Emmet Week


By birthday emmet

It’s Emmet Week.
Forget those pretenders like Walter Griffin, Jon Bailey and Jeff Carty, all of whom have birthdays during Christmas week. This is my time.
Every year at this time, I am besieged by fans who ask “What should I get you? What do you need?” It is a difficult answer because the present must cover both birthday and Christmas. It has to be really good.
I do have pretty much everything I need at Cobb Manor, except that swimming pool, of course.
When in doubt, I refer to the Bible of Senseless and Needless Gifts, Men’s Journal Magazine. That and Sports Illustrated are the first read of the waterfall of magazines that slides out of my post office box each month. The New Yorkers just end up in a pile after I read the cartoons.
MJ never lets me down. With the exception of Chief Al, most of my friends are dirt poor like me, so I have to keep down the cost.
Forget that Porsche Boxter X (a chick’s car, according to Two and a Half Men) at $60,900. I will settle for the surprising Ford Focus ST. Listen. This turbo bad boy churns out 252 horsepower, an “undercover hot rod in which you can transport groceries.” A mere $24,495 and so small it could fit under the tree, if I had one. Chief Al could buy that for me instead of another Harley motorcycle (which he will never ride).
My current watch is five or six years old and came from Amazon, of course. With a coupon (from my massive book-buying days) I believe it cost $25. It tells the time, date and moon phase correctly and gives a shot at the correct tide. I could use the always accurate Seiko Astron GPS Solar watch, described as “a globetrotter’s dream.” When you step off the plane in New Zealand, the Astron gets a signal from four (count ‘em) satellites and “synchs the time to atomic clock precision.” Now, I have no intention of going to New Zealand or anywhere else, but it would be a good subject of conversation over cheeseburgers and fries at Trackside.
This could be a tough one, at $2,300. I bet David Grima has that in his sock drawer in those cement towers.
I don’t intend to ski again (free for old timers at the Snow Bowl) any more than I intend to fly to New Zealand. But you never know. I could use those new digital ski goggles, at a paltry $600. They readout, as you are skiing down Competition Hill, speed, airtime and distance and will read out incoming calls and texts. “You can read a resort map, locate your friends, access and control music (natch) and check the temperature-right before your eyes,” said Andy McSoreley manager at Oakley Goggles. I remember when skiing was enough. These babies are $600 and Bohemian Bob can pick these up when he sells his next painting. I will wait.
Every decade or so, I need a drill, mostly to hang a picture. I don’t want to buy one, but will accept one as a gift. How about that Milwaukee drill/driver that can “pound through concrete and brick as easily as wood.” That would be handy. Jefferson Phil is touring the South this winter so he must be sitting on a pile of dough. He could fork over the $230 for the new drill and never miss it.
Even though she is my niece as well as my very favorite godchild, North Adams El hasn’t given me a present in years. Let’s face it, I don’t have many left. My Trek Multi-Trak is still usable under all those cobwebs, but it is now time for a Yeti SB-95. For those who don’t get MJ, The Yeti offers “efficient pedaling on climbs to ridiculous bump-absorbing capability.” I need to absorb those bumps, El. Surely, after those tuition bills are paid you can come up with $3,500 for pedaling perfection.
The best present from Cousin Jerry would be for him to start playing that guitar again. A music degree from Berklee should not be wasted.
Blue Eyes is off the hook for Emmet Week presents. She has already given me a present you would not believe.
Don’t call UPS, gang. I will pick up.