comic Con International, is the mecca for any geek as me. But my financial situation had left me stranded at home instead of the sunny city of San Diego. I was determined to make my presence known and saw that I could submit a picture to the souvenir book. I saw that it was going to be Peanuts’ 60^th anniversary and I knew exactly what I wanted to draw. I drew it, colored it, touched it up on Photoshop and saw that it was DC’s 75^th anniversary too. I asked the editor what the word limit was and he said all articles had to be at least 1,000 words long. Perfect. With literally one minute to spare, I sent it off to cyberspace and hoped it had gotten to the editor’s inbox in time.

It would be some months before I would know if I made the cut or not. In fact, the editor told me that the only way I would definitively know if my stuff was put into the final product was when they send out the souvenir books after the convention. I’m not so good with patience so I did some snooping around and found out which of my friends was able to make it down to San Diego. To my surprise, they took both my picture and my article! Of all places to have my work published, I am extremely flattered to have it in the Comic Con Souvenir Book.

Some might say that that would be enough to be thankful for in the realm of comic book fandom and I, for one, would wholeheartedly agree. But apparently the gods of geekdom had other plans for me. Usually, I’ll make my own lunch so I could stay home and read or write (more on why that’s relevant later). But there was this one day, sometime between the end of Comic Con and whenever it was I got a copy of my souvenir books in the mail, where I decided to go out for lunch. I was in the mood for tacos so I went for tacos and I bumped into a Bruce Timm. Bruce Timm!!!! The man who brought Batman The Animated Series, Superman The Animated Series, Batman Beyond, Justice League, Justice League Unlimited, Batman Brave and the Bold, Tiny Toons, Freakazoid, and Animaniacs to television. And I’m not even mentioning all the animated films like Batman Mask of the Phantastm, Green Lantern First Flight, and Under the Red Hood. As far as being a fanboy goes, 2010 will be tough to beat.

Driven On By Some Demon

On January 27, 2010 J.D. Salinger died. I never knew him. I never met him. And in all honesty I don’t think I could say that I really, truly wanted to. I’ve read The Catcher in the Rye hundreds of times and when he died, I sat down and read it again in a single sitting. “What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.” You know you have a good story when your characters are still relatable even after 60 years. I’ve always been a bookworm, but The Catcher in the Rye is the first book that really affected me. It was the first novel that I put down and felt so connected and so alone at the same time. I had been writing stories and poems long before I read Catcher for the first time. But it wasn’t until I read that book that I realized why I wrote and who I was writing for. It was the first time I admitted to myself that I was writing solely for me and didn’t have to feel so guilty about it.

It didn’t matter what interview I looked up, what book I read, or who I asked, it seemed that there are only two steps to becoming a writer; the first being to read and the second being to write. I set out to read at least one short story a day and write a short story a week for an entire year. Not only did I accomplish this, but I’d even read some extra stories. And that doesn’t include the other novels and graphic novels that I read that year. Everything from the supernatural to horror to science fiction to character studies and one-act plays filled my repertoire. I made it a point to find stories that I’ve never heard of and I’ll admit that there were some that I didn’t like. But I slowly learned that that was the entire point. If I only read stories that I knew I would enjoy, how would I know what was out there? I broadened my palette in the hopes getting a better idea of what kind of writer I wanted to be. And what better way to broaden one’s palette than to have an adventurous appetite?

When I first started writing stories on a weekly basis, I found my ideas for stories in notes I had made from years ago, from vivid memories that refused to fade with time, and from other stories that I enjoyed as a child. But as time progressed, I found it easier (sometimes frighteningly so) to dig into my subconscious and fish out characters that practically write themselves. As the year progressed it got harder to put the pen to paper, so to speak. For one, it’s a daunting task to write a short story a week for 52 straight weeks. But the stories started to delve into more personal situations that even I couldn’t fully understand yet. After writing and posting 53 stories, I was exhausted in every sense of the word.

