“…by far the biggest Christmas miracle of them all has to be when LAPD Sgt. Al Powell puts five shots into the torso of the presumed to be dead Euro-Trash Terrorist, thus saving John and Holly McClane at the end of the Greatest Christmas movie ever made: Die Hard. God bless us, every one.”
“In Defence Of Scrooge”; December 25, 2007
“Despite a commonly held myth that the Christmas season has the highest suicide rate of all the seasons, studies have proven that across North America, suicide rates are actually lower at that time of year. Studies suggest that while the holidays can bring up some very difficult emotions, they also tend to evoke feelings of familial bonds and these feelings may act as a buffer against suicide.”
The Canadian Mental Health Association
This has turned into a very strange Christmas.
Over the past few days I’ve been introduced to the Christmas traditions of the two families I’ve become tied to thanks to my newborn son.
I spent an hour on Sunday with my girlfriend’s family. Because their oldest daughter was visiting before she moves across the country, they moved their celebrations up a week. So I got to be there when my girlfriend received her traditional envelope full of cash from her father, who then went back into his den to continue watching a Discovery Channel documentary on airplane disasters. My girlfriend also received a giant lump of Christmas passive-aggressive coal from her mother.
Then, on Monday, I found out my girlfriend’s ex-husband will be spending Christmas by himself because his entire family have completely given up on him… except, of course, for the four mandatory hours he’ll be spending with his son. Otherwise he’ll be spending Christmas Day waiting for his friends to get finished with their Christmas traditions, so they can go out to a bar and get drunk.
01
06
