It comes as a surprise to anyone who knows me now, but once upon a time I was something of a clotheshorse.

It’s a conceit of your 20’s to use a large part of your paycheck on designer labels and fitted shirts. My 20-something self never passed a Structure it didn’t like.

And like archeological treasures, I still have a few Structure ties and shirts hidden around … clothing items now slightly older than some of our staff reporters.

But as you get older, you tone down the volume of your ensemble a bit. Let’s face it, other than Zoolander and Elton John, most men have relatively few options for making a statement with a “look.”

But I do have a few conceits that have stayed with me over time. One of them has to do with belts. You always wear a belt with jeans or slacks and if your shoes are brown then wear a brown belt.

It seems relatively simple, doesn’t it? Unfortunately my dogs have decided to revolt against my fashionista regime.

It began with the shoes. Because I’m not a woman, I’ve always gotten by with four to five pairs of shoes: running shoes, sandals, dress shoes and a couple business casual shoes. It leaves my closet with more room for books and old newspapers.

Today? The only pair of shoes I own are the ones I’m wearing. With the patience and precision of ninja assassins, the three little needle-nosed dogs have systematically made their way through them.

First was a barely-noticeable nibble here and there. Next, I opened the front door to a shoe sole without the rest of a shoe attached.

I’ve tried hiding them. I’ve tried to remember to store them higher. For tiny little animals, these dogs are monstrously clever.

This is demonstrated by their ire at my second leather item – my belts. Again, they’re nothing fancy, just a couple of brown and black belts. Again, black belts go with black shoes, brown belts with brown shoes … I cannot emphasize this enough.

The great belt massacre of 2012 was almost subtle. Getting dressed one day, I started looking for my belt. Because I’m a guy, my belt is normally thrown in a corner or on the dresser instead of the drawer where I’m supposed to be keeping them.

I checked all these places … and no belt. After searching for 20 minutes, I was still minus a belt –  although I did find two belt buckles … the sad remains left behind by these canine birds of prey, left there like bones strewn around after a vulture finally swoops down to prey upon an innocent traveler who’s lost his way.

The worst part is that you can’t really get mad at them. They’re so darn cute with little bits of leather still dangling from their snouts.

And chances are they wouldn’t connect the scolding their receiving now to the tasty leather now spread in little bite-sized nibbles around the room. 

With that in mind, I attempted to be zen-like in my approach to a lack of belts. Ownership is an illusion. I still have the belts, just in a different form. I felt sorry for myself because I had no belt until I met a man with no waist.

And then I headed off to Nordstrom Rack to replenish my stock, a new brown belt and a new black belt – problem solved. 

But not really. I came home the next day to find that the puppies had leaped up on the coffee table, dragged the Nordstrom bag off the table, unwrapped my belt and eaten half of it.
You’d think I never feed them.

But I still had the new brown belt I’d worn to work on Friday. That was something … until I woke up this morning to see a reddish-brown blur rush past my field of vision with my last belt in his sharp little teeth.

They’re devil-dogs, I tell you. 

I’m reconsidering my dream of a leather sofa. Even if it survived, I’ll likely be sitting on it shoeless and with a hobo rope for a belt.

Maybe I should re-think suspenders.

Greetings Loudouners. I hope 2012 is treating you well. Given the recent weather, chances are you’re either sunbathing in the back yard or huddled about a space heater for warmth.

The changes in our temperatures make the Middle East look stable. It’s a wonder we all don’t have pneumonia and the staff is already starting to look a bit confused.

It was suggested that we write a news item about the strange variations in temperature. But this would have left us open to criticism for those people who don’t like science and claim that global warming doesn’t exit.

But despite the fact that the migratory geese are now flying east for the winter, I don’t particularly blame global warming – it’s just Virginia.

Depending on your perspective, the commonwealth either gets the best or worst of both summer (very hot) and winter (very cold).
It’s unbearably hot in the summer and frigid in the winter … and not in any sort of predictable way. It’s enough to make you want to move to North Dakota. It’s cold there, but at least you know it’s going to be cold tomorrow, too. There’s a sense of predictability that many of our new residents miss.

In Virginia, there’s just no way to know what the temperature is from day-to-day. Snow on Halloween, a sunburn on New Year’s Day … it’s all fair game.
But the harsh winter normally starts here in January, so here’s a preview of our five kinds of winter in Virginia.

Typical Dominion
The most common Virginia winter includes multiple snowfalls, but they’re relatively mild and the winter provides us with weeks between. It’s seasonally cold and lasts from December to March.