I don’t quite consider myself a legitimate writer until something I write gets published in a literary magazine. Believe me, I’ve been trying. For the past few weeks I’ve been sending out manuscripts but what makes it difficult is the limited number of magazines that take unsolicited scripts from amateur writers such as me. I believe I’ve sent out just under 30 stories so far, and have received only 4 rejection letters. While I can’t, as of yet, call myself a writer after all those short stories, at the very least I can say that I ended 2010 knowing myself just a bit better.

The Inexhaustible Charm

I suppose it was inevitable. I had been putting off this subject until now, even debating whether I should write about her at all. I won’t put her name up here, but I did, in fact, meet a girl; a very special girl. She’s beautiful, charming, sweet, strong, had a mind of her own, and a fun personality. In other words, there’s nothing about her that says she’d be attracted to a guy like me. And yet she was. Every time the phone rang, the butterflies would stir and I would be hoping, praying that it was her on the other end. We would talk for hours about nothing, hanging up only so we would have an excuse to call each other again.

On paper, she would have never given me the time of day. Every other girl that I’ve been out with, I’ve had to put on some sort of show, play some part, and ultimately I think that’s why those relationships failed. I vowed to be myself with the next girl I liked but I was afraid that doing so would give this girl good enough reason to leave me on the spot. Oddly, she still liked me. I was my strange, oddball self and she still liked me, even thought I was cute for thinking she wouldn’t.

I’m not accustomed to people doing things for me. In my own eyes, I’m nothing special but she begged to differ. She wanted to move closer to me, get to know me even better, even speculated that we’d have a serious relationship going on. I didn’t understand why she liked me so much, I still don’t. The pessimist in me nearly drove me to paranoia thinking that there had to be a reason why a girl like her would find a guy like me attractive. But she liked me for me.

I’d like to tell you that we’re together and we lived happily ever after but life hardly ever turns out that way for anyone. Let’s just say stuff got in the way. If I had my way, believe me, we’d still be talking to each other, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life is that I could literally go crazy if I don’t learn to let go. I’d give anything, really, to hear her voice again. I never wanted it to end and a part of me secretly hopes that she’s reading this so she knows. But if it wasn’t meant to be, I can only hope that, wherever she is, she’s happy.

I Get By…

I’ve gone on and on about the people I’ve met and the things I’ve accomplished and everything that’s happened to me in 2010. It’s been an eventful year and while I still struggle as a victim in this broken economy, I ended last year with a smile; something I don’t think I’ve ever done on a New Year’s Eve. But despite all the blessings that I have been fortunate to have been bestowed upon me, it’s hardly the reason why I would call 2010 the best year ever.

Tennessee Williams, the playwright, once said, “Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.” It’s hard to believe that it will be two years this June since I’ve graduated from college… again. The old adage is that time flies while you’re having fun, and while I did have a blast last year the reason I can’t believe that two years has passed is the company I keep. I still keep in touch with the same people that I got my degree with. That’s never really happened before. I graduate grade school and no one ever gave me a call. After high school, I never really heard from anyone again until I joined facebook. Even after getting my first degree, I never heard from those classmates again. But I suppose the company I keep now is different.

I never liked telling people about my birthday. I’ll throw it in conversation if it comes up, but I’ve always hated it when someone would bring up an upcoming birthday to vie for their friends’ attention. As a result I’ve never really had too many people come up and greet me when the day came. I didn’t mind too much, though I have to admit that there was a period in high school where it would’ve been nice to have gotten a surprise at my locker. So imagine my shock when my sister and my friends planned a surprise party for me. My love for mysteries coupled with the fact that my mom’s a horrible liar, led me to deduce the goings-on just mere hours before arriving to the party. But the sentiment was greatly appreciated to a degree that no one can truly understand.

The End

So that about sums up my best year ever. I’m sure there were some unfortunate instances, some snafus that put me in a bad mood, but obviously not bad enough for me to remember at all. Maybe that’s the trick to having a good year. There are the good times and the bad times, but in the end life is just a series of moments that you can either enjoy or learn from. I’m not going to pretend to know why things went right. But I definitely enjoyed the ride. I’m sure it’s not the last good year I’m going to have, but I’ve got tell you that it’s going to be tough one to top.

