Christmas Time. Is Here.

I am in Florida. For Christmas. And it is lovely and warm. Unfortunately, I fly back to New York tomorrow, where I will be met with fifteen inches of snow. If my flight doesn't get cancelled, that is. And it will be so very, very cold. And speaking of. A few days before I left to come to my parents' house, Allie and I were walking home from the train, entering the apartment complex. It was way too cold for people and animals without blubber or extra fur, and it was suuuper windy. Naturally, Allie and I were walking as quickly as our legs would allow us. Just as we turned into the complex, Allie mentioned that she'd probably start wearing her scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face, as Audrey had sometimes taken to doing.

"But I'll never wear one of those ski mask things," she vowed.

I nodded vehemently. "I know what you're talking about. Those things that only let your eyes show? Yeah. Makes you look like you're about to mug someone."

(We're now passing the complex's courtyard, which is guarded by a security guard.)

"Yes!" Allie agreed. "Those things should just be called 'robber masks.' I mean, that's what they look like. They're for robbers!"

(We are now within two feet of the security guard, as that last bit there is being spoken. We begin to veer left, as we simultaneously turn our faces to the security guard to bid him a goodnight.)

(We notice that he is, in fact, wearing a ski mask. There is a palpable moment of acknowledgment on both sides. He knows what we've just said; we know that he knows what we just said; and he knows we know that he knows. Though this moment lasts maybe a fourth of a second in real time, it seems to stretch out for far, far longer in our minds.)

"Goodnight," the security guard intones.

Cue horrible embarrassment and uncontrollable laughter, respectively. Tactful we, apparently, are not.

But things are nice here. Nice and warm. And lots o' good Christmas loot.

Including a Glee karaoke game for the Wii that Lauren and her husband, Matthew, gave Kristen and me. Which we, of course, opened immediately following church and proceeded to experiment with. (Maybe now would be a good moment for me to say that I am not a good singer. I am not even a middling singer. In fact, it would perhaps be most accurate for me to say that I am a bad singer. Terrible. Awful. I know what tune is supposed to come out of my mouth, but I have no control over making it come out anywhere close to that. And yet, I feel that Broadway is calling my name. Screaming it, if you will. Lauren told me once that Charlotte Church went to bed one day and woke up with a miraculous voice the following morning, and I have always hoped that the same will one day happen to me. I try not to wonder if that story is actually founded in fact or just something Lauren told me in a moment of great pity. Anyway.) So when Kristen sang the karaoke songs on the program, words would pop up on the television screen at the end of every phrase, often with exclamation points behind them: "WOW," "GREAT," "GOOD!" If she sang a section of the song particularly well, you'd even hear the harmony of glee kid voices singing "Glee!" in an exclamatory burst of emotion. Naturally, I thought I might be able to garner some of the same admiration, considering I first chose a song I was well-acquainted with: "And I Am Telling You," from the musical Dreamgirls.

Instead, I was greeted by a sound and the animation of breaking glass. Every time I finished a phrase. To add insult to injury, the glee cast members also...booed me. Repeatedly. Therefore, I shall never play this silly game again.