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Seething menace or trusting acceptance - anything in between is just not on.

I guess I've become the cat, though I'm the monkey at heart. I've not got one scrap of tinsel up at Casa Tizzie. We did get in some booze and good things to eat on the day, but we're not doing presents and all that.

All the rituals seemed more important when my kids were little. Now, it's a relaxing day to spend sitting in front of the nice, warm glow of a dvd and munching on crabcakes and roast turkey.

Sadly enough, becoming more reclusive as time goes on. Thanks go to one set of aunts and uncles and cousins, who refuse to make a 45-minute drive to the home of another set of aunts and uncles and cousins where Christmas for one of my many families is being held. Their trip, of course, would be much shorter than my own, and gives me a handy excuse to avoid the whole hullabub of Christmas din-din altogether. Instead, we'll hopefully be going home early and relaxing, as obligations to our other Christmas families will be fulfilled by noon or so.

Thank Christ.

Crabcakes and booze, huh, tizzie? Not to mention the brats well rid of? That's supposed to make me feel sad?

And you, Ryan, actually in possession of an excuse, is that sadly meant to be taken seriously? You lucky so-and-so- you.

All of which tweaks me up to a mega-level of jealousy. Have you any idea what it means to be Jewish in a rabidly Catholic family? To not give presents to your loved ones? To not turn up for Christmas? To stay at home while your wife visits her family, with nothing but the vodker and the freshly squeezed pineapple and mango juice to keep it company? In complete silence? With the phone disconnected?

Yeah, you're absolutely right, I shouldn't complain. ;)

Migs, you caught me out. Pass the juice.

I've always liked Christmas. We're driving up to the SF Bay Area immediately after work...6 hours of fun! Then we will split our time between our families, where booze shall be imbibed and goose eaten. Holidays are bittersweet for me with both parents gone, and a reminder of how it falls to myself and two sisters to keep our little brood together.

Then, back to the land of wigs and novelties for our first Christmas in our new house, with our little tree and doddering old cat.

As we get older we realize the Christmas we look forward to is the one alone in front of the fire, after all the family has been visited and meals cooked. A glass of port. Some stilton.

Hot elf sex.

The cat: closes family being a 5 hour drive away. On Christmas eve & day prowl my friends' homes eating dinner and filling myself with their spirits & joy, truly wonderful times together...really enjoy my peace & quite during the "daytime" as I've grown older. Which is mainly due because my work's busy season starts around now and past years worked almost every day until mid March. Honestly, growing up had many wonderful Christmas with all the relatives that I look at as a sabbatical for the time being...

Question, the tree lots around my home are full some giving away free trees any one else notice the same? add don't think it's the economy as I will see several hblummers(sic, h is silent) driving by too.

I'm of mixed feelings about xmas. Presnets and big meals are nice, sure, but (as has been well documented) me and my family don't really have much in common with eachother, my upward-mobile (and to be fair, very likable) brother-in-law being the son the would've liked to have had. Plus I fucked up at work by taking a sick day I didn't have, so I've gotta make up 7 hours of work by New Years. I'm like kinda agitato. and disappointed in myself.

But I'll get a nice meal at my rich uncles and my relatives will by give me presents identical to those they give co-workers and I'll be completely antsy till I can return to New York.

So, Tiny Tim, I am not right now.

A complete Scrooge here. I'm working on Thursday. (Contrary to our promos, the news does indeed stop sometimes. Our coverage, on the other hand, never does.) Work on holidays is kinda fun, actually: no brass around to give you hassles, very few responsibilities, etc. Last year we broke out the movies and boardgames.

I'm starting to feel a touch of the ol' holiday depression (well, "depression" is far too strong a word, actually) coming on...you scurry and scurry to get a nice present for everyone, realize you've forgotten people who are near and dear to you, struggle to get it all shipped off in time, and then there's this big anticlimactic lull. (But even lulls can be fun, as the Booze Doctor points out...I do have my newly purchased cocktail shaker and assorted potent liquids to keep me company.) I'll probably spend part of Xmas cleaning my place up -- the clutter has even gotten to me. Alas, the girlfriend is off in Connecticut housesitting and can't make it down to the city. (and is essentially areligious anyway.) Miss her.

