The McCollumn -12/30: "2012's 'The End is Near' Bucket List (with added Betty White goodness)"

Well, the Mayans (or John Cusack ... I’m not certain) have predicted the  end of the world will soon be upon us.

While I generally don’t put much stock in pre-Columbian religious calendars (or any member of the Cusack Clan other than Joan), I still feel duty bound to compose a list of things I’d like to do if the world is indeed coming to an end.

You should take the time to compose your own.

Put it on the fridge with your favorite magnet. Look at it every day and make a special effort to actually do the stuff you put on there.

The world may not be ending, but we should always live as if it were.

After all, we’re never guaranteed another day. Typing up a year’s worth of names from obituaries taught me that this week.

So, in no particular order, my “Before the World Ends Bucket List”

(And feel free to steal any of mine for your own)

θ Meet Betty White.

(You’re a liar or a Communist if you say you don’t want to meet America’s treasure and last surviving Golden Girl.)

θ Give up the hate.

(Rather than spend my time wasting my life hating others, I shall strive to either hit the “reset” button with those I’ve wronged or whom I believe have wronged me or move on to the realm of indifference. I’m tired of “hating” being known as one of my defining characteristics and it ends, as best I can end it, now.)

θ Never let the four digits that make up my weight on the digital scale exceed my year of birth ever again.

(There's a decimal point between the third and fourth digits, for those of you wondering.)

θ Make time to go and walk with my father once a week. It’s good exercise for both of us, and Lord knows I need the wisdom of Homer McCollum in my life.

(Supply your own father, although I’m sure Homer probably wouldn’t mind the company if I’m not there.)

θ Find a way to get the regular attenders of Opelika’s City Council meetings to join me in playing my self-made game “City Council Bingo”

(There are things that happen at almost every council meeting. Not only have I made the cards, I’ve made copies. Bring it on, Pam Powers-Smith.)

θ Speak at Young Writers’ Day at Southview

(An annual event I truly love to speak/make a fool of myself at each year. Kids enjoy physical humor as much as I do.)

θ Say “goodbye” to Henry Stern on the phone before he has a chance to hang up on you.

(Trust me, this is harder than it sounds.)

And, finally, if the world is, in fact, going to end this coming year:

θ On Dec. 21, 2012, I’ll be standing outside holding an old-school Sony boombox over my head playing Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes”

(Just in case John Cusack is actually involved. Bet hedging, really.)

The McCollumn -12/23: "How I learned to stop worrying and love/tolerate Christmas"

I’ve never been a huge fan of Christmas.

Call me Ebenezer Scrooge if you must (and my own mother does, so feel free to join in), but I’ve always found it to be an odd holiday.

I won’t even dive into the the arguments about when Christ was actually born (July) or what decorated pine trees have to do with first century Judea (nothing). That’s starting a fight I’m not ready for yet.

I’ve just never been one to “get into the Christmas spirit.”

The way you people talk about it, the more it sounds like a cult – of the Jim Jones, tracksuit wearing, Kool-Aid drinking variety – and I’m not going out like that.

Decorations festooned with gold, red and green haunt me everywhere, starting in the middle of October, because retailers can’t wait to get their hands on your money.

Yes, for most of my life, I’ve been a Christmas hater, and have been happy to be one.

Until now.

Two weeks ago today, I had the pleasure of covering a Christmas party for children with special needs that is hosted each year by the UAW Local 753.

Children from all over Lee and Russell Counties come with their teachers and helpers and get to see cheerleading groups perform, enjoy healthy snacks, color with crayons and markers and get visits from notable figures like McGruff the Crime Dog, Sparky the Fire Dog, the Chik-fil-A cows and even Aubie.

Each child also gets to sit with Santa and Mrs. Claus and walks away with a toy of some sort, a ball or a bear.

The smiles I saw on all of those faces across the room, the joy in their hearts to get to have an awesome party with all of their friends (and Santa to boot) – this was happy in its purest, unfiltered form.

It was the kind of happy that can melt even my icy heart.

I have no problem admitting to all of you I had to excuse myself from the party briefly because I was overcome by what I saw.

