Filed in the "Better Never Than Late" category, my aunt who said she wasn't giving Christmas presents this year just gave me a pair of bedroom slippers. I suppose technically, this was a re-gift, because she had bought the slippers for her husband who couldn't wear them. (His feet are too wide.) Since she bought them on "Christmas Clearance" for $4.75, she thought I might get more use out of them than the trash can. That remains to be seen.

See, these aren't just any slippers, but Conairâ„¢ Massaging Slippers. That title is a little misleading. They don't massage so much as they vibrate. Anyone who confuses a vibration with a massage has clearly not had a real massage. It makes you wonder what those people call "turbulence."

Each of these slippers requires a single AAA battery to begin their "massage" function. The battery compartment is inside the sole of the slipper, which has the unfortunate effect of making wearing the slippers feel like you are balancing on a narrow remote control. Despite what the packaging says, "comfortable" and "relaxing" are not words I would use to describe the experience.

Conairâ„¢, the same company that made my hairdryer, seems to have several misunderstandings about what house slippers should be. You know something isn't quite right when slippers come with a 6-page instruction booklet. Included in the "Important Safety Instructions" for this delightful pair of shoes:

• This product should not be used by, on, or near children. (No standing on children, check.)
• Never drop or insert any object into this product, except feet. (What do I do with the battery, then?)
• Should pain or discomfort result, discontinue use and consult your doctor. (Call my doctor for pain? What a novel idea!)
• Do not use while bathing or in a shower. (You really don't know what slippers are for, do you Conairâ„¢?)

The "don't ever get them wet" warning appears in one variant or another 6 times in the Warnings and Cautions. I guess wearing these things fresh out of the shower is a no-no then, too. I'm beginning to think that the "faux suede" is made of the pelt of mogwai from Gremlins.

Will I wear these slippers? I don't know. They aren't very comfortable, and I suspect that the instruction booklet would frown on any attempt to wear them with socks or while drowsy, like, you know, shortly before bedtime. Other than that, they are a great gift. Thanks, Kelley!

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For the first time in 38 years, I opened no gifts on Christmas Day. Mom and I celebrated on Christmas Eve so that I would have plenty of time to get Dad to the hospital by 6 AM this morning for his scheduled angiogram. He'll likely be in the hospital until tomorrow, which is also his birthday. That's my birthday present to him; I figure a trip home from a hospital stay is probably as good a gift as any.

Not that our Christmas Eve celebration was exactly a big deal. Mom and I had a brief gift exchange and some homemade hamburgers (we forgot to make the french fries we had in the freezer) before working on a jigsaw puzzle. Other than the case of 20-oz Cokes given to me by my new bff Randy, everything I got for the holiday fits in a single, moderately-sized cardboard box. And not a single video game! A quiet evening with mom and no video games? I must be getting old.

I should probably point out that fewer people gave me gifts than ever before. I used to get presents from my aunt, but earlier this month she declared that she is in financial straits this season and wouldn't be exchanging gifts with anyone. I was worried about her until she showed up at our house with the brand new Kindle Fire she bought herself. The worst part was that she only came over because she wanted me to teach her how to use the Kindle. Add that to the time I spent installing Dad's new Blu-Ray player last weekend, and it's been a very Tech Support Christmas.

Still no word from my brother. Presents are wrapped and waiting for him and his new bride, should they ever decide to communicate with us again. Trey's defection from the family certainly remains a bummer, but on the upside, a small holiday gathering of just Mom and me prevented a recurrence of our dysfunctional family's most cherished tradition: our annual shouting matches. I have to say, it was a kind of a nice change of pace.

For the record, this post isn't meant to describe how shitty my Christmas was. In fact, I quite enjoyed myself. It was certainly among the best holidays I've had in the many years since Santa Claus stopped visiting. I only list these things and point out that they combine to something of a high-water mark in my experience so that you, my dear reader, can establish a metric by which to compare your own Christmases to mine. It is my dream that one day we can all have better Christmases through Science. It's what Jesus would have wanted.

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At least two houses on my street put up their Christmas decorations last weekend, a full six weeks before Christmas. What's the damn hurry to get to Christmas?

I talked about this with the dental technician at my appointment for fillings yesterday. (Yes, another appointment for fillings. In fact, part of yesterday's appointment was to fix some old fillings that were showing stains. Now even my fillings need fillings!)

