Highlights of last weekend's family Christmas tree-cutting, minus the tree-cutting this year for schedule and other reasons: multiple types of mac and cheese, multiple types of cornbread, multiple types of cookies, cousin Molly's boyfriend Matt giving piano accompaniment for the first time, Molly putting together songbooks of the big secular carols for the first time, the whole family as a result making it all the way Frosty the Snowman for the first time ever (instead of getting stuck as usual on the thumpity-thump-thumps), Lori taking dozens of relatives in stride, and, despite the lack of the tree-cutting trip outside, plenty of warmth.

Not sure why it took me several days to read Dan Sinker's "I'm starting to think Lego is evil" post, after thoughtful friends in my feeds linked to it, but his concern is right on. A cops-and-robbers "Advent calendar" is so bizarre. I remember, growing up, how my mom disliked commercial-oriented Advent calendars with a passion. This Lego one goes a weird step further, losing not only the meaning of Advent but even — almost entirely — commercial Christmas. And I'm the guy who built a massive "Santaland" out of my Legos every Christmas as a kid. Did something get lost in translation? Why this stretch? What's going on in Denmark?

The many product tie-ins of recent years have left me feeling removed from Lego, but I've been glad the company has restored its financial security. Even far removed from childhood (and not even an adult tech-y Lego buyer), I received the Lego catalog until a few years ago. Now, though, I'm not feeling the need. The old "beautiful" ad Sinker shows is what I miss in the brand. Click through, and you may feel the same.

Sun-Times, too bad: "Playboy announced Tuesday it is moving the bulk of its operations, including editorial, art and photo departments, from founder Hugh Hefner’s original home base in Chicago to Los Angeles."

Playboy's Chicago office was an offbeat-but-solid intern experience for friend Mark and many other great Medill journalism students for years. The office was also the site of my most unlikely field trip ever. From this blog in 2002 (why all the bold, dude?), here's part one and part two.

I met fellow Gonzaga grad ('04) and digital journalist Tim Ebner at the Online News Association conference this fall in Boston, and it turned out he was studying NPR's digital side for his master's coursework at the University of Maryland. We met up later in D.C. to discuss how NPR works digitally and what it's chasing. Tim posted this week about our conversation, I usually struggle to describe what I do, so his post may be a better explanation that I likely have offered in this space in the past. "Cooper is immersed in development and production work that involves going between numerous departments at NPR. He works with editors, coders, developers and business managers to design digital products and tools for various NPR audience." A couple points are off. I've done support work for NPR apps but haven't been involved in the roll-out. But most is right on. See Tim's full site for more NPR analysis.

(That's me in there.)

There are so many recent adventures to recap here, but I'll start with how friend Kyle and I spent Sunday stabbing each other with swords.

A while back, I picked up Groupons for introductory fencing lessons. As with the shotgun lessons and piano lessons this fall, why not, right? I found a more-than-willing participant in Kyle. I mailed him the fencing scene from I Love You, Man. He replied with one from Princess Bride. It made us happy for our mustachioed, good-humored teacher Alexandre Ryjik — former USSR youth fencing champion, current coach of all sorts of fencing champions — referenced the latter film early in his remarks to us. Here was a talented man who understood why we were there.

There were more than 100 of us there — one-third children (excellent to run into buddy Jim bringing his daughter), two-thirds adults — to get a Groupon taste of the sport. We weren't let down. We started with a lecture on the basics. Then we hit the floor to learn the stance and do running exercises. Advance! Retreat! Advance! Retreat! Broke a sweat.

Next, we did the real fun stuff. We donned our masks and jackets and received our foils. We spent several minutes practicing how to hit each other in the face and chest, and then we competed for a few minutes. Kyle and I came out pretty even. Last, we switched partners to fence with other Groupon people. Random lady there with her man, I didn't mean to keep poking you where I did. You were a fast one. Awkward.

To close things out, there was a talk about swords. You can apparently learn historical swordsmanship. The sword, the rapier, the dagger, the spear, and some long stick. There was also talk of capes and cloaks. I had no idea this sport existed and would likely lose an arm competing in it. But would I like to see it in the Olympics as soon as possible? Yes.

I didn't sign up for classes afterward because life has been pretty busy recently and Springfield, Va., is a big haul. I would recommend, though, that you sign up for the next fencing deal that comes around and try it out. If you live near a facility, the sport could be a wild way to get into serious shape. Also, the Virginia Academy of Fencing loves Christmas.

