So every year I have my holiday shopping finished by mid to late November, because then I can wrap the presents, group them, and spend the next month staring at them like a brain-dead crow. Last year's theme was "Blue Winter," but this year I didn't feel that Los Angeles got enough of a fall, so I did "Fall Into The Holidays," a theme based on autumnal colors and the gentle melancholy of a crisp breeze.
I attribute this need to group and stare to two childhood traditions: 1. the fact that when I was a kid and had a birthday party, after the birthday party my parents would always dump all of my presents in the den, where they would stay for the next 24-48 hours, and I would walk into this room full o' booty, luxuriating in the aura of celebration, and I'd attempt to keep boxes intact to further extend its life. And 2. the fact that whereas Christian children get their presents dumped "down the chimney" the night before Christmas, so before opening, they probably spend a maximum of, like, forty-five seconds with their packages, I, being a Jewish child, had my presents laid out on our fireplace at least two weeks prior to the first magical night of oil, and so every morning, coming down the stairs to prepare my Eggo's, my gaze would float out over our pink living room and onto my presents, dazzling in the light.
Ostensibly, the big news around here is that on Monday the new deal goes through to turn Like The Red Panda in a feature film, with me writing the screenplay, but my blood sings loudest about the intermingling of the green, the orange, the brown, the soul-stirring waves and curls of the metallic ribbons leading up to my place.