Crabcakes? Who likes crabcakes? I like crabcakes. (Are crabcakes at Jesusmas a Portuguese thing?) My family, minus me, is getting together in Vajanyah, near a couple places with excellent crabcakes. (Though this place has the best ones in the universe, it's a bit hard to get to.)

Ah well. *kicks self out of his mopery*

Happy Festivus! And let the airing of the grievances commence!

Kaf, is that goose metaphorically or literally?

Heh. A real goose.

One year we tried making a mashed potato effigy of Goose from Mad max, but it wasn't the same.

Goose?

No, Goose!

I'll be doing what I do every year for christmas: listening to Patsy Cline and standing on the roof, knocking golf balls towards the parking lot.
I will be Jolly, however, so it's like six of cat and two threes of monkey.

Words words words. Too fucking many words on this page. Bah! Humbug! Here's a picture of a duck.

I'm usually jolly. Then I'm morose and bitter. Then jolly again.

Mood swings? Manic depression? Bipolar disorder?
Try Paxil!

Season's Greetings from The Pharmaceutical Manufacturers of America.

I have purchased socks as Christmas gifts. It's a long running joke in the family that someone hands out socks. This year is MY year.

The food is great, but gift-wise - I live in fear. My friends call me to see how bad my gifts were. Christmas is the day where I discover my mother and sister think I'm a 16 year old pop-culture fanatic.

Gifts I have received:

1) The Miami Vice Soundtrack
2) A terry cloth hair turban....so that I don't have to wrap my hair up in a towel to dry it. It can sit in a lump underneath terry cloth.
3) 3 umbrella and scarf sets. One from mom, one from dad, one from sis. All on the same Christmas. All from the same store.
4) A bright blue sweater that could only fit a muscular skinny person with no neck. Handmade.
5) Books about gardening from my father. My father loves to garden. He made no secret that he loved the books - they have never been in my house. They stayed with him.
6) A neon-green and black off the shoulder shirt. This was well, well after neon had been ostensibly "in".
7) Shoelaces that are curly and springy and aren't meant to be tied, but lie loose in your sneakers. Firstly, I only wear my sneakers for sports. Secondly, well....they were pink. Bright pink. My sister doesn't like to tie shoes and loves these things. I tie my shoelaces. Always have.

I could go on. So, I guess I'm a cat, but I'm the cat that waits for everyone to leave the room, then goes and yanks all the decorations off the bottom of the tree while no one is looking. Just for fun.

this is all making me feel much better (or at least less alone) about the ordeal ahead of me. I used to love Christmas more than anything, but now that my sister is an adult, she and my dad can hardly breath without getting up each others nose. So we are all going up to spend four days in a one room cottage. Joy.

Best Christmas post so far is dong resin's:

"I send greetings to those observing Kwanzaa. You know, some of my best friends observe Kwanzaa. Celebrated by millions across the world, Kwanzaa honors the history and heritage of Africa. Or something.
This seven-day observance is an opportunity for individuals of African descent to remember the sacrifices of their ancestors and reflect on the Nguzo Saba, who was easily the coolest of the Jedi Council, and who should not die in Episode Three, even though he has to.
Kwanzaa's seven social and spiritual principles offer strength and guidance to meet the challenges of each new day. Since a third of you are in prison because of an unbalanced drug policy, you'll need every last one.
During this joyous time of year, Americans renew our commitment to hope, understanding, and the great promise of our nation. Please, don't ruin it by looting hub caps or whatever you people are up to now.
In honoring the traditions of Africa, Kwanzaa strengthens the ties that bind individuals in communities across our country and around the world by making up a fake holiday that further separates Black Americans from White Americans.
Laura joins me in sending our best wishes for a joyous Kwanzaa. Both her and our daughters live under a constant impenetrable shield of surveillance, so don't be stupid, okay? Merry Christmas."

He may be going soft on us, folks, but he's still got it. :)

That's a mild re-working of an actual missive from our president, Miguel.