There aren’t many things that can move me to tears, but seeing those kids’ faces, watching them dance around and enjoy life to its fullest – well, it gives you pause.

Friend and confidant Nancy Willingham, owner of Grown Folks Blues and More, was a volunteer for the event and she puts it best:

“Seeing how happy those kids are really puts things in perspective for us. Our complaints, our problems, compared to theirs, are nothing, and they’re still smiling.”

 Amen, Ms. Nancy.

We get so bogged down in the day-to-day, we don’t see the joy and happiness to be found all around us, especially in this Christmas season.

Christmas is a great many things, but, to me, it’s about the joy we give to one another, and through giving joy, we help create our own.

And in discovering that definition of the holiday, I find myself more inclined to want to celebrate.

Define Christmas however you want to, dear readers.

Find the definition that gives it the fullest meaning for you and yours.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, have a blessed Kwanzaa, a divine Diwali and a tip top Tet.

Be well, friends.

Opelika Observer Staff Editorial - 12/16: 'A history lesson for Mrs. Sikes'

Our dear Mrs. Sikes, remember what happend to Dewey in 1948?

It’s time for history to repeat itself once again.

While our headline proudly declares Dewey’s win, this time in the form of the beloved library decimal-based organizational system continuing its stranglehold over the genealogical section of the Lewis Cooper, Jr., Memorial Library.

By voting 3-1 (due to the absence of long-serving member Ida Jackson) to retain the Dewey system within the genealogical section, the library board  has once again shown its disdain and complete lack of concern for the library patrons they are appointed to allegedly serve.

The members of the Genealogical Society of East Alabama are the primary patrons of Cooper Library’s genealogical section.

They’ve contributed funds to help bulk up the collection (including the newly purchased Seagraves family books, estimated at more than 2,000 volumes).

Heck, Edna Ward, a stalwart GSEA member, even helped carve out the section to begin with, arranging it in a fashion that made sense to her and the other GSEA members: a system devised primarily upon arranging the volumes alphabetically by state, a system which promotes its usefulness to genealogical researchers.

Makes sense to us.

By desperately clinging to the notion that the Dewey System must be preserved within the genealogical section, the board has elected to put the needs of computer-based search engine compliance above the needs of actual, breathing patrons who use the section on a regular basis.

The board is charged with managing all library operations, setting library policy, hiring the librarian and other employees and generally running the library on behalf of the citizenry.

We had been working under the assumption that a library board should exist primarily to serve the needs and meet the issues raised by local citizens about the library their tax dollars help pay for.

This does not appear to be the case with the majority of our present board (the lone holdout being Charles Wacker, the board’s newest and possibly naivest member. Respect, sir.)

It appears appointments are made to city boards all too haphazardly, without thought to the role of the board or the capabilities of the appointee.

City council members should review the legislatively-mandated charge to the board or commission before making appointments and, once initial four-year appointments are made, remember that members don’t have to be automatically reappointed for the rest of their lives.

For example, while we do not mean to criticize or cavil at her years of service to this community, with 31 years of experience on the library board, perhaps it might be time for nonagenarian Ida Jackson to step down.

Her current term ends Oct. 19, 2012.

Two current board members, 13-year board member Shirley Carter and  two-year member Lynn Slocum, have terms that expire Oct. 19, 2013.

Library board chair Aimee Sikes, a five year veteran of the board, has a term due to expire Oct 19, 2014, as does the aforementioned Wacker.

(We hope Mr. Wacker, naivete and all, will be reappointed at that time.)

Dewey may have won this round, Mrs. Sikes, but it isn’t over yet. See you at the next meeting, ma’am.

The McCollumn - 12/16: "Public private moments and 'Yo Gabba Gabba'"

Brobee, of 'Yo Gabba Gabba' and of the rain boots

that may or may not have sparked the 

genesis of this column

“Yo Gabba Gabba” is a phrase that should be instantly recognizable to anyone having any sort of contact with children under the age of seven.

The beloved Noggin Network children’s show features strange, brightly colored creatures who sing, dance and help kids learn manners and good behaviors.

