With 2017 drawing to a close and 2018 about to begin, I decided to take a look back at 2016 and spotlight the best (or most significant) blog post of each month.
(There’s also this one, The Liverpool Christmas Band’s Beatle-esque Christmas, which looks like it’s the same material, but with karaoke versions of the Christmas songs as well.)
With Christmas falling a week from today, I queued up the album over the weekend and listened to it, skipping the nine covers of Beatles songs because they’re really not necessary. The musicianship is fine, but the voices don’t sound a great deal like the Fab Four, some of the instruments sound weird (like, is that a synthesized harmonica?), and the distinctive guitar sounds of the Beatles, particularly George and Paul, aren’t recreated very well. The result is an album that sounds like it was inspired by the Beatles more than a “What if the Beatles made a Christmas album?” album.
At the time, I wrote of A Christmas Tribute to the Beatles:
The thirty tracks run 90 minutes total, and of the 30 tracks, nine of them are Beatles covers. (The 25-track version, Abbey Road Christmas, has five Beatles covers, by comparison. And one fewer version of Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” as well.) The brain just goes numb. This is the kind of album that requires some DIY moxie — figure out the tracks you like and make a playlist of those in your mp3 player of choice, skipping entirely over the lesser tracks and Beatles covers. Whittled down to 12 tracks and a 40-minute running time, this could really soar.
Over the weekend, then, I did just that. Twelve tracks, less than 40 minutes.
My very edited version of A Christmas Tribute to the Beatles, with the Beatles inspiration where I could discern a direct correlation:
- Santa Claus Is Coming to Town (“Hey Bulldog”)
- Silent Night
- Hark, The Herald Angels Sing (“Run for Your Life”)
- Last Christmas
- Blue Christmas (“Love Me Do”)
- Merry Xmas Everybody (“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da”)
- Mary’s Boy Child (“Please Please Me,” maybe?)
- God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen (“Things We Said Today”)
- Happy Xmas (War Is Over) (“Good Night”)
- Merry Christmas Everyone (“Let It Be”)
- Wonderful Christmastime (“Love You To”)
- We Wish You a Merry Christmas
Some of the correlations aren’t perfect. “Happy Xmas,” for instance, starts out as one sort of thing and then turns into something like “Good Night” by the end. “Wonderful Christmastime” kicks off with the sitar riff from “Love You To,” but then it’s sung by a John soundalike rather than a George soundalike and is wildly psychedelic. (Honestly, I get more of an Oasis vibe from the song than a Beatles vibe.) These aren’t necessarily great versions of the songs, and this isn’t necessarily a great playlist, but for my needs this works. The psychedlic, sitar-heavy “Wonderful Christmastime” makes McCartney’s throwaway into something interesting and worthwhile. “Merry Christmas Everyone,” a Shakin’ Stevens song I wasn’t even aware of until two years ago, is a delight. At forty minutes, it doesn’t overstay its welcome. There may be a better order, but this suffices.
There is, however, a Beatle-esque Christmas album I can wholeheartedly recommend — the Fab Four’s Hark!. I’ve bought this album twice, first in the two disc release by LaserLight fifteen years ago (bought at the Sam Goody’s on the lower floor of Crabtree Valley Mall in Raleigh shortly after I moved there), then in the single disc edition with bonus tracks almost ten years ago. I like it, it’s fun to listen to, and more evocative of the Beatles than A Christmas Tribute to the Beatles.
But both have their place in my collections, and as a Beatles fan, that’s fine.
Perhaps I’d still be a Christian had there been more dragons.
Many elements of the traditional Nativity scene — in particular, any animals whatsoever — aren’t Biblically canonical. They all derive from apocryphal scriptures, essentially early Church fanfic, such as this passage from Pseudo Matthew about the infant Jesus and the dragons during the flight to Egypt:
“Lo, suddenly there came forth from the cave many dragons; and when the children saw them, they cried out in great terror. Then Jesus went down from the bosom of His mother, and stood on His feet before the dragons; and they adored Jesus, and thereafter retired. Then was fulfilled that which was said by David the prophet, saying: Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons; ye dragons, and all ye deeps.”
Maybe we can add a middle verse to “Away in the Manger.”
The dragons encircle the manger this night.
Great and wise creatures, the drakes end their flight.
They bow at the manger, Lord Jesus they see —
Bask there in his presence where he sets them free.