A Playlist for Civil Engineers

One of the largest dilemmas that I've faced recently is the difficulty of reconciling my creative side with my analytic side. I'm a writer... but I'm also a civil engineer. It's hard to be creative with scientific reports (God knows I've tried) and it's even harder to make a page turner out of a spreadsheet. In fact, the only connection I could make was that it's difficult to find work in either field.

The best way I could do go about relating both sides of me is to create a playlist of music that I hope everyone will enjoy. I came up with 21 songs (plus a bonus track dedicated to my peeps) listed below in no particular order. If you've got suggestions, feel free to add them in the comments.

When the Levee Breaks by Kansas Joe McCoy and Memphis Minnie was written in 1929 about the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927. This is one of the few songs that actually relate to civil engineering, and it's still pertinent today after the disaster in New Orleans. Many people forget that it wasn't Hurricane Katrina that flooded the city, but levee failure. The song has been covered by dozens if not hundreds of artists including Bob Dylan. And was popularized in 1971 by Led Zeppelin in Led Zeppelin IV.





Build a Bridge by The Redwalls is a great tune. Sure, they're singing about metaphorical infrastructure but who would be opposed to a song about bringing people together? I'm sure AT&T wouldn't, especially since they used this in one of the commercials a few years back.





Skyscrapers by OK Go is markedly different from their treadmill-choreographed-Rube-Goldberg-machine-internet-video meme singles that flung them into the chaos of mainstream, but it's a great song and worth a listen.





Skyscraper by Bad Religion continues the structural engineering theme and I prefer this acoustic version to the studio version.





Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations has absolutely nothing to do with civil engineering whatsoever but it does sound like it should. After all it has "Build Me Up" in the title and is written by a band called The Foundations! B.O.B even samples the tune in his song Don't Break My Heart. This song deserves to be on this playlist, and instead of the original band, I'm posting this cover by the adorably charming Julia Nunes who I'm kinda crushin' on.





I'm Gonna Be an Engineer by Peggy Seeger (sister of Bob Seeger) is a song that isn't so much about someone wanting to get into this profession as it is a song about Women's Lib. But it did shine light on the type of hurdles that gender inequality created. And thanks to folk singers like the Seegers, I had the privilege of studying and working side by side with some lovely lady civil engineers. While Pete Seeger does a version of this folk song, it seems only right to have the original writer sing it especially since it's from the point of view of a female being told that she couldn't be an engineer.





Song for the Civil Engineer by David Dondero is an obscure song that I read about on another engineer's blog. Apparently, David Dondero is played a lot on NPR. From the sound of it, NPR plays his music as frequently as mainstream radio plays crappy pop songs. It has that bittersweet acoustic guitar that you're likely to hear at the beginning or end of an independent film. I couldn't find any videos of Mr. Dondero but thankfully Yahoo! Music has the song right here. Just don't forget to click the tab on the lower left hand corner of the page.

Crossroad Blues by Robert Johnson is one of the greatest blues songs ever and laid the groundwork for rock and roll. Sure, it's a bit of a reach saying that this song reminds me of transportation engineering, but it's a fantastic song that has been covered over and over again. The most famous version being that of Cream. It even inspired the legend about Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil to become a great guitar player at "the crossroads," which inspired an episode of Supernatural.





Elevation by U2 gained popularity when it was attached to the soundtrack to Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. Other than the fact that "elevation" is a term that is frequently used in drafting and surveying, there is no other reason to put this song on a list about civil engineering. I think it's a good song, not U2's best, but a worth a listen nonetheless.





Floods by Pantera. Aside from the fact that this list has been devoid of heavy metal, civil engineers also handle drainage problems. It's funny to think that non-engineers don't give a second thought as to how rainwater manages to find its way to the gutters and eventually the catch basins. Maybe, everyone assumes that things just work out for the best. Sorry to disappoint, but flood control is an engineer's doing.