I'm getting over a cold, and I'm not happy about it. No one likes having a cold, I know. As I've explained here previously, when I get a cold, I'm a ruin. But what's worse for me than having a cold is getting over one.

What follows the cold is the cough. For me, the cough sticks around.

My head pipes jam and wreck like a riverside mill in a flood, overcoming the sluice gates and breaking the turbine from its axis, the rest of the gears lost in the mess. Like a mid-construction tollway in rush hour, all the commuters convinced they're amid the optimal route until they pay, pull onto the road and see the sea of taillights. Like a nerd at a dance trying to ask the prettiest girl for a song, a moment only occurring in a miracle of timing, of effort, élan and not tripping into the punch bowls.

The cough is the ripped-and-creaking turbine, the traffic two inches at a time, the steady hand of fate nudging me with every breath closer to the punch, the naturalism bound to dash my next sentence onto rocks.

For a decade, the cough owned my winters. Senior year of high school through a few years ago, the first and — the irony — usually only cold of the season brought months of struggle to get through a paragraph worth of words. Singing, no good. Laughing, trouble. Running around, trouble. I carried an inhaler and ran out of air a few times. But, almost worse, I couldn't be the person I wanted to be. I had to pause in the middle of huge presentations. I sat more still and quiet in brainstorms and meetings than I would have liked. I was shorter with people than I should have been. My quality of life went way down, far more than I realized until I finally kicked it. For a winter, I worked hard at changing how I breathed. More nose, less mouth. I tried to keep this shift near top of mind. Walking, driving, etc. This all sounds stupid, but it worked.

The last couple winters, I've felt great. I've felt happy and productive. Much of what I was sure was SAD turned out to be pure frustration in breathing. But still, when a cold hits and a cough follows now, I worry.

I hated that part of my life for so long and worked damn hard to move past it. I've found myself quieter and shorter in the last week, holding back on laughing and singing in the shower and car, and I don't want to be that person again. My trouble is small compared to those others have. But remembering how winter used to be, I get a little desperate not to go back. A little pissed, a little impassioned, a little bit fired up.

So, stalking the aisles at CVS now, I am Michael Corleone in Godfather III. The movie isn't great, but it fits. Trying to go straight, with DayQuil and then NyQuil failing me, I get Mucinex and the CVS brand. I hunt for a way out, back to being a healthy, happy person. But it's never easy with this coughing business. What's that other line from the film? "It's dangerous to be an honest man," Michael says. We know how it ends.

If Michael Corleone internal fire doesn't work out against this cough, I will be Batman. This time of night, I already have Christian Bale's voice. I'll work my way through every man-on-a-mission character necessary.

The opera house, streets of Gotham, watermill, tollway, and dance will be safe at last, for huge presentations, brainstorms, meetings, stolen romantic moments, friendly talk, and car and bath singing. I'll give you paragraphs worth of happiness if this cough doesn't pull me back in.

Couple months ago, I posted a concert version of the Horrible Crowes' surprisingly good Teenage Dream cover. Since then, an even better, in-studio rendition at Fordham's WFUV has surfaced. Brian Fallon's vocals are perfect in their imperfection, and the song turns out to embrace as much. I need that. Off to the shore to hear Gaslight Anthem on Friday.

Last year I made the Gonzaga smoker for the first time, after years of missing it, finding excuses not to go and flat-out not showing up. Had a great night. This year I went back with no resistance. Terrific to see Court, Marc, Tom, Jonny, Jeff, and Tim from the class of '98, as well as Tim, James, my brother, and lots of folks from other years. Go Eagles.

What a day. Shutting it down. New day tomorrow.

I like to think of spam as machine-generated. You likely do as well. So, it's too bad, when WordPress spam logs make it clear, to see staff at the Bangladesh Telegraph and Telephone Board manually place spam comments on this blog. Maybe it's not an employee at the company at all but someone who's hacked in the address. Or maybe it's not a real person but a machine mimicking human clicks from a Google search to a post to a comment field to submission. But it's still sad clicks journey through one of the world's poorer countries to post spam for "Engine and Transmission World," beginning: "It’s that time of the year again. That time when the car companies are going to start advertising their cars with red ribbons and bows and all kinds of neat little fixings."