This Christmas and every Christmas, feel free to add dragons like Smaug or Vermithrax Perjorative to your Nativity, and when someone questions their presence, you can say, “I’ll have you know that dragon is every bit as canonical as the sheep and the cattle.”
Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn’t still be a Christian even with dragons; my issues with Christian theology run far deeper than the mighty firedrakes of yore.
I love “O Holy Night.”
I write that unironically. I’m not a Christian. Heck, I’m even skeptical of the historicity of Jesus, and even if he were historical I doubt there’s any truth to the Nativity story as related in Christian mythology. Yet, in the pantheon of Christmas songs, “O Holy Night,” a song explicitly about the night Jesus was born, ranks highly for me. I have 31 different versions, running over 2 hours consecutively, on my hard drive. When the song hits me right, when it’s done sensitively, I get weepy. I find it quite moving.
But not the Arcade Fire version. They sound like they were drunk off their asses, and it’s hard to take it at all seriously.
What about “O Holy Night” do I find so appealing? The tune, certainly. It’s a lovely tune, an evocative tune, whether it’s done on cellos, guitars, piano, harp, even bagpipes. There’s a gentleness to the tune that carries you along and sweeps you away, and it’s hard to believe that the tune is only 150 years old instead of something that’s existed forever.
Also, though Jesus isn’t my myth and Christianity isn’t my belief, I find the chorus — more specifically, the first refrain, the part that begins “Fall on your knees!” — quite powerful.
Such is the power of art. It doesn’t have to be literally true to have an emotional power. There were never Hobbits, nor a Mount Doom or a Ring of Power, yet the ending of The Return of the King leaves me bereft. There was never a Roy Hobbs, he never played baseball for the New York Knights, yet the end of the The Natural (film, I should caution, as the novel’s ending is quite different) is simply breathtaking.
In the same way, I can — and do — love “O Holy Night.”
And if you want a really lovely version, I recommend the one by Sleeping at Last. The Eisley version is solid, too.
Edited to Add: Three weeks after posting this, in the run-up to Christmas, BBC Radio 4 broadcast an episode of Soul Music about “O Holy Night.” I shared a link to the program on Facebook, and here’s what I had to say about it:
The BBC’s Soul Music program this year takes a look at the song and presents some stories of people and their connection to the song, from an Anglican archbishop who spent Christmas in a hospital stricken with pneumonia to a woman who sang it spontaneously in Washington’s Union Station to a Philadelphia aid worker who found new meaning in the song when she helped some homeless people have a real Christmas.
It’s a nice half hour listen. I might’ve gotten teary eyed a few times.
It’s a nice program. Yes, it scratches the surface of the song’s origin (leaving out that the French writer was an atheist and the American translator a Unitarian transcendentalist), but it’s mainly about the personal effect and meaning the song has for people.
I was listening to it again yesterday (ie., December 23rd, as I write this), and it’s a really lovely program.
I walked into Dallastown this morning and mailed over a dozen Christmas cards, all to people I don't know and have never met. Madonna and child stamps, my favorite Christmas stamps every year.
The recipients are all distant cousins, all descendants of my great-great-grandfather through his eldest three daughters, two of whom I had no idea even had descendants until recently. As I researched my genealogy and wandered down lineages, I found names and obituaries. Those were clues, and clues led to more names and more data, like a puzzle.
I wrote out a short note in each card, scribbled a signature, and wrote a date. I didn't introduce myself or explain our link. It's distant enough that it hardly matters. If they want to get in touch, ask who I am and why I'm sending them a card, the address is on the envelope. Still, it's an act of random kindness from a stranger. Maybe one of the recipients had a difficult year or it going through a rough patch, and a kind word from a stranger will make a difference.
That's good enough for me.
After work I stopped at the grocery store, the Giant off Queen Street, because, obviously, I needed some groceries. Bread, peanut butter, milk, that sort of thing. Life’s essentials.
While I was there, I browsed the magazine rack. There, on the bottom shelf, was a row of adult coloring books. Or, more accurately, magazines. I’m not sure why I stopped to look at them, as I’ve never gotten into the adult coloring book craze. I guess seeing one titled “Coloring Christmas Cats” caught my eye. Next to it was one titled “Coloring Christian Christmas”; its cover featured a snowy New England town, with a banner that read “Peace on Earth” hanging from a church.
I picked up “Coloring Christian Christmas,” mildly curious at its contents, and began to leaf through it. It featured page after page of snowmen, Santa Claus, presents, stockings, snowflakes. Occasionally there would be a lyric from a hymn — “Hark the Herald Angels,” “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Sometimes there would be a single word like “Rejoice.”
