Happy Holidays

Yo, yo, yo! Happy holidays from the Somers Imperium, where Xmas is generally known by its pagan name, Whiskey Festivus (apologies to all those whose holidays don’t coincide with December 25th, or who don’t have holidays at all–you can pretty much remove the cynical child from the Catholic Church, but even the coldest of atheist ex-Catholics holds onto Xmas with a death grip, because of presents. I’m not much of a Catholic, my friends, but I am a definite believer in Santa Fucking Claus, get me?). I think of December as a month wherein I can start drinking the Holy Water of the Gods the moment I get up, and a healthful vomit around 3pm isn’t a scandal. I mean, if you’re drunk at 11AM on, say, August 22nd, people start to talk about you in private. On December 23rd, you’re just in a festive mood. It’s great!

Writing is always hard during the holidays, though. Time is short, you have a dozen social obligations pulling you from the house, and there is the aforementioned problemed drinking. Plus, there’s travel. The Duchess’ family lives in Texas, so every Xmas morning there we are on a plane, where I sit and wonder if the other passengers will taunt me if I order a bourbon from the flight attendant.

I’m always optimistic, though. I load my laptop up with files I’m working on, bring fresh pens and notebooks, and imagine myself burning the midnight oil in the hotel, bloated from good home cooking and free liquor, blearily trying to plot out the third Avery Cates novel. The harsh reality is me sitting in bed watching infomercials, though I am certainly as bloated as one might imagine after a day spent eating fried chicken and drinking bourbon. There’s a lot of bourbon in this scenario. They don’t cotton to Scotch much in Texas. It’s bourbon and Rye, mostly, good solid American whiskies. Not that I’m complaining.

So, a happy Whiskey Festivus to you all! Have a splash of cheer in my name.