Here we are, approximately 2,010 years after the birth of a near-mythical figure whose life and death are supposed to have delivered mankind from the uglier results of death. I've got a cup of wine, a few salvaged cigarette butts, a slow internet connection, heavy metal, and the prospect of sharing a room with my (literally) snotty nephew before me. It'd be easy to deride the value of Christmas if these banal things constituted the whole of my holiday experience, but seeing as how they don't- it's only 00:49, and my family awaits when I drag my corpse from bed- I'll venture to say that while Christmas ain't what it was when I was a kid, it's still worth celebrating even if you don't care about Jesus or Mithras or Saturnalia or the solstice. It's good to be here: Christmas reminds me of that, and that's enough for me for now.
Merry Christmas, folks. Here's to you, whether you're enjoying family or sweating it out alone. Without you, this wouldn't even exist.
My love always, for each and every one of you.
Yours,
Dave Smith
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