And lo, I did not turn to dust, for I adore Bob Dylan's Christmas album

Though the Christmas fog lifted overnight, it nonetheless precluded our tradition of enduring Christmas Eve service at Someone's Temple of the Loquacious Nincompoop, and we instead went to my wife's church, conveniently located just up the street (convenient, though no less foggy) to hear my friend, the pastor who can actually write and who not only hooked me up with the best tattoo artist in the area, but also shares an affinity for bourbon, guitars, and ROCKY AND BULLWINKLE, do his evening gig.

It was short, to the point, AND we had plenty of time to get home and wrap up Katie's first viewing of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK (such a great film, thrilling and heartbreaking and everything that most STAR WARS movies since have failed to be), the ending of which she determined made it imperative that we start RETURN OF THE JEDI immediately.

Note: as a devoted wrist-cyborg thrilled by my capacity to control the Christmas lights with said wrist-augmentation, I recognize that I must upgrade to match Lando's cyborg-manservant controlling capabilities in EMPIRE.

PS: Bob Dylan's Christmas album is my favorite Christmas album and I'm listening to it right now so shut up.