The Shippster

      Well, let me tell you, 2024 was a year that could make even the most optimistic among us shake our heads in disbelief. It felt like we were all stuck in a never-ending episode of a bad sitcom—one where the punchlines just kept falling flat.       First off, let’s talk about the weather. I don’t know if Mother Nature had a midlife crisis or what, but she was throwing tantrums like a toddler denied dessert. From wildfires that turned the skies orange to floods that made it feel like we were living in an aquarium. It seemed like every time you stepped outside, you were either baking or swimming. And don’t get me started on the pollen count! It was like the trees decided to hold a sneezing contest, and we were all unwilling participants.      Then there was the political landscape, which felt like a circus where nobody could find the exit. Politicians bickered like children fighting over a toy, and just when you thought they’d come to an ag...

      Well, let me tell you about the last weekend of the year. It’s that magical time when folks start reflecting on the past twelve months, and whether they admit it or not, they’re thinking about all the things they didn’t get done. You know, those New Year’s resolutions that always seem to roll around like a stubborn old mule. Like promising to lose weight, quit smoking, or finally read that stack of books gathering dust.       You can feel the excitement in the air, mixed with a bit of melancholy. People are rushing around, trying to squeeze in one last trip to the store, stocking up on snacks for the big New Year’s Eve party. It’s a time when everyone puts on their best smile, even if they’re secretly dreading the thought of the family gathering that’s just around the corner. You know what I mean? The one where Aunt Edna corners you with her casserole and a thousand questions about your love life.        And then there’s the weathe...

      Well, here we are, the day after Christmas. The decorations are still twinkling, but they’re starting to look a little tired. Very much like the people who stayed up all night assembling toys that could have been built by NASA engineers. You know, the ones that come with a manual thicker than a phone book and instructions that might as well be written in hieroglyphics.      The house is a war zone of discarded wrapping paper and empty boxes. You could probably build a fort out of the boxes alone, but let’s be honest. Nobody’s interested in that right now. Everyone’s too busy trying to find the remote to the TV, buried somewhere beneath the avalanche of gifts. It’s a miracle we can even remember how to turn it on after all the holiday chaos.      Then there’s the food. Oh, the food! Leftover turkey that’s already starting to grow a personality of its own, ham that could last until next Christmas, and enough sweet potato casserole to feed...

      It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m bouncing on the couch like a caffeinated squirrel. Moms in the kitchen humming “Jingle Bells,” while Dad pretends to read the newspaper but is really just waiting for the cookies to come out. I swear, he’d trade his favorite fishing rod for a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. Unless it’s for a new fishing hat.       My older sister, Polly, is already in her festive pajamas that look like something from a bad 1980s music video. She thinks if she goes to sleep early, Santa will bring her a brand-new Cabbage Patch Kid. I told her the only thing Santa delivers is a truckload of presents, and maybe a pair of socks that Dad will pretend to love.      Outside, it’s snowing like someone’s been shaking a giant snow globe. I’m practically vibrating with excitement. Last year, I tried to stay up to catch Santa. All I caught was a face full of pillows when Mom caught me peeking. This year, I’m lying still like a log,...

      Well, folks, here we are, just two days away from Christmas. At the time of year when we gather around the tree, baking pecan pie that will make you weak in the knees. Then we try to remember why we’re obligated to send Aunt Mildred a jar of her famous pickles every year.      Now, I don’t know about you, but Christmas has always been a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, you’ve got the lights, the laughter, and the joy of giving. On the other hand, you’ve got the stress of finding the perfect gift. Which usually ends with you standing in line at Walmart, wondering how you let it get to this point.      And speaking of gifts, I’ve reached a conclusion about what we all really want: a nap. That’s right! No more ties or socks! Just a quiet room, a comfy couch, and the sweet sound of silence. It’s the most precious gift we can give ourselves.      This year, as I look at my Christmas lights, which are about as tangled as my ...

      Well, folks, it’s December 22, 2024, and here we are again, knee-deep in holiday cheer and the annual debate over fruitcake. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but whoever thought that mixing dried fruit with a brick of sugar and calling it dessert should be put on a watch list. If I wanted to taste something that dense, I’d just bite into a piece of lumber.      As I sit here sipping on some eggnog that’s probably more nog than egg at this point, I can’t help but think about how the world seems to spin a little faster each year. Just last week, I saw a commercial for a smart refrigerator that can order groceries for you. I can barely get my dog to fetch the newspaper, and now we expect our appliances to be smarter than we are. I half expect my fridge to start judging my midnight snack choices. "Oh, you again? Shouldn’t you be eating a salad?"      And let’s talk about New Year’s resolutions. Every year, I resolve to exercise more, eat healt...

      Well, let me tell you, the College Football Playoff Committee has had its share of head-scratchers, and this year's 12-team selection was no exception. If you thought the committee had a tough job before, well, they really stepped in it this time.      First off, let’s talk about Indiana. They strutted onto that field all proud and ready for a big showdown, only to be blown out like a birthday candle in a windstorm. I mean, it was a disaster! Indiana fans were probably wondering if they accidentally wandered into a different stadium. When you get your lunch money taken and then have to walk home with your head down, that’s what it felt like. A playoff spot should mean you’re ready to compete, not just happy to be there.      And don’t even get me started on SMU. Now, I understand the allure of a good Cinderella story, but watching that game was like waiting for the next season of a show that got canceled after one episode. Snooze fest d...