Rain by The Beatles. Personally, I don't think any playlist is complete without mention of The Beatles, this song being the B-side to Paperback Writer. Sure, it rounds out the hydrology theme I started with Pantera and shows off how eclectic my taste in music is, but it also has the music video that started all music videos. I'm going to have to agree with George Harrison: They invented MTV.





Steel and Glass by John Lennon. Ironically this comes from Lennon's album, "Walls and Bridges," which also is a civil engineering reference. In 1973, John, George, and Ringo found out that Allen Klein was skimming money from them and this was John's response. One of the lyrics is a bit harsh, poking at the fact that Klein's mother died at childbirth. But that's Lennon for you. He's definitely not one for censorship.





Can't Truss It by Public Enemy. From one iconoclast to another, this song really has no reference to the profession at all. But I think a little wordplay with the word "trust" so it sounds like "truss" is enough to earn it a spot on this playlist. Besides, who wouldn't want to fight the power with Flava Flav?





Concrete Angel by Martina McBride. A country song about child abuse is a bit heavy for this list, but it's a good song. Besides, not only does it fulfill the requirement of referencing a material that all CE's are familiar with, but it's poetic if you think (like an engineer) about it. What other material would be best suited for the song's main character than one that can take a lot of pressure but is liable to snap under too much tension without any help? See what I did there?





We Built This City by Starship. If it wasn't such a cheesy 80's pop song performed by a shadow of a great 70's psychedelic band it would have been a perfect anthem for civil engineers. Yes, we built this city. And that city. And every city. Suck it.





Building A Wall by Pet Shop Boys. Even though they're an 80's electric band, this song was released in 2009 on the Yes album. There's already a metaphorical bridge on this list; why not throw in a song with a metaphorical wall? There's also a reference to The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and possible a reference to Hadrian's Wall though it's connection to Gaul wouldn't make much sense. But then again, this isn't about my historian side.





Steadier Footing by Death Cab for Cutie. If you want a slow, somber song with falsetto vocals, I think Death Cab is the way to go. So, they're not exactly talking about the kind of footing that civil engineers design, but if Can't Truss It can make the list, then this can make it too.





The Weight by The Band. How could you not mention a playlist dedicated to all my fellow civil engineers without taking The Weight into consideration. Get it? And the funny thing is that this is the second song on this playlist that was on a phone company commercial. You can just imagine columns singing the refrain to beams and girders called Annie (or is it Fanny?). There are lots of great covers of this song by Weezer, The Last Waltz, The Edge, Jimmy Page, and Jack White, and even the actor Jensen Ackles.





All Shook Up by Elvis Presley. Well, bless my soul. What's wrong with me? I've gone this long without putting the King on the list! I've also gone pretty far without any reference to seismic design despite living out in California. For shame!





I Feel the Earth Move by Carole King. Gone are the days of great singer/songwriters being the norm in the mainstream music. Did I put this on the list as a reference to soils engineering or seismic design? Who knows? That's the fun.





Shake, Rattle, and Roll by Big Joe Turner was popularized by Bill Haley & His Comets in 1954 and covered again in 1956 by Elvis Presley. Turner's was the most raw version, Haley's the most polished, and Elvis' version... Well, it's Elvis. Need I say more?





That about concludes my playlist. If you've got any you'd like to add, go right ahead and leave them in the comments section. To be honest, I never thought I'd get more than five songs but then it just snowballed into the amalgam of music that would otherwise would never have been lumped together. And as promised, there is one more song to add. You might scratch your head wondering what, if anything, the song has to do with civil engineering. I'd tell you, but it wouldn't be much of an inside joke. Just take my word for it that it's a tip of the hat to some engineers I know.

The Moment

The only thing grayer than the concrete was the sky. I was waging a bet with myself on who would make it to the ground first, the sunlight or the rain. I walked into the coffee shop, my eyelids straining to get out of my pupils’ way. My arm propped up the rest of my body against the wooden counter. I took a black coffee and closed my eyes until they called my name. The warmth of the heater kissed my skin and nearly convinced me that there was a reason to smile that day. But it wasn’t enough.