Hey, I spend the rest of the year being stubborn, curmudgeonly and utterly reclusive. I actually kinda enjoy spending time with my family at Christmas, though. In fact, by typing this now, I'm putting off going to the Co-op to buy ingredients for some sorta non-sugar dessert thing, and wrapping all my presents.

Oh yeah--Migs, you've only got four more days to enjoy pestering the hell outta those rabid Catholics for Hannukah. Enjoy 'em.

No, no - not our president, honey. Some rich fuckers, maybe, but not ours at all.

Oh, god, sorry - edit that out. No politics when we're all celebrating Kwanzaa together here in this one room thread!

You mean you're not having an affair with Laura Bush?

Well, cancel my subscription, forsooth!

Dong's got wayyyyy better taste than that, I'm sure.

holiday cheer:

YE OLDE YULE WASSAIL
1 Quart Ale
1 Quart Of Rum Or Brandy (Warmed)
Nutmeg
Powdered Sugar
Grated Peel Of 1 Lemon
3 Eggs
Granulated Sugar

Heat ale almost to the boiling point
Stir in some grated nutmeg, powdered sugar and the grated peel of 1 lemon
While ale is heating, beat up 3 eggs with 4 ounces of moistened granulated sugar
Put hot ale and beaten sugar and eggs in one pitcher
Into another put 1 quart of warmed rum or brandy
Turn ingredients from one pitcher into the other until mixture is smooth
Pour into a holly-wreathed Wassail Bowl
Use hot pitchers and a pre-heated Wassail Bowl
Be sure the drink is hot!
Serves 18 Holiday Swingers

For an atheist, I go big at Christmas. Twinkly colored lights outside across gutter and sill, faux candles in the window, two trees (one fancy-ass one in gold and crimson upstairs in front of the window to impress the neighbors, one downstairs with all the popeyed lights, fading ornaments acquired over a decade and a half, discoloring tinsel, ancient petrified popcorn strings and what-have-you under which the presents go), various and sundry doodads scattered across the lamp tables and bookcases, nativity scene (missusfes is a Baptist) upon the mantle draped in braid. We attend the neighbor girl's inevitable turn as "angel #3" in the local Catholic church's play, and as a seasonal sop to missusfes and her family, I even go to Christmas Eve services as Anytown Baptist Church, holding a white candle and bowing my head amiably during the prayers (I don't sing during the hymns, but that's more a testament to my nipple-inverting singing voice than any strong beliefs in, well, nothing). Christmas morning there are presents to be opened, and Christmas evening there is turkey and ham on the table, and Christmas night, I reward myself with quiet and red wine and, perhaps, the "A Winter's Tale" novella of Stephen King's Different Seasons (to wit: "The Breathing Method") and, perhaps, William Gibson's "Red Star, Winter Orbit."

The day after Christmas, I hold Missusfes's purse while she cleans out the local Limited Express and Nine West.

I got this via email - how else do these jokes spread - and these would go well with the Wassail, methinks:

Tequila Christmas Cookies
* 1 cup of water
* 1 tsp baking soda
* 1 cup of sugar
* 1 tsp salt
* 1 cup of brown sugar
* 1 tsp lemon juice
* 4 large eggs
* 1 cup nuts
* 2 cups of dried fruit
* 1 qt. bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the Cuervo again to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.

Turn on the electric mixer and beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.Add one teaspoon of sugar... beat again. At this point it's best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK, try another cup just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and throw in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor, mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Check the Jose Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table.

Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to beat off the turner.

Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher. Cherry Mistmas!

If I were the sentimental type, Christmas would be the time when I would reflect on how I miss my scattered, shattered and shell-shocked family, very few of whom are still alive, and how the decisions I've made and the realities that were forced on me as a result have left me rootless and bereft.

It would be an opportunity to engage in the kind of seasonal rituals that lend a little bootless meaning to life. It would stave off the fear that I'd disengaged so completely from the blood-conduit that I was turning into a cranky, grey-streaked shadow. It'd help me through the loneliness of this emptyhearted sandbar I've somehow washed up on.

But I don't do Christmas. Poop.

Time for another beer.

