This is an old Christmas poem I wrote at least fifteen years ago, in that time when we still put up a live tree, when we still fought the lights and the dried out needles afterward, when we put off sending out cards until it was past the holidays. But it's cute, so here it is again, even though this time it's two weeks ahead of time.
I'd planned on going to a movie today, but the rats had opened all the good ones in exclusive showings way across the Valley. It seems that all the movies reviewed as four or five stars go there first. For example, Up in the Air received raves for Clooney and the movie. Where is it playing? Even farther away than the other exclusive Harkins, this one another twenty minutes down the road. The only thing new nearby was Invictus with Matt Damon and Morgan Freeman, but that got only so-so reviews. Thus, I decided to spend the day reading and fiddling around on the computer, something I seem to spend hours and hours doing. What the hell, it beats wandering the streets.
Oh, yes, and a quick medical note: the six day packet of prednisolone worked like magic; after only four days I can raise both arms without screaming or even moaning a little. I may even take up golf again.