One page may have been the Three Wise Men. Another page had an angel, though you could argue it was a Christmas tree topper.
Otherwise, it was roughly 80 pages of secular Christmas traditions.
Surely, I thought, there should be a Nativity scene here. Surely, shepherds watching their flock by night. Surely, a Madonna and Child. Surely, something that justified the title “Coloring Christian Christmas.” No, just a few lines from a few hymns, an angel, and the Three Wise Men.
I’m a fucking heathen, and even I was offended by this. I think the “war on Christmas” is silly in the extreme — there’s a Christian religious festival, and there’s a secular seasonal festival, and they’re called the same damn thing — but I would be completely sympathetic to someone who picked up “Coloring Christian Christmas” and was pissed off that the magazine had a lot to do with Christmas but absolutely nothing to do with religion.
I didn’t even look in “Coloring Christmas Cats.” I wonder if it had any cats in it. For all I know, it’s full of dogs.
On Christmas Eve I went to a church service.
No, I’m not abandoning my atheism, nor am I plagued by doubts. The reasons are far more interesting than that.
In June, I wrote about the walking route I take through Dallastown and how, when I passed a church on Main Street, I noted with approval that they had a sign out front wishing Muslims “a blessed Ramadan.” I thought that was a wonderful message of tolerance and welcome and one very necessary in these times of xenophobia and nationalism. It was something to celebrate.
Not everyone in the community saw things that way. One school board member took offense to the sign, he railed against it on social media, he left an angry phone message with the church, and the church found itself under siege by an angry community.
I wrote the church a letter of support, and I decided that I would attend a service there to show support for their message of inclusiveness.
And then, because I’m a lazy jerk who enjoyed his Sunday mornings of NPR and coffee and the occasional baseball game, I didn’t follow through with my promise to myself to attend.
In the middle of the week, the promise still lingering, “What about a Christmas service?” I thought. I wasn’t traveling this year to see family due to my work schedule, I had no plans for the weekend, so the moment seemed opportune.
As the company has done for a number of years, a Christmas tree was put up in the lobby and, a few days after Thanksgiving, Angel Tree stockings were hung.
I had decided long ago to participate in the Angel Tree program this year and, when I was passing by the lobby area on other business and saw they were up, I stopped and spent a few minutes deciding upon which one to pick.
I chose, similarly to last year, a boy, eight years-old. I signed my name to a sign-up sheet on the front desk, and, with a spring in my step, back to work I went.
There wasn’t any guidance with the stockings as there were with the Angel Tree tags a few years ago. Those tags indicated ideas for toys and clothing sizes. I had to operate blindly, but I was fine with that. You see, I already had a half-dozen items at home for my Angel Tree recipient. I wouldn’t say I had a plan for the recipient, per se, but I knew this was something I wanted to do, and since I knew it was something I wanted to do I saw no reason not to start buying items. And if there had been guidance, the recipient was still going to receive the things I had bought.
I didn’t have a budget. Instead, I was going to buy strategically. Like last year, I was going to do a box of stuff. If I was out at a store and I saw something that intrigued me, I would buy it. In October, then, I started buying items here and there, so by the time the stockings were hung on the tree I had a box of stuff ready to wrap.
That was my strategy, then, and when I was done the recipient would receive a wrapped box, he would unwrap it to find the box was filled with more wrapped boxes, and he would then unwrap another half-dozen interesting things. An eight year-old, receiving an Angel Tree package from the Salvation Army, probably wouldn’t be looking at the brightest Christmas. Every little bit helps.
With the Angel Tree gifts due at the office on Monday morning, Wednesday night after work I sat down and started wrapping. I gathered up the wrapping paper out of my coat closet — most of it Peanuts related — and found my Scotch tape. plugged in my Christmas tree, and queued up Christmas-themed episodes of The Thistle & Shamrock to really get the festive spirit going. Time to go to work.
This is a complete overview of the items I had on hand:
For those who wonder about these things, the part of my living room bookshelf you can see holds part of my Beatles library. (There are more Beatles books in my bedroom. And my dining room. I have Beatles books everywhere.) From the left, there’s Philip Norman’s Shout!, then Mark Hertsgaard’s A Day in the Life, and next to it is Bob Spitz’s biography of the Beatles. Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In is on that shelf, as is Ray Coleman’s Lennon. The missing book (seven spots over from the left) is Ian McDonald’s Revolution in the Head Third Edition as that’s presently in my bedroom; I was rereading the entries on “Free as a Bird” and “Real Love” recently due to the 15th-anniversary of George Harrison’s death.
