Don't Move or I'll Shoot... you with my plastic blow gun

Started Christmas at about 7:00 a.m. with my early-bird son. Caught the last 20 minutes of "Elf," then watched a marginal musical military trio attempt some Christmas classics (one of the downsides of having the Armed Forces Network as your only television access). Poured myself a bowl of Fruit and Fibre. Shared with Halen. Small-talked for awhile.

Me: So... merry Christmas.
Halen: Wan sum... see-wal [I want some cereal].
Me: It's good for you and therefore doesn't taste very good.
Halen: Wan sum.
Me: Whatever. It's your life.
Halen: Tanks [Thanks].
Me: Want to watch Sportscenter?
Halen: Otay.
Me: You're a great kid.

Spent the rest of the morning delivering food baskets to needy families. Wore a Santa Clause hat. After fielding hundreds of double-takes and stares from passerby, realized people with Santa Clause hats really stand out in Muslim countries. Opted to keep a low profile; removed said Santa hat.

Returned home to help Shannon prepare for a 1:00 p.m. feast for a dozen invitees. Nobody showed up. Ate as much as humanly possible in an attempt to make my deflated wife feel like her food was appreciated.

Caught the last hour of "The Santa Clause 2." Hypothesized that I've now completed "The Circle of Tim Allen Humor": up until about age 15 you think he's funny. By age 16 you realize he's not. He's anathema through the rest of your teens and twenties because you're trying to develop an adult sense of humor (so all your jokes and friendships revolve around human anatomy -- that is, after all, adult humor) and Tim Allen represents the puny and pithy childhood humor you're trying to pretend you've outgrown. You instead chortle at "Married: With Children" reruns, reveling in your maturity. Then, when you're pushing 30, you suddenly comprehend that people like Al Bundy are living off your tax dollars, drinking beer purchased with food stamps, reading People magazine, and scratching themselves. You glance at your innocent kids watching TV beside you, and you're glad they're watching Tim Allen wear plaid and not Christina Applegate wear fishnets. The circle is complete.

Grubbed pumpkin pie and conceptualized a blog post using mostly only verbs, direct objects, and predicates. Implemented plan, smug in the novelty of it all. Decided as an afterthought to post an unrelated but moving photo of Halen gravely threatening passerby with his toy blow dryer.