The technician said she shared my opinion, and that in her opinion time passed fast enough without our hurrying it. She then proceeded to to explain that she also hated artificial Christmas trees with "built-in" lights and visiting family that overstays its welcome. It was quite a lively conversation, if a bit one-sided.

At least some other people are perturbed that Christmas seems to be coming earlier each year, I thought to myself. But no sooner had the dentist injected the lidocaine into my jaw before I overheard the following conversation in the hallway outside:

Hygenist: "Do you think that Pike Nurseries on LaVista road is a nice place?"
Voice 2: "Yes. Why do you ask?"
Hygenist: "I think it's time for a Christmas tree."

So now I've decided that decorating for Christmas is a social disease, passed from one person to another, infecting everyone along the way. Obviously, as I'm strictly opposed to the concept of seasonal decoration, I must only be a carrier for the disease, spreading it without showing any symptoms myself.

I guess that means that if you are reading this post, you should probably take the preemptive measure of squirting some Purell into your eyes, just in case. Better safe than snowy, I always say.

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Christmas went well: everyone got along all day. We opened presents, we ate a great meal, we enjoyed some football. It is an unusual holiday for us when no one raises their voice: my family gatherings usually end like a Greek tragedy. Naturally, that couldn't last.

The season's good mood came unraveled yesterday evening, when Mom finally threw Dad out of her house after Trey and Dad got into a fight over Dad's open-mindedness concerning our religious beliefs and Dad damned me to burn in Hell for calling him "full of shit." At least now it feels more like Christmas.

Look out 2012, here we come.

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Has anyone else noticed that Best Buy hates Santa Claus? Their current seasonal ad campaign has customers taunting Santa with electronic gifts and throwing his effigy off a roof. What the fuck, Best Buy?

Why, during the gift-giving season in another year amid a seemingly eternally underperforming economy, why would you hate on Santa Claus? Santa Claus, the beloved Father Christmas figure of millions. Santa Claus, who brings toys to deserving children. Santa Claus, twinkle-eyed, merry-cheeked jolly old elf!

I'm not the biggest fan of Christmas. However, I'm also not about to throw Santa under the bus just try to sell more cell phones. Know when you're outclassed, Best Buy. Some executive will definitely be getting coal in his stocking.

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Reign of the Deer: The Great Deer Uprising continues to make in-roads amongst the hearts and minds of the populace here in Newnan. One house nearby appears to have established a totem to our inevitable deer overlords.

This deer nativity scene is complete with a glowing moon, which any cervidaepologist worth his salt knows must be some sort of religious symbol for deer. All evil creatures, like deer and vampires, worship the moon. It's a commonly known fact.

The lawn of the house across the street features an inflatable Snoopy wearing a Santa Claus outfit. If the oncoming Deer Uprising does nothing other than abolish such nonsense as that, I think we can all agree that it will have been worth it.

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Running errands, I passed the local Lowe's where they have filled their windows with inflatables and artificial Christmas trees made of brightly colored plastic and electric lights. It looks exactly like the scene in A Charlie Brown Christmas where Charlie Brown rejects the peer pressure for an artificial aluminum Christmas tree and buys a dismal Christmas sapling instead in symbolic rejection of the commercialization of Christmas. Charlie Brown probably doesn't shop at Lowe's.

Mere minutes later inside the Kroger supermarket, where I passed real cut Christmas trees on sale for $16.99 -- cheap enough that you can still afford to buy the green spray paint you will need if you are planning on using it as an actual Christmas decoration -- I saw this:

That's right, it's an artificial tree designed to look Like Charlie Brown's tree. This product misses the point so badly, it has to be trying. The mere existence of this product means that the terrorists are winning: it is the very definition of weaponized irony. Good grief.

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'Twas the night before Christmas, and I finished my book: Murder in Coweta County. (I personally like a little light reading before my holidays with the family.) Fortunately for me, it was replaced Christmas morn with a new Amazon Kindle.

The Kindle was purchased for me by my brother's girlfriend. My gift to her this Christmas was a box of Q-Tips. Not even a full box, mind you, but one of those half-sized "vanity" boxes. So I gave the gift of clean ears and received the gift of a very disgruntled glare. That's a pretty fair trade, if you ask me.

Last year I think I gave Leslie a bag of candy, and she gave me a video game. There must be some law of inverse exchanges between Leslie and me; the cheaper the gift that I give her, the greater the gift I get in return. Next year I'll try buying her penny candy to see if I can get a new car in the exchange.

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