The scarf I had on was starting to itch. I took it off and let the air get to my clammy skin. I wanted to put my head down and sleep and forget about the day that had yet to happen and regret the day that had just finished. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was destiny. Or maybe I was in the right place in the right time. But as I turned my head my eyes caught a smile. It drew the rest of my face toward the lovely face it belonged to. Her eyes were hidden behind the brim of a wool cap.

I looked away just as quickly as I had spotted her. There was no way she was looking at me. Before I could give it another thought, they called my name. My coffee was ready. I shot up and took the warm paper cup in my hand. I walked toward the door and heard the jingle of the bells as I swung it open. Again, maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, but I turned my head back and caught the prettiest eyes from beneath that wool cap looking at me. She just as quickly turned away and smiled into her magazine. I smiled to myself.

There was no reason to forget tomorrow or regret yesterday. All of that melted away with the smoke from my coffee drifting towards the clouds. There was only this moment, and a smile that made me cherish it.

New Year's Kiss

The house was full again and Crystal couldn’t contain her excitement. She was allowed to stay up all night tonight and wasn’t exactly sure why. Mars slept soundly in his bed and Crystal petted him gently on the head. He opened one eye before slowly shutting it again falling effortlessly into a sound sleep. They young girl looked at the dining table and marveled and the line of bubbles floating in perfect lines towards the surface of the golden liquid.

She wanted a taste of it and her Grandpa Ray took her on his knee and gently lifted to the glass flute to her lips. The bubbles tickled her nose, which she enjoyed. But her delicate, young palate was not exactly ready for alcohol. Attempting to be nice, she tried to curl the corner of her lips into a smile without having to swallow the champagne but only managed to dribble her tiny mouthful onto Grandpa Ray’s lap. She apologized profusely but her Grandpa assured her that no apologies were necessary as he chuckled at the young child.

“Is it Christmas again already?” Crystal asked innocently.

“No, child,” Grandpa Ray answered laughing heartily, “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“Do we get presents?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then what do we do on New Year’s Eve?”

“We stay up until midnight and celebrate the end of this year and the beginning of next year.”

“How?”

“By being with the people we love most,” Grandpa Ray replied. He saw that her curiosity had yet to be sated. “We also count down the last seconds of the old year and when the New Year is finally here, we give a big kiss to someone we love.”

“Okay, baby,” Crystal’s father interrupted. “Grandpa Ray has to go to bed.”

“But he’ll miss the New Year!” Crystal pleaded.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve seen plenty,” Grandpa Ray said as he got out of his chair and leaned over to kiss his granddaughter on her forehead. He winked at her and smiled as he went quietly into his bedroom.

“Good night, Dad. I’ll wake you up in time for the game tomorrow,” Crystal father said, “Crystal, let’s go find some of your friends.”

Crystal walked by her father’s side around the house with the ulterior motive of finding someone to kiss. A few of her friends from school were loitering around clinging tightly to their dad’s pant leg or mom’s skirt. Some were nibbling away at the array of snacks arranged on the dining table. And the others were asleep on the couch.

Gary Timm was sipping a cup full of punch in the den. Crystal wasn’t sure if she was ready to kiss a boy, but Grandpa Ray said it was what people did on New Year’s Eve. She checked her dress and dusted herself off and fixed her hair and slowly walked towards the unsuspecting boy. Crystal was a precocious young tyke but was unsure whether she could say she loved Gary. There were hints of a schoolgirl crush; nothing that lasted beyond the playground however. But she just had to have someone to kiss by the stroke of midnight.

Just then Gary’s mother took Gary’s hand and walked him towards Crystal’s mother. Gary’s father was putting on his overcoat and talked with Crystal’s father before they shook hands.

“Thank you for having us but we promised my husband’s brother we would be over at their house for the countdown,” Gary’s mom said to Crystal’s, “Say goodbye to your friends, Gary.” Gary said goodbye to Crystal and the other children and her only hope at a New Year’s kiss went out the door.

A lot of time had passed as Crystal carefully watched the ticking clock on the mantle over the fireplace. As each minute passed, another friend would pass out on the living room sofa, later tucked in by their respective parents. Eventually, Crystal was the last one standing. Her mother passed by to check up on all the other children.

