Merry Whatever You Call It

Mark Teixeira is going to be a Yankee, and I'm still not happy about it.

I know its peevish and childish to be unhappy on Christmas Day. There is this enormous weight of expectation in our culture that we not only have a Merry Christmas, but the MERRIEST Christmas. Katie Couric said so, after all. And there really isn't anything wrong. Except the Teixeira thing. F&*king Yankees.

The Teixeira thing does lend some spice to the rivalry, though, as if it needed more sauce. Beating them is going to be extra sweet, because they are SO loaded, and losing them is going to feel like an extra strength "kick in the goonies", as Mike Myers used to say in the old Saturday Night Live sketch with Patrick Stewart. But I digress.

Christmas was fine. My nephew and bosom buddy Simon was over, and he was. predictably, a little touchy as he seems to be fighting a bit of a cold. He was also being pushed beyond his bedtime comfort zone, so that made for a few meltdowns. His parents handle him brilliantly, though, much better than I did at the same age, and, once the gift wrap started flying, he got in the zone.

He got mostly Thomas the Tank Engine stuff, which seemed to delight him no end. He gets another Christmas today, at his other grandparents' house, so I can hardly imagine how happy he must be today. Undoubtedly more Thomas stuff, and more attention, and more, more, more.

My own son, 'Ol Whatshisname, (kidding!) made out fairly well too. He's more into the Christmas spirit of getting than that of giving, but he showed admirable restraint in waiting for Simon to start the gift process.

Other than watching the kids, that was pretty much it. The rest of the time has been spent finishing the James Bond novels I got from the library ("On Her Majesty's Secret Service", "You Only Live Twice", and "The Man With The Golden Gun".) I haven't read them in probably 20 or so years. They aren't quite as good as I remember.

The books are lurid in their descriptions of violence and the damage to Bond's body and psyche. Fleming is a racist, even by the standards of his time, but if you can overlook that stuff, they aren't bad. I don't think I'm going to read any more, though.

I started a paperback I think I borrowed from my father's collection-a Star Trek collection of novellas about the engineers-LaForge, Scotty, etc. It's not bad. When I get back to the library, I may check out a few more. I haven't read any Star Trek books in a long while, either.

Sigh.

As Dr. Denis Leary used to put it, Merry F&*king Christmas.