Let’s take a look at the items individually, and I will muse upon them as I go.
First up, a Rey puzzle based on Star Wars: The Force Awakens.
I also had a Finn puzzle. The Rey and Finn puzzles were actually the last two items I bought for the package.
One of the first items I bought was an Australian collection of Peanuts comic strips. I found this at Ollie’s Bargain Outlet, and it was all of two dollars. “This is nice,” I thought, and I thought it would make a good Angel Tree gift.
Also found at Ollie’s, but not on the same trip, nor the same Ollie’s, was this Matchbox-esque car! They had all of these baseball die-cast cars, and I couldn’t find any for any team I liked. If I wanted the Phildelphia Phillies or the Texas Rangers or the Miami Marlins or the Houston Astros, they had plenty of those. Cubs or Nationals? Heaven forfend! But they also had this 2012 World Series car. “Why not?” I said. “Kids love Matchbox cars.” And yes, I’m well aware that this one is by Lionel, not Matchbox.
Next up, a coloring book! I picked this up on the same Ollie’s trip where I picked up the Peanuts collection.
Coloring books require crayons! This was one of the last items I bought. I picked these up at the 5 Below across the street from Diamond’s offices.
While I was at 5 Below, I also picked up this Spider-Man action figure. Kids love Spider-Man, and kids love action figures.
A DVD! This is the Babar movie from a few years ago. (Come to think of it, I’m surprised there hasn’t been a live-action Babar movie along the lines of the recent Paddington Bear.) When I was young, I loved Babar, so this was an easy choice. I think it was three dollars at Big Lots.
Kids need stuff to build with, and I was intrigued by this Mega Bloks set. This also came from Ollie’s, and it was the most expensive item in the box (at seven dollars). I got this at the same time as the World Series Lionel die-cast car.
And we need a book!
Also from the Ollie’s trip where I get the Mega Bloks set, I found a book on baseball for young readers — Michelle Green’s A Strong Right Arm, a biography of Negro League pitcher Mamie Johnson, a woman who played for the Indianapolis Clowns in the 1950s. I read it after I bought it — it’s not very long and it’s written for young readers — and I quite enjoyed it. The book talks about growing up in the segregated South in the 1940s, discovering one’s talents, and pursuing one’s dreams. Though I don’t know who is receiving the book, I saw important messages in the book for everyone.
And with that, my wrapping was done!
Oh, I still had the Sega All-Stars die-cast of Tails, but I had no idea how to wrap that due to the shape of the package and, as I would soon discover, I wouldn’t have had room for it in the box.
Then I selected a Christmas card out of my collection and began to pen a letter from Santa Claus.
This is something I’ve done with the two Angel Tree packages I’ve done. I was inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas, and the first two I did were quite elaborate. They weren’t illustrated like Tolkien’s — I’m a shite artist — but I spent time talking about what life was like for Santa Claus.
For this card I wrote about how the elves were loading the toys in the sleigh, how the gnomes were making the final pre-flight checks, and how Mrs. Claus was shoving Santa out the door. Christmas, after all, is the one time of year he gets him out of the house.
The card written, I filled the Diamond shipping box, used a little bit of filler paper, taped it up, and wrapped.
Again, for people who care about such things, the bookshelf to the right is my graphic novels bookshelf. It’s largely alphabetical, and you can see my Hellboy and Invisibles collection at the top (there’s a Batman shelf above it), Lucifer and The Maxx on the next shelf, and my Sandman boxed set below that. On the bookshelf to the left, there are Doctor Who books visible at the top (with a shelf of Sherlock Holmes books above that), Fritz Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser books (in their Dark Horse editions) and Michael Moorcock’s Elric books (in their Del Rey trade paperback editions of a few years ago) on the shelf below that, and Fantagraphics’ Peanuts Every Sunday collections and my Harry Potter collection, with a selection of Panini’s Doctor Who collections in between.
I didn’t keep track of what I spent, but it was right around thirty dollars.
I killed one roll of wrapping paper. I had bought a new roll just in case — Peanuts, unsurprisngly — then never used it. The roll of Scotch tape was much diminished when I was finished. And I limited myself to a single bottle of Highland Brewing‘s Oatmeal Porter as I wrapped.