Calm commonwealth
This is the one you hope for. It’s more of a Georgia winter with milder temperatures and just enough snowfall to remind you of the gentle change of the seasons. Any difficult weather conveniently falls only on the weekends and the occasional holiday.
And while still relatively pleasant, remember that all it takes is one flurry in the air to bring Northern Virginia traffic to a standstill.

Iced Virginny
While it might seem like your typical run of the mill winter, every once in a while Virginia gets ice. A relatively mild winter gets cold – and every potential snowfall turns into an ice storm. Should you want to leave your house for several days after an ice storm, remember to bring a pick ax to chip your car free. If it snows, this particular winter times it so that all the snow does is hide the icy spots on the road.

Blustery Old Dominion
My personal least favorite, the precipitation remains fairly moderate, just a flurry here and here. What you do have is sub-zero temperatures and bone-chilling gusts of wind – the kind of wind that whips you about and makes you yearn for a forest fire. It lasts for about a month, leaving you utterly miserable.

Snowmageddon 2012
Last seen in 2010, we get the snow-heavy weather every five-to-seven years. It snows. And then it snows some more. Then it gives you just enough time to dig out your driveway before it snows again. There will be mounts of snow lingering in May.

But no matter what sort of winter we wind up with, your family and friends to the north and south likely have it worse in their banner months. Expect no pity.
Now back to convincing the staff that Dec. 21 as the end of the world is not a particularly strong argument when one considers to the strength of the ancient Mayans on the world stage.

In an attempt to not talk about the Santa Claus displayed on the Loudoun County Courthouse grounds, I wanted to share a story about two Santa Clauses from my past.

The first is the oft-mentioned “nuclear Santa” my family proudly displayed on our front porch during my childhood. I don’t recall when we bought it, but the hollow, hard-plastic figure stood about 3 feet tall.

Originally brightly colored, the figure was designed for a Christmas light to be inserted to give him a friendly holiday glow. Something tells me it was also a fire hazard, but it was the ‘70s and festiveness was more important than safety. I later discovered that all of my childhood Halloween costumes were simply 10 degrees away from turning me into a burning pyre.

Unfortunately, as time went on the paint began to fade from our plastic Santa Claus. Never one to give up on this part of our family history, we kept putting him on the porch for the holidays.

But without the color, he looked less festive than ghostly. The holiday glow left Santa looking more like a victim of radiation poisoning at Three Mile Island. We started calling him Nuclear Santa.

At one point we came up with his own theme song. I don’t recall all the words, but the chorus was “Fly On, Nuclear Santa – Spread your light all over the world.”

Perhaps that’s why I received coal in my stocking for several years in a row.

Nuclear Santa kept appearing on our front porch every year. He’s still waiting in the garage now – ready to spread the holiday spirit with a ghostly glow.

I’ll bring him out again … for tradition’s sake, of course.

A very different Santa haunted the employees at the Loudoun Independent before our merger in 2010 with the Loudoun Times-Mirror.

A donation from my father, who could never pass up anything holiday related, this animatronic Santa stood about four-and-a-half feet tall. He would recite holiday sayings and move this arms back and worth.

He wasn’t intentionally creepy. It just worked out that way.

Originally housed in the corner of my father’s office, I put my foot down upon inheriting it. Santa needed to find a new home for 11 months of the year.

If I seem heartless, please remember that he has a creepy little stature. At least once a day, I would be startled thinking that there was a real person hiding in the office.

Plus his eyes seemed to follow me around the room.

Our old office was located in a refurbished house off Ashburn Road. The restroom also contained a seldom-used shower – so that’s where I decided to store the animatronic Santa.

But the creepiness continues. This temporary Santa storage would have been fine had someone not decided to put the edge of the shower curtain into Santa’s animatronic hand.

More than one member of the staff jumped up with a start upon seeing his little dwarf hand reaching out from the shower. Realizing that it wasn’t a human hand normally left them to replace the shower curtain so that someone else would be tricked as well.

It was a joke that kept on giving – eventually claiming nearly all the members of the staff.

Between us, he began to be referred to as “pervy Santa.” I am still a little uncomfortable in a restroom with a closed shower curtain. Having already seen one too many horror movies, I now must also contend with the possibility that a tiny man with a button nose and eyes made out of coal is lying in wait.

The animatronic Santa did not make its way to the new offices with us … although an editor of my acquaintance did claim him – and he may show up when least expected.

Of course, neither of these Santas is as important as the one scheduled to pop down your chimney on Christmas night, but the holidays do bring out the lightheartedness in each of us.