The theme of Christmas this year seems to be "overbuying". And like overeating, over drinking, and the over everything else we do, the fault surely doesn't lie in ourselves, but in our stars! There's a play going on now called Reverend Billy and the Stop Shopping Choir, whose theme is "The corporations want us to have experiences only through their products." Sometimes I feel like the obvious solutions, don't buy more than you plan, celebrate traditions other than gift exchange, etc. are so obvious that I must be missing something. But applying the lessons of some other long-standing crises I've seen in my life leads me to a couple of conclusions. We, and I mean Americans, now seem to need to undercut anything that seems to bring us too much joy, with constant reminders of negative consequences. When was the last time you enjoyed nice weather without hearing all day about how it presages the end of life as we know it? Secondly, like "negative campaigning", people worry a lot that other people are too influenced by advertising, but don't worry that they are. So we worry more that other people are overspending, that corporations are exerting some kind of unfair power over other, weaker-minded people, and that bottom line, we are all once again victims. (Do all of you who have temporary work at Christmas time agree that Americans overspend?) So let's just buy what we think appropriate, quit worrying about what everyone else is doing and enjoy our family and friends. Er, not that I'll be doing that, because all my friends are out of town and I decided not to go visiting family this year. But that's my advice to any of you who are worrying about the new epidemic of overbuying. And as you know, one of my many mottoes is I'll take the problems of wealth over the problems of poverty any day.

My career as a seat-filler is going great. I've seen three shows, only one of which I thought was praiseworthy, and have recouped my membership fee and am now $6 to the good, versus having paid even my usual discounted prices for these shows. Last night was Die, Mommie, Die, a satire of a kind of forties big-shoulder noir murder mystery. Starring a drag queen. The other, The Rise of Dorothy Hale, pretty much accuses Harry Hopkins, the New Deal guy, of murder. One of several reasons I disliked that play was that the doorman kept walking in every five minutes for no purpose other than to redirect dialog or contribute a tidbit of information. But it happened so often, I got distracted thinking what's this doorman hanging out in this apartment all day for? Who's minding the lobby? If he'd been up here this often, maybe Dorothy wouldn't have been able to jump out the window. Now, I might have felt differently if the doorman had been played by Matthew Cowles, instead of his understudy. YES, Matthew Cowles, better known to AMC viewers back in the day as Pine Valley's vilest pimp, Billy Clyde Tuggle.

I have a new favorite food--giardiniera. It's hot pickled cauliflower, celery, carrots, and red peppers, and it's on the pickle aisle. Chop it up in a salad with bleu cheese dressing and it's spicy and rich and quick and easy.

As I was giving platelets last week, Methodist Hospital's blood workers gathered around me for their Christmas party (though I'm sure they didn't call it that!). They were all people I've never met, but as Kellie, my primary phlebotomist, introduced me, it was clear they all knew my name. One guy even said, "This must be your thirteenth double, right?" When I got home, I added it up, and net of the single use pack of tubing and filters and stuff, but not counting labor or the capital investment in the platelet extraction machine, my donations since September have saved the hospital approximately $19,500. You have to be satisfied to toil in anonymity when you give this way, though, my name isn't going on any benches anywhere. You also have to get satisfaction from helping the people you never meet, the leukemia patients and drunk drivers. "And the botched suicides," Kellie added when I said this to her. I had a lovely dinner with my sister last Monday and she reminded me that not every place has the little Trima machine. But PSAing for a moment here, if your area has a Trima donation machine, it means you only have one arm immobilized (as Laurie said, it sucks to have to ask someone to scratch your nose when you have two arms hooked up), and I give two units in about an hour. I'm exceptional, of course, but I'm sure you'd do okay.