Merry Happy everyone. It’s been a pleasant, subdued affair here at home. After a quiet Christmas Adam we spent Christmas Eve with friends. Chowing down on charcuterie like fancy pants people. Eating Christmas crack (white chocolate peppermint popcorn) and quaffing down festive drink such as rosé and Manischewitz (though not combined). We then watched the quality Christmas cinema that is Jingle All the Way. It was hard not to feel that the 90s were like another planet. Aside from copious all out brawls over Turboman dolls, there were lewd sexual advances from the neighbour (R.I.P. Phil Hartman), a postal worker literally threatening to go postal and Arnie knocking a reindeer the fuck out.
This morning we awoke to a bounteous breakfast of porridge, before partaking in our true annual Christmas tradition: Having a family Google Hangout overtaken by technical issues. My girlfriend’s family all logged in and marvelled at the unique joy of her mum being on a 30 second delay from her Texas RV park. The assumption was that clearly our topics of conversation were verboten, thus the CSIS stepped in to clamp down on our treasonous family sedition tradition. As soon as the topic of Trump came up, things got even choppier. Mere coincidence? Or an ominous portent?
In any case, this Christmas train is gonna keep on rollin’, baby. We’re going off to see Moana, surprised it’s taken us this long. I’ve never gone to the cinema on Christmas day, so I have no idea if we’re gonna be greeted by tumbleweed or a packed theatre. Toronto has a ton of Jews, y’know. After chowing down on popcorn and candy, we’re gonna come home to a true treat. We’re ordering takeout (I do it so rarely that it feels like magic every time. Seriously, you click a couple of buttons and delicious, steaming food arrives at your doorstep. How is that not magic?) and having drinks. I picked up a few old favourites from the LCBO the other day, which I’m looking forward to tucking into. A Rogue Hazlenut Brown Nectar, of which I have fond but faint memories. Plus the annual delight of Flying Monkeys’ Chocolate Manifesto. I may be Jewish, but should I get trapped in a Tim Allen-esque Santa Clause scenario I’ll at least have the merriment down pat.
Unlike Tim Allen, maybe I’ll hold off on the coke.
Feliz Navidad, everyone!