And I hope it's all going well for you, personally, out there. I even got out of an increasingly overdecorated home for a few hours on the pretext that I needed to buy a few more presents -- actually, Mom was sending me out to find something for Dad she'd been unable to locate. Well, I found it, and also found they released a second set of SCTV DVD's that I would have put on my Christmas List had I known they were out, and only once had the person right behind my Dad's new car come screeching to a halt because she underestimated how far ahead I was when I slowed down.
Incidentally, who went and changed the lyrics to Walking in a winter wonderland? I've heard from more than one source now the lines ``In the meadow we can build a snowman/ and pretend that he's a circus clown,'' which he isn't. Who's responsible for firing old Parson Brown? Why doesn't anyone mention him? Is somebody taking out their anger at the fact the only decent Christmas songs written in the past 35 years were by former Beatles, a talented but sharply limited resource? Was Parson Brown suspected of also being responsible for that lovely daughter? And why does the grey cat, the one my sister saved from life as an abandoned kitten years ago, now refuse to interact with her except by angry hissing?
Somebody remind me, too, to put fresh batteries into and clear out the memory card for my digital camera. I suspect I'm going to be the designated photographer in the morning, which fortunately lets me out of the job of being the Christmas Elf.
Trivia: Bob Cratchit was employed at fifteen shillings per week. Source:A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens. (Which book, by the way, is a lot of fun, and which endless adaptation into movies and TV shows and cartoons hasn't spoiled. It's easy to let Dickens' reputation as a Great Writer obscure the fact he was a really great writer.)
Currently Reading: Sea of Glory, Nathaniel Philbrick.