“Mommy,” Crystal asked, “How much longer until midnight?”

“I can’t believe you’re still up,” her mother answered, “It’s just five more minutes, sweetie. Are you sure you don’t want to go to sleep? It’s way past your bedtime.”

“I’m sure,” she answered. She got off the sofa and walked one more time around the house hoping to find someone to share her first kiss of the New Year; of her life, actually. She looked at all her friends sleeping on the large couch and then she looked once more at the clock on the mantle.

There was a muffled click behind Grandpa Ray’s bedroom door and light streamed from the space beneath it. Crystal, curious as always, walked over to the door and placed her small delicate hand on the knob. With the other hand, she gently wrapped on the door. Footsteps dragged on the carpet towards the door and the knob was turned. When it opened, Grandpa Ray stood there in his robe and smiled at his granddaughter.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked.

“This is it, everybody! One more minute!” Crystal heard her father shout.

“Ah,” Grandpa Ray said, “It looks like I got up just in time. Did you find someone to kiss at midnight?” Crystal looked over to her friends and showed Grandpa Ray that all her options have been exhausted. Disappointed she hugged his leg and buried her sweet face into his lap.

“10 – 9 – 8!” the adults yelled.

“I just wanted to my first New Year’s kiss to be special,” Crystal said with tears in her eyes.

“7 – 6 – 5!” the crowd continued.

“If you love the person you kiss, then it will be special, honey,” Grandpa Ray said as he carried Crystal in his arms.

“4 – 3 – 2 – 1!!!” everyone shouted.

Crystal grabbed Grandpa Ray by his ears and pulled his wrinkled, smiling face towards hers and pecked him lightly on the nose. He returned the favor with a kiss on her cheek as he smiled at his granddaughter.

“Happy New Year, honey,” he said.

“You’re right, Grandpa Ray,” she said, “That was really special. Happy New Year!” And with that she threw her arms around her neck and embraced him tightly, falling asleep almost immediately after laying her head on his shoulder.

Gift Wrapped

Tucked away from the nice crowded streets of the city, away from the bright lights of the frosted windows of storefronts that warmed the noses and cheeks of last minute shoppers, in the darkest and narrowest of the city’s alleys is where the formerly employed James Bailey currently finds himself. The voices of street carolers reverberated coldly against the unfeeling brick and concrete of the alleyway just barely reaching the ears of the alley’s inhabitants.

Mr. Bailey was asked to empty the contents of his desk just three days before Thanksgiving. Five years of loyalty and memories that accumulated on his desk were to somehow find room in a small cardboard box. Reading the newspaper didn’t make him feel any better. He still felt alone no matter how much of the state had been victimized by the crashing economy. As the weeks passed, his usual optimism melted away and cynicism was quick to take its place. It was not until he finally took off his wedding band for the first time in seven years that he only saw the emptiness in glasses of water. Shortly after, he was kicked out of his one bedroom apartment.

Now, here he stood with a box of his office trinkets, a duffle full of clothes, and a face hiding behind the most unkempt five o’clock shadow he has had since his college days. Bailey gritted his teeth together hoping the grinding sounds would keep his mind off his world falling apart from around him. Merry Christmas indeed, he thought to himself muttering a “humbug” in sardonic fashion.

Opposite of the dumpster was a woman just a few years older than James huddled closely to two small mounds of clothes that seemed to breathe. A man who smelled of garbage water happily strutted into the alley and smiled at Bailey.

“Pardon me, sir,” the man nodded to Bailey, “Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, sure,” was all Bailey could respond. He saw that the man was hiding something behind his back. Bailey was hoping, praying to God that it wasn’t a weapon of some sort. But the man just passed by and walked towards the woman and the mounds of clothes wriggled to life. Two children, a young girl and a younger little boy, got to their feet and smiled large smiles across their smudged faces. They ran to meet the man with what looked like a wad of newspaper behind his back.

“Daddy!” the two children shouted as they ran to embrace their father.