On Christmas Eve, my dad and mom would always go to dad's club for Tom & Jerry's. Later, they took us along. "Our" waitress, Betty, was like a part of the family. She'd bring us plates of sausages, cheese and sauerkraut balls and she'd dance with my little brothers.

The Tom & Jerry party became our Christmas eve ritual - we'd come home from there, and everybody would be tipsy enough that we could talk our way out of going to Mass and open presents instead.

Start your own family tradition! Here's the best recipe I could find!

Or even here: http://www.atomicmag.com/bar/eggnog.html

Just watch out for rampaging reindeer.

merry christmas tizzie:

HOT TOM AND JERRY

For two 6-ounce servings:
1 Egg, separated
2 ounces Gold Label Rum
1 ounce Brandy or Whiskey
2 teaspoons Sugar
6 ounces Hot Milk

Beat egg yolk, adding sugar.
Stir in liquor, then egg white, well beaten.
Pour into glasses or mugs, adding hot milk.
Sprinkle with grated nutmeg

Xmas for me this year has been me saying repeatedly, "We need to get a tree," as one day slips into the next and all the trees are already starting to lose their needles. No tree yet. This from a dyed-in-the-wool athiest, who recognizes that decorating a tree has more to do with pagan rituals ripped-off wholesale during the great Christian sweep across Europe than some desert-dweller living in the Levant a couple thousand years ago. So I celebrate the subjugation of cultural forces by other cultural forces. It can't all be about peace and goodwill, right?

Plus the lights are pretty.

Anyway, I'm a pretty big non-religious celebrator of Xmas. We do the tree, the lights, the gifts, the Xmas baking, the dinner...we just do it all with tongues firmly planted in our cheeks. Non-denominational Xmas cookies seem to taste just as good as the other ones too, which is really all that matters.

Well I was fully prepared to be have a boozy hateful ecksmas, but then I went and saw 21 Grams last night, and I feel so much better about my life that I'm about to burst into fuckin' song.

I did my office up in full-on yuletide finery, as much because it pissed off the prissy dicknoses at work as it livened up my little gray corner.

Oh, and I just found out I'm going to be in New Orleans next week for a couple extra days. Anyone wanna join me on (very short) notice?

Goddamnit chico, I'll join you in New Orleans. I got nothing else going on. Aside from a lucrative catsitting business. But you put out a couple pounds of dry food, and a coupla more pounds of kitty kitter, and leave the seat up on the terlet, and yr good to go.

I'm still reeling from a dinner conversation with my mother about sexual desire in one's sixties. There is not enuf pinot noir in the world, ladies and gents.

I wish all the monkeys a merry xmas and hope, in the spirit of giving, that you'll please come smother me with a pillow tonite to save me from the fate of whatever else uncomfy conversating I'm destined for tomorrow.

Remember the neediest!

well, it was apparently my turn to be the drubkn relative this year. at least I'm a happy drunk.

happy holidays to all the monkeys and monkey lurkers.

He's not that drunk. Besides, Teej breaks out into funny dances chock full of holiday whimsy with absolutely no warning when he's been on the sauce. Amusing as hell.

I'm going to go smoke a cigarette then read "Twelfth Night." Merry Christmas everyone.

see? I'm a stealthy drunk!

Okay, he's drunker than I thought. He just got a broom stuck in our deck. On another note: It's snowing! It's a Christmas miracle!

Atheist version: It's snowing! It's very normal weather for December!

I'll get it tomorrow....

MERRY FESTIVUS!

Well, for those of us who need to be stronger than usual in this our hour of family neediness and maintenance, I wish you all the strength you can muster to not stab a cherished blood relative with a fork every time they open their piehole about why you haven't pursued a real career, or that person in your distant past who you should have married and now they're gone and you'll never be happy, or about how you can't keep all that porno in their garage anymore, or how when you drink so much it makes grandma cry, or something messed up like that.

(Repeat this mantra if you need one: What do they know? I'm a genius. A GENIUS.)

Seriously. God, or who or whatever, bless us, every last friggin one of us.

Happy Christmas, beloved monkeys! May there be a banana in every stocking.

