I know St. Patrick’s Day was a few weeks ago, but with pictures finally coming together on Facebook, I am reminiscing about everything that went on that week, and I’m reminded of something I realized: St. Patrick’s Day is one part of a triad of holidays that grows proportionally more disappointing as you get older.

If you’re a female, St. Patrick’s Day is like an old friend that you are so close with, but who then starts dating your crush or ex-boyfriend. It’s a distinct incident that stands out forever in your mind as the moment where everything changed from happy, reliable friendship to something altogether different. From that point forward, you love her for the memories, but your relationship with her gradually devolves to an acquaintance you’ll acknowledge whenever she’s around, but that’s about the extent of it. Sure, you had some great times celebrating St. Paddy’s Day, but now you don’t really have the energy to spend the day bar-hopping and risking public intoxication citations, bar fights, kissing someone ugly as sin because they’re Irish, and pretending midgets aren’t creepy because they’re dressed as a leprechaun (they’re still tiny, weird little bastards). What you really want to do is go to one place — a friend’s house, an uncrowded bar, anywhere — have a few more drinks than you should, kiss someone because they’re Irish AND just a fringe member of your group invited by a friend of a friend’s cousin so there’s no future awkwardness when you don’t call, and then turn in relatively early because it’s a Wednesday and we all have real jobs now and can’t take off without looking like immature alcoholics.  

There are similar problems with the night before Thanksgiving and New Years Eve.

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I was having a conversation the other day that led me to realize there were major issues surrounding some of the most beloved cartoon spokespersons for the popular cereal brands that were most prevalent throughout my childhood.

I was telling my coworker that I never understand why the Trix Rabbit never met a nice female Rabbit and made a small adorable but intimidating bunny army that could assist in attaining the cereal he so desperately wanted when I realized something. The real problem with this scenario was that General Mills was actively portraying a situation where they saw it fit to exclude someone from a nice thing for no reason. It actually was suggesting to kids that it’s okay to NOT share the good things you have with others. What kind of subversive message is that to present to children?

General Mills didn’t really up the ante with Cocoa Puffs either. What are they trying to say with Sonny the Cuckoo Bird? Well, obviously that you’ll go “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” but is that a fear you want to instill in children? Oh hey, kids. These are delicious. So delicious, in fact, that you’ll go certifiably insane if you eat them. Don’t even try to tell me you won’t eat them because I know you can’t resist. They’re that good. Damn you, General Mills. I’ll eat them, but I won’t enjoy staying up at night worrying that I’ll be fit for a straightjacket after my morning bowl.

There is no mistaking that Buzz Bee is an absolutely terrible choice for a serious mascot. Sure, it makes sense that a bee would represent Honey Nut Cheerios, but children should not be told at a young age that bees are lovable, friendly creatures. Who’s to blame when little Timmy approaches a nest in the hopes of meeting a friendly, cereal-wielding member of the swarm and gets stuck more than Thomas J at the end of “My Girl”? They may as well have a sexual predator as their mascot for crying out loud.

The massive gift-exchange that was the entire month of December ended with a few new additions to the household — most notably, a Nintendo Wii system. Many are familiar with the interactive system, and most embrace the innovation of technological entertainment and physical activity that mark the Wii as perhaps the most universally appreciated gaming system currently on the market.

But let me tell you something, Wii. If I’m enjoying “playing” tennis or bowling for a while or spending more than a half hour using Wii Fit, I don’t need you suggesting that maybe I should take a break and go outside for a while. I’m moving around pretty well inside the confines of my own home, so why don’t you get off your high horse and let me be. Seriously, where does my VIDEO GAME SYSTEM get the nerve to tell me that maybe I could use some time outdoors? Plenty of alternative sources exist for that advice to be doled out: girlfriends, parents, wives, your whiny kids who want a turn.

Video games should not shun the fat, pale, lazy kids that have turned their industry into the booming financial success it has become. The Wii shouldn’t recommend you go outside for a while for the same reason a Wal-Mart employee should not tell someone who walks into the store with a hundred dollar bill they got for Christmas that maybe they should take it to the bank. It seems innovative, but it’s actually terrible business.

So, Nintendo Wii, I’m going to play you, but you’re just going to have to accept the fact that someone paid $200 so that I can enjoy the very leisure activities from the comfort of my own home rather than go out and sprain my ankle because the local tennis court is in terrible condition because the city doesn’t have the money to maintain public recreational facilities.

Child Development written and read by Billy Collins

I was introduced to Billy Collins through a poetry-writing course I took during my senior year of college. A few months ago, I downloaded some audio recordings of him reading a few of his poems and put them on my iPod. While going through my music tonight, I realized that this is the most listened-to “song” on my iPod. At first I was surprised, but after thinking about it, I realized this is one of the only recordings on my iPod that I never skip and always let it play through to the end (I have a tendency to press next 3/4 of the way through familiar songs). I was hesitant to post this, afraid that admitting I keep poetry on my iPod would come off as pretentious in the same manner that people insist they love opera or their favorite music is classical, but I really wanted to share it.

Sometimes, while huddled in my cubicle at work, when I’m at a point where I just want to pull my hair out or punch the computer monitor in front of me, this comes on my iPod, makes me laugh a little to myself and reminds me that although I’m getting older, there will always be a part of me that will never grow up.

Oh, and I don’t care what you say: if you were born after 1935 and have ever said your favorite music genre is classical or something to the effect of, “It doesn’t get any better than a Puccini aria,” then you’re a liar. Also, people probably think you’re an asshole. Not me, but almost everyone else. Okay, me too.