I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t really do much for Christmas. I mean sure, I celebrate it as a high holy day and entertain myself during the weeks of Advent by moving my three wisemen around the house, getting ever-closer to “Bethlehem” which is on my mantel, next to that year’s Christmas shoes. But other than that, I don’t do much.
Christmas Eve I’m spending at church (and apparently when you wave goodbye to the folks you sit next to, you’re not allowed to say “See you on Easter!” I mean where’s the fun in THAT?) and then my pal Kirk and I are going straight to my favorite neighborhood gay bar for gin, tonics and horror stories about our collective mothers.
Then on Christmas Day I’m going to turn off my phone and just enjoy the quiet and have my official watching of The Pogue’s Fairytale of New York video:
(see a baby Matt Dillon as Shane MacGowan’s arresting officer )
Christmas, for whatever anyone says, doesn’t have to be the hap-happiest time of the year. Sometimes it can just be okay, or not very good, or even bad. If we force ourselves to have The Best Christmas Ever, we’ll always be disappointed. I know this is a tough time for a lot of folks, so chins up. No matter how bad things get, you still probably smell better than Shane MacGowan.