Satisfied with my work, I sat on my couch and listened to Archie Fisher talk about Christmas in Glasgow on The Thistle & Shamrock.
Thursday morning I took the package into the office and dropped it off with Human Resources. I had done my duty, I had brightened a stranger’s Christmas (or would, two weeks hence), and I could get on with the business of sending my publications to press.
Publishing. It is merciless with its deadlines.
Last night I watched Love Actually for the first time.
I’ve had it on DVD since forever — I bought pre-owned from the EB Games store I managed back in 2005; I still had the price stickers with the date we took it back in trade inside the case — and I’ve never watched it. I may have watched the beginning, as Bill Nighy trying to sing the lyrics to “Christmas Is All Around” and screwing it up, was familiar to me, but nothing else about the film was.
Why last night? For one thing, it’s reputedly a “Christmas classic,” largely by virtue of taking place at Christmas time, a low bar that even Batman Returns easily surmounts. Mainly, though, my friends seem to fall into two groups — one that loves the film without reservation, one that despises the film without mercy. Then I read an article about the film yesterday — the thesis was that one of the characters was a sex robot — and I decided that was so weird that I needed to have an informed opinion about the film. I watched the film. I even watched the deleted scenes, complete with writer/director Richard Curtis’ introductions. If I were going to watch the film, I was going to get the whole experience.
My opinion? Love Actually is a very well-made terrible film. It’s not as sexually problematic as Curtis’ About Time was, but that’s a low bar to clear and not a reason to commend Love Actually.
For something that billed itself as “The Ultimate Romantic Comedy,” I didn’t find a lot of amusement in it. Rowan Atkinson as the jewelry salesman, now that was a funny bit, especially as someone who has worked retail and dealt with anxious and rushed customers at Christmas. I was somewhat charmed by the end of the Colin Firth story. Hugh Grant going up and down the street looking for his dismissed assistant’s home was amusing in that amusing Hugh Grant way. And though it wasn’t funny, the Liam Neeson/Thomas Brodie-Sangster story was nice. I generally even liked Emma Thompson’s storyline, which also wasn’t particularly comedic.
What I didn’t like…
- The horny douchebag who goes to Wisconsin to have an orgy with a bunch of strangers. Really, what was the point of that? Why did the movie waste any time on it? It doesn’t connect with any of the central plots of the film. The assembly cut of the film was 3 and a half hours, and Curtis struggled to get it down to a watchable level. This entire plotline could have been excised. Boom, there’s fifteen minutes.
- The Keira Knightley plotline. The actual wedding was charming, with the band popping up everywhere to play “All You Need Is Love.” “That’s really sweet,” I thought. After that, it’s about a stalkerish creep who gets rewarded with a kiss for being a stalkerish creep. I could ask the same questions I asked of the horny douchebag storyline — the story doesn’t connect with any of the characters in other plots, so why waste the time on it? I understand that it was supposed to connect more closely — the stalker owns (or works in) the gallery where Alan Rickman has his Christmas party and he knows the other woman in the Rickman storyline — but in the released film it doesn’t connect elsewhere in a meaningful way and becomes a superfluous waste of time.
- The Colin Firth story, believe it or not, despite finding the ending of it somewhat charming. The story is cute, don’t get me wrong, but it also doesn’t intersect with the other stories. And the “We hate you, Uncle Jamie” scene — were these people we were supposed to know? Were we supposed to care about this? In the film as edited, it wasn’t the right scene to get the story back to the Portuguese maid in France. And, unfortunately, the lack of connection to other characters makes it superfluous.
- The Martin Freeman story, though interesting in an absurdist sort of way — two body doubles for movie sex scenes find love on the movie set — had the common problem of being disconnected from the other storylines. Why are we investing time on this? Did they know any of the other characters? They’re at the Christmas pageant at the end, but just because they’re there it doesn’t mean they matter or are signifcant to the larger plotlines.
- Alan Rickman. I don’t buy his storyline because, even as late as the Christmas party, he seems wholly oblivious to Mia’s obvious lust for him. And even when he leaves to go Christmas shopping with Emma Thompson, when Mia tells him to buy her something, he is basically, “Why?” That’s not being flirtatious and cryptic. That’s being, “What planet are you on?” If there were problems in the Rickman/Thompson marriage that made Rickman open to cheating (or, at a minimum, contemplate cheating) on his wife, the film doesn’t give us even a hint at that. Rickman, in the few scenes we see of him with Thompson, appears to be a loving husband and devoted father. There is so much of this story missing that it’s difficult to accept.