“Honey, what are you hiding?” the woman asked.

“Hiding?” he asked, playfully feigning ignorance, “What should I be hiding, sweetheart? It’s Christmas! I would never hide anything. Especially--,” he took the newspaper from behind him and presented it to his children, “Your Christmas presents!”

The children laughed and carried the wad of newspaper to their mother. “Can we open it now?” Their mother looked at their father and eyed him with pseudo-suspicion as if ask, what could you have possibly gotten them? He furrowed his eyebrows as to respond, let them open it and find out.

“It’s your present, children,” the mother responded and couldn’t help but smile, “Go right ahead.”

The two little ones tore into it with the ferocity of a rabid panther digging into newly pounced prey. Shreds of newspaper exploded in a flurry over their eager young heads. The little one lifted it high into the air and it was welcomed into the coziness of the alley with an awestruck sigh from the children. Bailey’s curiosity was aroused and leaned his head over to get a better look at what it was the father got his family.

“What could he possibly have gotten them to warrant such a reaction from those kids?” Bailey thought to himself. “I could swear that’s nothing but a dirty, old blanket.” He listened carefully hoping to decipher what was going on. To be in this particular alley, it would have to be something more than a hand me down blanket.

“It’s—It’s—,” the little boy squinted at the gift, “It’s a cape!” He wrapped it over his shoulders and tied the corners running in a small circle around each member of his family. “All I have to do is put it on and all of a sudden I have the strength of one hundred men and can fly all over the world.” Breathing heavily from his short flight, his smile widened from ear to ear as he embraced his father. The young girl untied the blanket from her brother’s shoulders.

“A dress!” she exclaimed, “Daddy! It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever had! Thank you so much!” She draped it in front of her and twirled around letting the cloth fly outwards as if it were the long skirt of an elegant ball gown. She danced with the blanket in hand, her gentle smile and sparkling eyes glowing with each turn and sway she made, the music still playing in her head when she wrapped her arms around her father.

The patriarch of the family curled the corner of his lips, letting his eyes shine on his wife who slowly smiled with him. “What do you see, love?” he asked his wife. She looked at him lovingly and before she could answer the little boy let out a sneeze that echoed throughout the entire alley. She took the raggedy old blanket and wrapped it around the children hugging them tightly as she looked back at their father.

“I see the perfect Christmas gift,” she said to him. “I love you,” Bailey could see her mouth the words to her husband. The scene warmed James Bailey’s heart and he got to his feet and walked towards the warm street. The carolers had made their way around the corner and they approached him smiling with lit candles in hand singing, seemingly just for him.

The family slowly emerged out of the alleyway and watched as the carolers merrily sang their merry tunes. The two children began to sing along with them before their eyelids slowly and heavily closed shut. The mother took them to their corner and tucked them in tightly together and watched them sleep sweetly. The father looked at James and smiled cordially.

“Merry Christmas,” the man greeted James.

“Merry Christmas,” James responded. When the carolers passed the alley, the smiles on everyone’s faces warmed them the rest of the night. James took a seat next to his meager possessions and shut his eyes, still smiling.

The Santa Pact

The house smelled of peppermint and pine with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies subtly, softly, slowly but surely wafting in from the warm oven. On the stovetop, mother prepped the ingredients for hot chocolate later on just before sending everyone off to bed. Lights of all colors flickered on the walls from the Christmas tree, just a few presents sprinkled about the base. Pine needles were scattered about in the empty spots, the hardwood slightly sticky from the tree sap.

Father was on the front porch juggling a string of lights as he cautiously climbed the short step ladder to adorn the trimmings of the house. The sound of the large colored bulbs tinkled dully against one another. When one refused to light, he would replace with a whole new bulb being careful not to repeat the pattern of colors in line.

Meanwhile, the extremely precocious eight-year-old child, Billy Ditko, sat in between the tree and the fireplace which had died down to a lazy pile of ash and desperately glowing embers. There was enough warmth to entice him to lie down right there on the floor and take a nap, but he had, as he called it, very important work to do before going to sleep.

