It's that time of year again. You'll be getting all those wonderful Christmas photo cards of happy families grinning photogenically for the perfect Kodak moment.
I prefer this photo. Absolutely Magical...
I also love the "Holiday Letters" that seem to exist only to make you feel pathetic and suicidal about your life compared to others. One of my favorite things to do is read those letters that my parents get from friends and neighbors. It's a masochist's dream come true, hearing about how Sally got a Rhodes scholarship and is now studying for her double doctorate in rocket science and cybernetics, and little Johnny hit a grand slam to win the Little League championship, and then helped rescue a family involved in a 10-car pileup on the interstate who turned out to be cousins of the prince of Sweden and was invited to Stockholm to be knighted by King Gustav. The whole family also enjoyed their three week vacation traveling around South America building schools and new huts for the villagers, and everyone became fluent in Spanish and learned to dance the tango with a rose held between their teeth. In Buenos Aires.
You know... those kind of letters.
I want to hear stories about how crazy Uncle Larry went back to detox for the third time and every one's really excited about it because, well, third time's the charm. And how cousin Janice is trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records, by trying to breed guinea pigs with potbellied ones, the result would be tiny furry pigs that squeak but also make for "good-eatin". She's calling them Guinea PotPigs, which kinda of sounds like Chicken PotPies. There's a market for that.
This is the stuff I'm interested in.