Blathr Wayne Lorentz

For reasons of anal-retentiveness, I keep a record of the number of Christmas cards we send and receive each year. This year felt particularly bleak, so I put the numbers into a spreadsheet to see if that was true. It was not.

While this was a record year for the number of Christmas cards we sent, and the fewest weʼve ever received, the number received isnʼt all that far off the yearly average. Considering how many of our regular Christmas card penpals have died in recent years, thatʼs not too bad.

However, the numbers also show that weʼre putting more effort into Christmas cards than ever. These days we have to send eight Christmas cards for every one card received. It used to be closer to four; and some years less than three. But maybe the mailman will deliver some stragglers this week, and things will balance out.

Like millions of Americans, I watch A Christmas Story once a year. But it wasnʼt until today that I realized that when Ralph fantasizes about being Red Ryder, heʼs defending his home from a gang of mimes.

Houstonʼs Main Street Christmas lights look great at night. The problem is that during the day, they look like the city just survived a bomb blast.

Anywhere else, this would be a Christmas decoration. But since this is Houston, itʼs probably a protest against mass transit.

The bakery down the street serves a mean Turkish coffee, but I didn't expect a 15^th-century Ottoman invasion to remove the faces from all of the gingerbread men.

Darcie and I may disagree about which is the better British department store, but we can agree that Advent calendars are an essential part of the season.

November 4^th, and the Christmas lights are up on Main Street.

Iʼm O.K. with that.

An object can be both well done, and not good at the same time. To wit: “Holiday Stuffing” favor potato chips from H.E.B.

The San Antonio supermarket chain has leapfrogged pumpkin spice season and landed firmly in the fuzzy, nostalgic quagmire of Thanksmas season.

Opening the bag, I took my usual deep breath of snackmosphere to preview what was ahead, and I nearly gagged. It really does smell very much like Stove-Top stuffing. It also tastes more like stuffing than a lot of brandsʼ actual boxed stuffing does these days.

So H.E.B. gets an A+ for execution, because when someone said “make stuffing-flavored potato chips,” someone else made it happen. But as food goes, itʼs just not good, because when you eat it, you expect one thing and get another.

Iʼll still finish the bag, though. And let the “Holiday” term slide because stuffing is traditional for both Christmas and Thanksgiving.

I made cookies today. Truthfully, I made about 40 cookies today, but these are the six that donʼt look awful.

A box arrived for my wife today. Itʼs marked fra-gee-lay. It must be Italian.

I wonder if Italians are sick of that joke.

I just got a Christmas card in the mail from the Cathedral-Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. It was postmarked December 23. I guess Christmas just kind of snuck up on the Archdiocese of Denver!

Based on the junk mail that comes in, the lady who used to live in this apartment was some kind of interior designer. She must have been a pretty high-end one because sheʼs constantly getting solicitations from companies trying to get her business. Last week, UPS delivered three boxes of candy from a lighting company trying to score her business.

I donʼt know if the lights are any good, but the candy was excellent.

I think the Santa side of Christmas deserves more examination.

We have created an entire season around parents giving gifts to their children, and then letting someone else take the credit.

Itʼs a billion-dollar illustration of the selflessness of parenting.

“Thank you for the box. Itʼs just what I wanted.”

Todayʼs coffee is Starbucks Christmas Blend. Not to be confused with Holiday Blend.

Holiday Blend is much more widely distributed than Christmas Blend. When I lived in Seattle, you couldnʼt find it at all. Here, itʼs available if you hunt for it, and I managed to get this one delivered.

Itʼs good. Iʼm not sure what makes it Christmassy. It doesnʼt taste of peppermint or elves or anything. Itʼs heavier than Blonde, but not going to mug you in an alley like Italian Roast. Itʼs just a shade darker than Pike Place, in my estimation. Itʼs a good coffee since I like my coffee the way I like my women: ordinary, but elusive.

How does Appleʼs Home app not have a Christmas tree icon?

That seems like a pretty basic thing for a remote-controlled light switch.

I got a Christmas tree.

When we lived in apartments in Chicago and Houston and Seattle and elsewhere, we always had real trees. Then when we moved into the big house here, we always had fake trees. Counterintuitive. Now that weʼre in an apartment again, I went real once more.

Darcie sent a picture of the tree to her sister, and sheʼs convinced itʼs fake. Itʼs sad when people are so used to fake things they think the real thing is inferior. Iʼm guilty of that, too. Banana-flavored ice pops tastes way better than actual bananas.

Annie shows zero interest in the Christmas tree. While I appreciate the lack of mischief, she really is a poor cat.

I sent my mom something from this place last month. She said it was the best Christmas present she ever received.

I guess I wasted six hours of my life with all that macaroni and Elmerʼs glue back in 1975.

If youʼre not sure when itʼs OK to take down the Christmas decorations, choose from one of the following:

• January 6: The Epiphany
• January 13: Baptism of Jesus
• February 2: Candlemas
• Tomorrow: Close enough

Closed captioning makes Ralphieʼs dadʼs swearing really awesome.

Cleaning the litter box is a lot more festive this time of year, what with all the butt nuggets threaded together with tinsel missing from the tree like the worst Christmas train ever.

Santa hasnʼt come yet, but already the supermarket is loaded up for Valentineʼs Day.

If the local government encourages you to take your family to one of the county shooting ranges on Christmas Eve and discharge firearms to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, you may live in Nevada.

The view from the office Christmas party. Thatʼs not snow. Itʼs sand.

What a cat with a tummy full of tinsel looks like.

Itʼs just not Christmas until the first cat barfs up a ball of tinsel.

Iʼm not suggesting that In-N-Out Burger put “Merry Christmas” on its bags to imply that Double Doubles are a good Christmas gift. But Iʼve gotten worse presents.

Santa dropped off a present for the Annie and Henri today. Hopefully they donʼt figure out what it is.

I received this e-mail from my registrar in Austria. You can tell itʼs not an American company, because itʼs not afraid to say “Christmas.”

Not to be outdone by the Amazon delivery guys who throw my packages over the gate, UPS appears to have actually run over my wifeʼs Christmas present before handing it over to the Postal Service for the last-mile delivery.

I predict this will be the last year my office does Secret Santa.

Youʼre welcome.

According to my Advent calendar, the Son Of God got fishing tackle today. Nice bobbers, Baby Jesus!

Today I learned that blind children are better at decorating Christmas trees than I am.

If your neighborhood Christmas tree display has a tree from the Hooters Casino, you might live in Las Vegas.

I find it curious that the Palestinian prime minister can take part in the annual lighting of the Christmas tree ceremony at Manger Square in Bethlehem; but in America, where we supposedly have the freedom to speak our minds, many people are afraid to even say the word “Christmas” for fear of losing their jobs.

Itʼs Christmas at Our Lady of the Missing Hands Succulent Garden and Decorative Electrical Hazard.

Henri canʼt decide if Iʼm decorating for Christmas, or filming a Police music video.

My dry cleaner has an entire wall of holly. Hopefully the H.O.A. doesnʼt nail her for decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving.

I wish I could decorate the cacti in my garden like this, but I just donʼt have the gloves for it.

Christmas in the cubicle.