With a sharpened pencil in hand he laid the clean sheet of paper on the floor and began to write the following letter:

Dear Santa,

I know that you have already received my wish list for this year several weeks ago, and I hope that this will not be misconstrued as a vain attempt to test the limits of your “nice” list. I, as much as anybody else, do greatly enjoy not being on the “naughty” list. But I digress. This letter is in regards to an incident that happened at school just before the winter break in which a bully (who shall remain unnamed since it is likely that he is already in your aforementioned “naughty” list) aimed to manipulate me into thinking that you, Santa Claus, do not exist.

Being of scientific mind, I aim to definitively and empirically prove to myself that you indeed do exist. Your part is minimal and requires only your signature below. I fully intend to keep the results of this experiment to myself and thus call this letter “The Santa Pact.” While it would be nice to meet you in person, your autograph will suffice in proving that my faith in you is not all in vain. Thank you.

Signed,

Billy Ditko

I, Santa Claus, do hereby proclaim myself as an entity in exisitence:

Signed:

Dated:

“Billy!” mother called, “The hot chocolate will be ready in a few minutes. Will you let your dad know?”

“Yes, mother!” Billy shouted back. He hastily folded the letter and stuffed it inside his Christmas stocking and carefully hung it back on the mantle before running outside to call his father.

As the Ditko family finished up their hot cocoas, mother prepared some fresh cookies for Santa. She placed them on a small plate along with a tall, cold glass of milk by the fireplace. Billy helped and even suggested putting the cookies on the coffee table so that Santa would not accidentally knock them over onto the floor on his way in the house.

The next day Billy, still in his pajamas, ran to the living room and saw that the glass of milk was half gone, and the plate of cookies half empty. The presence of presents underneath the tree was noticeably fuller including a large box with Billy’s name written on the side of it. Mother and father came out of the master bedroom and watched their son’s excited face, his eyes glowing with wonder. It never gets old to watch, even after eight years.

Instead of running to the large box or half eaten plate of cookies or even to the window hoping to get a glimpse of flying reindeers pulling a sleigh, mother and father saw Billy walk over to his stocking on the mantle. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and a look of disappointment draped over his innocent face.

“Honey,” mother called gently, “What is that?”

“It’s an experiment,” Billy replied, “I wanted to prove to myself, scientifically, that Santa exists so I asked him to sign this pact I wrote up last night… It’s blank.”

“Did you know that was there?” Mother asked father.

“I had no idea,” father whispered back.

“I deliberately didn’t tell you two about it,” Billy said, “No offense, mom and dad, but I didn’t want you to pass of some cheap forgery just so I would still believe in Santa Claus. This could only mean one thing.”

“Billy,” father approached the young boy. He tried to hide the worry from his eye, “I guess I have something I have to confess.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Billy asked, frustrated.

“You’re not stupid, sweetie,” mother commented.

“It was my fault for not giving Santa enough time to read this pact ahead of time!”

“I’m not following, Billy,” mother said.

“I even asked to move the cookies out of the way. Of course!” Billy shouted.

“Are you okay, son?” father asked.

“It all makes so much sense now!” Billy smiled and laughed. “Look at all these presents. And look at the cookies; he didn’t have enough time to finish them all! He needs the cookies for the sugar content. That’s what keeps him up all night! He’s so busy trying to get everyone their presents that he didn’t have enough time to see my letter! It’s pretty self-centered of me to think that he would make time to partake in this pact. If he had, some poor little boy or girl on the other side of the world may not have gotten their presents on time! That’s why he didn’t sign!”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, son,” father said, “Next time you better let me handle the postal transactions to the North Pole, okay?” Father smiled and took one of Billy’s presents and handed it to him. The child was about to tear into the carefully wrapped package before stopping himself.

“Gee, I hope this little stunt doesn’t get me on the ‘naughty’ list for next year,” Billy said. “It was all in the name of science. Do you think Santa will understand, dad?”

“I’m sure he will, son.”

“Am I still a good kid, mom?”

“The best,” mother corrected, “Merry Christmas, baby.”