- Hugh Grant as (essentially) David Cameron. (He’s not Cameron, obviously, but he’s clearly a Tory; he keeps a portrait of Margaret Thatcher in his office.) Let me be clear — Grant’s performance is a delight. I enjoyed Grant in this role. My problem is, what was the great issue between Britain and America? (And I don’t mean a smarmy Billy Bob Thornton appearing to make a move on his assistant.) What is this great political crisis? What is the issue? I wanted to know more about that. Because without that, it comes across as Grant forces a diplomatic crisis with the United States because he thinks he saw Billy Bob horndogging on his crush rather than as a genuine difference of opinion between the transatlantic allies. There’s a really interesting story lurking here in the background, and Curtis completely ignores it.
Conceptually, I think I understand what Richard Curtis wanted to do with Love Actually — he wanted to do a supercut of a bunch of different romantic comedies and stuff them into one single film. I admit there are interesting story fragments scattered throughout Love Actually. Most probably couldn’t support a film of their own; I probably wouldn’t watch a film about the numbskull who goes off to Wisconsin to have a sex party with a bunch of total strangers, and Keira Knightley as a newlywed who’s the object of lust by her husband’s best friend probably wouldn’t have a lot of appeal to me, either. But there are really too many fragments for this film to support; it wanders down pointless tangents, wasting time so that none of the stories can stand on their own. The stories have beginnings and ends, but there aren’t a lot of middles because there isn’t room for the middles. If they were ever filmed, they were edited out. Some filmmakers, like Terrence Malick, find their films in the editing room, junking entire plotlines and hours of footage. Love Actually, conversely, was lost in the editing room. In attempting to keep as much of his vision as possible, Curtis sabotaged his own film.
I could see the outlines of a good film in Love Actually. If I were editing this film — I would pare it down to the Grant, Thompson/Rickman, and Neeson storylines. I’d make Neeson’s late wife Joanna the younger sister of Grant and Thompson, rather than have Neeson and Thompson as friends. There would be more room to develop each storyline properly, so there would be more depth to Grant as the Prime Minister, more grounding for the martial state of Thompson and Rickman as well as insight into the parenting of their children, and more bonding between Neeson and Brodie-Sangster. (I did find myself wondering where Brodie-Sangster’s mother was, since Neeson was his stepfather.) The result would be a much stronger film, a much more focused film. We would have more time with a smaller cast of characters, and we would have more time to care about them and their problems. More importantly, we would have time for actual conflict, and conflict is what drives drama.
I can see why people love the film. Love Actually is well-made, there are lots of interesting actors. Sometimes they even get to do interesting things. But it’s a very problematic film, a film that doesn’t work, and that’s why I didn’t care for it.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Yes, I’m an atheist. Yes, I use the words “Merry Christmas” unironically. I’m waiting for Sean Hannity’s brain to explode.
As many of you know, I’m not religious. Christmas holds no spiritual meaning for me. As a mythicist, I even doubt that the events Christians celebrate today actually happened. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate and don’t celebrate the spirit of Christmas. I listen to Christmas music year round and, when done well, I find it moving. The decorations bring life to this lifeless time (which is why I think winter becomes depressing by mid-January as the decorations come down). To me, Christmas is a time when we reflect on what’s truly important in our lives. No, not material goods, though that’s certainly the way it feels every year. To me, Christmas is when we remember our friends, our loved ones, and our common humanity. To me, Christmas is a time of life, renewal, friendship, and love.
And also Kimar kidnapping Santa Claus and taking him to Mars, where Voldar learns the true meaning of Christmas. Or at least gets attacked by rampaging toys.
So on this Christmas Day, I want to say that I love and appreciate each and every one of you reading this. Some of you I knew in school. Some of you I have worked with, either now or in the past. Some of you I know through conventions. Some of you I’ve never met but thanks to the wonders of the Internet we’ve forged bonds. And some of you don’t fit any of those categories. Nonetheless, each and every one of you has contributed to my life and made it better. You have been light in the darkness. You are important. And you are valued.
Whatever holiday you’re celebrating today — Christmas, Winterval, Yule, even Doctormas for the Whovians — take a moment and reflect on the people that are important to you, the people who have made you better, the people you love and appreciate. That’s my holiday wish to you.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Whatever you do today — go to the movies, watch Doctor Who, etc. — I hope today is a wonderful one for each and every one of you.