Merry Christmas to all.
Most notably, it is Christmas Morning.
Et Verbum Caro Factum Est.
My father informs me that it’s time for “an outdoor mimosa adventure,” which means that he wants to sojourn outside for an alcoholic and tobaccic constitutional on the deck.
You know you’re celebrating a Catholic holiday when:
A) You receive in your stocking: Jack Daniel’s flavored coffee, French Wines for Dummies, and a book on Mental Prayer.
B) Instead of watching MTV Cribs, you watch Baby Jesus up in his crib.
C) You get excited about reading Jeeves and Wooster books.
D) Brunch doesn’t start until 3 in the afternoon.
E) Everyone is dead tired, except for the littlest kids, from Midnight Mass.
So, to all of you out there who aren’t Catholic but still participated in at least 3 out of 5 of those, you know what you have to do.
No, but seriously, I hope that this Christmas was less magical than the last, but more sobering and deeper. The more I move away from my childhood notions of Christmas, the more I realize that it’s more about the gifts, greed, and piling up of treasures here beneath the fake plastic re-usable Holiday Tree.
Right. Well then, my father wills that I go out now for mandatory fun on the porch.
Peace and Love, Truth and Euclid,
Mr. Bloch III
