Sunday, December 14, 2014


I'm not religious.  In that I don't like religions.  If you want to debate the existence of a "god" or whatever, I'll bite (when in the right mood . . . or drunk . . . or high).  But, just as I see patriotism as dangerous, I see religious fervor as dangerous.  Yes, dangerous.  Way too many people have died with religious justifications in the minds of their killers.  Way too many people have been harmed, "othered", scorned, made to feel less human, due to another's religious wackiness.

The Phenom and I do not really celebrate Christmas. . . other than to use it as an excuse to go on a drinking walk-about in NOLA.  We don't put up a tree.  We don't decorate our home.  We don't exchange gifts amongst ourselves (save for airline tickets and buying the next round).

And yet, I have a pretty elaborate holiday ritual of making fruitcakes.  This year, I made 40 and at least 34 were claimed before the first raisin hit rum.

And, I secretly tear up over christmas music.

And, when I get a chance to watch a video alone, I always have to watch A Christmas Memory.

The Old Woman and I always watched this movie.  Now that she's gone, I cry over it.  Frankly, as I get older, christmas is more about being sad than rejoicing.


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