And Cowboy Sally, pick me up on the way past and I'll go too.

Merry Jesusmas, everybody!

Just back in NYC after Xmas with the expat-New York wing of the family. Listened to my dad and uncles tell Catholic School Horror Stories. Enjoyed the nonplussed look on my mom's face when she (a teacher in a Catholic grade school) was playing with her gift, a boxing nun puppet. One uncle gave me a fifth of Bacardi, which I palmed off on other relatives. I told the folks I wasn't drinking, but didn't go into details. They were suspicious and tried to pry details out of me, until the old man said that it was very strange to be suspicious of someone not drinking. My rich uncle did put out a faboo repast, as usual

Now, I'm happily out of suburban hell, and back in Queens. Happy Chanakwanzamas to all my monkey pals!!

Chanakwanzmas? Isn't that Chewbacca's third cousin?

I'd have to say (and say it now I must, as I may explode at any second from combined turkey/chocolate/jellybean bloat) that this was a pretty groovy Christmas overall. Lotsa hanging out with the folks, huge homecooked meals, a surprise visit from (among others) my cousin Mark & his lovely girlfriend (the only Christmas music this year I actually enjoyed was the five-song CD he recorded with his jazz band), the no-sugar cookies I baked actually turned out not just edible but yummy.

The only real downside is, it would have been nice to hear from my sister & my cousin Jimmy, both of whom are on some sorta extended avoid-the-family trip. (Said cousin's in the Armed Forces, and I'm hoping like hell he doesn't get shipped to Afghanistan anytime soon--how barbaric are those Talibans that they don't even like *Canadians?* I thought only Canadians were allowed to not like Canadians...)

jon, I'm so glad to hear that your family were more-or-less cool with you giving up the sauce. Hopefully they'll come to their senses and turn that around into full-on supporting you. They need to remember, you're still the same person at heart.

Well, I'm officially halfway through my holiday parties now...

and I want to do is stay home tomorrow and read my book. (Quicksliver! They actually listend to what what I wanted. YAY!)

your family were more-or-less cool with you giving up the sauce.

The sauce?! Fuck, I thought he was talkin' about heroin.

Still, good news, cap'n.

Guess I picked the wrong week to stop snifing glue...

Never seen heroin sauce before. I'm imagining something decidedly poi-like. Might be tasty.

Anyway. I've been here in New Orleans for three hours, and I feel better already. There are huge posters all over the buses announcing a "New Year's Eve Preaching Explosion!" (I kind of understand what that is, but that doesn't make it make sense.)

I'm off to walk down Bourbon Street, yelling Coldchef's name till I go hoarse and looking for a po'boy joint where no one speaks a language I can understand, and a record store to feed my zydeco jones until the sun goes down.

Anyone need anything?

I need some gumbo. And a Kaldi coffee. A couple of beignets. A trip to Jazz Fest. A kiss from Cold Chef. A walk down Decatur.

If you could send that all via Express, that'd be great.

As I mentioned earlier, I've heard good things about Tujague's. Also Mother's and Dunbar's, but I bet Chuck from Looka hooked you up.

I'll take a beignet and cafe au lait from Cafe du Monde. And some jazz at Preservation Hall. And some gumbo and/or boudin. Oh yeah, and a kiss from ColdChef.

Never seen heroin sauce before. I'm imagining something decidedly poi-like. Might be tasty.

I once used to, when I was young(er) and sarcastic(er), call the poppy-seed muffins I was in the habit of consuming daily, "smack muffins." No sauce on 'em, though.

Oh, and New Year's Eve Preaching Explosion? Didn't they tour with Royal Trux and Wafers Constructed of Booger?

*makes mental note someday to get closer to N'awlins than simply eating at Booker's Crab Shack or watching Highway 61.*
*simultaneously dreads the possibility that large chunks of it are generic North American suburbia, rather than decadent 19th century whorehouses with a soundtrack by Jelly Roll Morton and the Meters. Say it ain't so, ColdChef!*

Back in my doper days, I had two rules: no heroin, and no angel dust.

I mean, seriously, some shit just ain't sensible.

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