Unsung genius: Whoever figured out how to fold Kleenex so another one pops up every time you pull one out of the box.

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And yes, merry Christmas, not “season’s greetings” or “happy holidays” or any of the other twisted and tortured PC-approved phrases. Just a good ol’ merry Christmas. Why? Simply put, that’s what my family and I celebrate, so that’s what I know.

That has always amazed me about this time of the year. The one time that’s supposed to be about coming together, peace and brotherhood, giving and sharing, and instead everyone seems to get their panties in a bunch if you use a holiday-specific greeting that they don’t personally use. It’s supposed to be a time of togetherness, not further divisiveness. And it’s really all so pointless.

If I’m walking down the street and you wish me a merry Christmas, I’ll respond in kind. Wish me a happy Hannukah, I’ll wish you one in return. Happy Kwanzaa? Right back at ya. I’m not going to be offended or upset that you wished me a joyous holiday that I don’t personally celebrate. Because when you get right down to it, no matter what label you slap on it, they all really say the same thing: I wish you well. I wish good things for you and your loved ones. I wish that you all are happy and healthy, with many things to celebrate. I hope this time of year is filled with warmth and love, surrounded by those closest to you. How can you possibly be upset by that? It’s not exclusionary to wish someone a merry Christmas (or Hannukah or Kwanzaa or whatever), it’s inclusive. It’s sharing good feelings and warm wishes with a stranger. And you’re going to be offended by that?

So lighten up, folks. If someone wishes you a holiday greeting that doesn’t match your personal religious beliefs, or even if they play it safe and offer up a generic “season’s greetings” and that bothers you, don’t get haughty and indignant. Just smile and respond with whatever greeting you prefer. And have a merry Christmas.

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I’ll be happy when the holidays are over, if for no other reason than I’m tired of every single ad telling me that the product being hawked would “make a great gift.” Doesn’t matter what it is, it would make a great gift. Steaming floor mop? Great gift. Driveway sealant? Great gift. Electric juicer? You got it, great gift. And I always wonder, who would consider these items a great gift? Like Chia Pets. You see those advertised relentlessly this time of year, and they would all, according to the ads, make great gifts. Now, think about everyone on your gift list. Is there anyone who would open up the package, see the Chia Pet box peeking out from the wrapping, and squeal with delight? Would any of your loved ones actually tell you, “Thank you! This was a really great gift!” Of course not. At best you’d get a polite, tight smile and a muttered, and somewhat bewildered, “Thanks.” You’d be lucky if they didn’t throw it at you.

So please, advertisers, stop telling me what would make a great gift. I think I know my family and friends a little better than you do, and none of them are going to want microwavable slippers, an electric pizza cooker, a silicon oven mitt, a twenty-piece knife set, a turkey fryer, or any of the other chintzy crap you seem to think would be a welcome sight come Christmas morning.

Although I might get my cousin a Chia Pet. I’m kind of pissed at him.

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Before you go around wishing anyone a “Happy Holidays” this year, think twice. Turns out if you do, you’ll owe the Mars company some money. Seems they registered the term for their red-and-green M&Ms mix:

See? Happy Holidays is now a registered trademark. If you say it, you have to pay them a nickel. “Happy Kwanzaa” is still fair game, though.

(Yeah, I know the image is blurry. You try scanning a foil bag.)

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There’s something I’ve come to realize as the holiday season swells to its conclusion: I utterly loathe Frosty the Snowman. This wasn’t something I was fully aware of until I started seeing it advertised on CBS recently and decided, yes, I completely and fully hate everything about Frosty. And I’m referring to both the song, which thanks to our fantastic school system, I will have memorized and stored in my brain until the day I die, and that spawned-from-Hell cartoon they assault us with every December. I absolutely despise that cartoon, with the subpar animation, the 1930s-style Snidley Whiplash villain, the insipid children, Frosty’s asthmatic voice, his repeated shrieking of “Happy Birthday,” the twangy sound effects, the little pantomime rabbit, Frosty’s miraculous resurrection, the bad guy’s complete personality transformation at the end when threatened with no presents by Santa (great lesson for the kiddies), all of it. Seriously, sit down and watch—really watch—it sometime, looking past the nostalgia and tradition. I think you’ll see what a nightmarish horror it really is.

Still, bad as it all is, it’s still better than Little Drummer Boy. “Rum-pum-pum-pum:” the hell kind of lyric is that?

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As I think I’ve mentioned, I moved to Colorado a while back and, for the most part, it’s been a nice change. The scenery’s nice, the weather’s been mostly excellent, and, aside from an overabundance of SUVs, I’ve had few complaints.

However, here in Colorado, roughly every third person is an avid skier, and they have those metal racks on top of their cars so they can drive their ridiculously expensive pieces of wood or fiberglass or whatever up the mountain where they can use them to try and hurt themselves. Fine as far as it goes, but if they’re behind you a ways in traffic, those racks can look an awful lot like police lights. So you’re tooling along in traffic, glance up in the rearview, “Whoa! Slow down! Cop, cop… nope, skier.” I think this explains a lot about the oddball Colorado traffic patterns.

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You know what I’ve never seen? A midget as a contestant on The Price is Right. I don’t know, guess they figure they’d have a hard time spinning the wheel or something.

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Sunday afternoon was gorgeous here in Colorado. Temperature was somewhere in the 60s, light breeze, sunshine. I sat by the open window and watched people walk and jog by in T-shirts and shorts. I sipped a cool drink and thought that this was a wonderful way to spend the winter.

Monday evening was miserable here in Colorado. Temperature was in the single digits, whipping winds, and over six inches of snow dumped on us. I crept slowly home from work, the speedometer never topping thirty, skidding and sliding to a stop at every intersection. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and thought this was an awful way to spend the winter.

Colorado weather: Designed to keep you on your toes.

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For a guy who doesn’t fully wake up for at least twenty minutes after getting out of bed, and who is effectively blind without his glasses, storing the Cool Mint Listerine right next to the Windex under the bathroom sink is not the best of moves.

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You know that warning they put on plastic bags? The one that reads “This is not a toy. Suffocation hazard. Keep bag away from children”? Every time I see that, I have a mental image of a small baby, his pudgy little feet planted firmly on an adult’s shoulders, one foot on each side of the neck, his chubby little fists wrapped tightly around the ends of the plastic bag that he is holding firmly over said adult’s head, his legs locked, pulling with all his baby might as he suffocates the living hell out of his victim. “Keep bag away from children,” indeed.

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