Wholesome, family values type stuff, I promise.

I came into contact with the show through the clip-based humor program “The Soup,” on E, where host Joel McHale would often use out-of-context clips from the show for various bit jokes.

One such recurring theme is the kid dance portion on the show, where various real-life children come on and say: “My name is (insert kid name here),” followed by a dance break with the kid gesticulating wildly and a hasty, loud “I love to dance,” followed by more spastic dancing.

It’s hilarious to watch and the kids somehow manage to dance the weirdest, most incomprehensible dance moves during their time on national television.

With some I’ve seen, one has difficulty ascertaining whether the child is , in fact, dancing or suffering from sort of grand mal seizure.

The “Yo Gabba Gabba” dance breaks became a bit of an inside joke during my years at The Auburn Plainsman. At any given time, a staff member might break out with a “My name is” and a dance move, to the enjoyment and hilarity of all.

Even today, when talking with Plainsmanites of my era, we still joke from time to time about such things.

We just usually remember to do it in the privacy of our own homes.

Yes, Tuesday night at Target, yours truly had yet another embarrassing public private moment, as two ladies who were perusing the bra section as I walked by, heard and laughed at:

a) the fact that I was yelling “My name is Seth and I love to dance” into the phone at a volume that could be heard by them, and

b) I may or may not have been doing my famous Index Finger Pointy Dance whilst dancing to, I’m forced to assume, the crazy dance party music that’s found only in my head.

As I walked toward the register to the sounds of their rigorous (and some might say excessive) laughter, I tried to maintain composure and keep from laughing myself.

A grown man should know better than to do such things in public, but, well, at least it’s funny for someone when some of us do.

The McCollumn - 12/2: 'People actually eat that stuff?"

As I went inside to pay for my gas Wednesday at Hal Smith’s Big Cat station, I couldn’t help but notice a strange multi-colored, plastic-wrapped log near the pen jar by the register.

“Seriously?” I asked the cashier staff in an incredulous tone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, they’re for real.”

Indeed, they were.

Old Fashion Claxton Fruit Cake, there for the discerning gas station gourmet.

“And people actually buy these and eat them?” I asked, fearing what the answer might be.

“Oh yeah. Mr. Hal eats them.”

My head began to hurt. I began to immediately question Ms. Carol Smith, Hal’s wife, as to the veracity of the earlier statement.

“He eats them,” she said, matter-of-factly.

When questioned if she herself indulged in the candied fruit laced baked goods, she demurred.

“He eats them,” she repeated. “I don’t.”

Perhaps there was sanity in the world after all.

I don’t like fruitcake.

Never have, never will.

I don’t wish to demean the good people of Claxton, Ga., or their product, which has existed much longer than I have on this planet, but I’m almost certain this year’s batch will long outlast them, me and possibly a nuclear winter.

I could be a victim of years of holiday programming in television and films, where fruitcake is almost universally panned as either inedible or as unwanted as plague rats.

Al Gore’s great bastion of knowledge, the Internet, informed me beloved television icon Johnny Carson might be the source of all fruitcake hate, with his Tonight Show quip from Dec. 1985:

“There’s only one fruitcake in the world, and people keep passing it on.”

I’ve always been of a particularly singular opinion when it comes to the fusion of fruit and cake: avoid at all costs, especially if the “fruit” looks like Jujubes.

Fruitcakes aren’t exactly designed to be aesthetically pleasing either.

They often come shaped more like bricks than cakes.

(I admit it’s a subtle distinction, but to provide a frame of reference, I don’t get the impression I could use a normal cake to build a fortified dwelling. I do get that impression from almost every fruitcake I’ve seen.)

Maybe I’m wrong on this one.

Perhaps one of you noble women of Opelika has a recipe that will set me right and make me turn from my heathen, anti-fruitcake ways.

You are more than welcome to try and set me right, even if it takes you baking one and bringing it by for us to try up here at the office.

(I’m willing to make that sacrifice.)

Just know that I’d much prefer a glass of egg nog — the seasonal delight that should be here all year.