To Do: Bust Some Heads

Today we went down to the cities to celebrate Christmas with my mom's side of the family. We exchanged the obligatory secret-santa gifts--I both gave and received a gift certificate ("the gift that says 'Go to the store!' "), which means that the death of our secret-santa system isn't far off--and watched the adults do a more mercenary form of gift-exchange.

Jeremy had explained it weeks ago, but this is the first time I'd seen mercenary gift-giving in progress. All the presents are put into a collective pool, and numbers are drawn. The first person picks any present. The next person can either pick a present from the pool or choose something that's already been unwrapped, taking it from the original owner. If you lose your present, you can unwrap a new present or steal an already opened one.

The system has the potential to devolve into a viscious circle of gift-trading, but what I saw was incredible. It was actually exciting to watch people open presents: good presents were stolen (repeatedly) and bad presents… well, tough luck. It's about time someone put the drama back in Christmas.

For the twelfth amazing time, my dad admitted to trying to brainwash us: "Well, even if you didn't enjoy [AM radio], I hoped that something would sink in. I was just trying to make my boys into better people". Or something like that. I called him out on it, Matt provided moral support, and we listened to FM radio for a few wonderful miles.

Matt had cigarette-lighter adapter that worked with my laptop. That was pretty cool.

Tomorrow I celebrate yet another Christmas. My dad's side, Brobdinagians all, will be here tomorrow for an even more thoughtless gift exchange. I cop-ed out and got my cousin a Lawrence T-shirt, and if prior Christmases are any guide, I'll get a football or a book of crossword puzzles.

If only there were a happy medium between giving someone a list of things to buy and getting random stuff you didn't want!

There is, but my relatives, who see me about six times a year, aren't likely to find it.

Our neighbors are bulldozing their house to the ground on January 7th. They gave my dad the key and told us to take anything we want (they removed the furniture, but not much else, from the sound of it) before the thoughtless destruction begins. In short: owner-sanctioned looting. I'm going to see about getting that key.

I'm becoming increasingly motivated/radicalized this break. The Diplomat, The Politician, The Feminist… they would love Brainerd. I want to start something at Lawrence, bust some heads and all that. In time, this energy will all be sublimated into a seemingly-difficult course schedule, but right now The Wishy-Washy Moderates and a half-dozen other schemes are buzzing in my head. All this… enthusiasm…

It's probably just all the devilwhite sugar I had today. Apparently that's my niche around my relatives: the comical lazy glutton. Glutton? Is that my special distinction? Eating?

Well, I've got to get to sleep, if I'm going to get up before noon tomorrow. Later.