It's an omen.

On the way home from Biku's boxing Day family gathering (crab legs and cute t-shirts and marriage announcements and angry Asian babies, oh my!) I stopped off at the grocery store to buy some onions, and who did I see behind me in line but Elvis Priestly.

That's right, Dorian Baxter, Newmarket's own little freakshow. Om case you don't know, he's the ordained minister who wears a dog collar and enourmous sideburns, and sings reditions of Elvis Presley classics at his church services.

Now, I'm not a superstitious person, nor am I one who often thinks there is great personal significance in small events like this, but it was kind of creepy. You see, I'm going to the National Student Leadership Convention run by IVCF (aka Jesus Camp) tomorrow, and I'd just left Biku's house, where her family all assured me I'd go crazy within a few days. Then I see just the kind of fundamentalist, right-leaning (Baxter ran for the 'Family Conservative Alliance', or something like that, during the provincial election) crazy Christian I hope not to encounter over the next five days.

But maybe I'm making too much of this. Maybe Dorian Baxter is a wonderful man, once you get to know him, who provides a good way for those who like Rock Music to combine their faith with the world around them. Perhaps when I go to NSLC, I'll meet lots of young people just like me, who are struggling against George W's Christianity and trying to learn how to truly 'love thy neighbour' in this post-modern world.

To be fair though, I know I'll meet at least some nutbars. But I guess this conference, for me, is a testing ground. Is the ratio of nutbars too high? Can I stand to be around Christians for a significant amount of time? Do I have something unique and useful to say to the Christian community, or would I just be preaching to the converted? (or, what's worse, having my message fall on deaf ears)

I don't know. I don't know whether I'll come back on January 1 enlightened or annoyed, hopeful or despairing.

But I do know one thing -- if Elvis Priestly is a sign of things to come, then save me Jesus, save me now!

See? That's what it's all about.

This will only confirm the nasty rumour out there that I'm just a big soft emotional pushover, but I had to share these two little tidbits with someone, and publishing my feelings so the whole internet-world can see is as good a way as any, I suppose.

As for my last post, I freely now admit that yes, our family really is the mushy warm fuzzy togetherness family. Sure, it's not tv -- I have too many zits and Geoff's hair is too un-grooomed for us to be a tv family -- but we really do function pretty well.

First of all, Mum decided she wanted to watch one of her Christmas movies, and so selected "White Christmas" -- a fanciful little post-war number with lots of song and dance and impossibly thin-waisted women and suave men who are just sexist enough to be cute. Also, there's a whole 'buddy-buddy we love the army' thing going on which makes the movie sound (at times) like a paid commercial for the US Forces. But seriously, it's a cute little bit of fluff, and mum loves it. I'd never seen it all the way through before -- I'd only seen one bit on a train with two men and two women chiming in (perfectly in key, of course) to croon about snow.

I had been planning on going upstairs to watch 'The Bourne Supremacy' on the computer, but I decided to watch the movie. I'd never seen the whole thing, and besides, I was warm and the cat was on my lap.

But when we came back upstairs after the movie, Mum was so happy -- she proudly told Dad "Lydia watched the whole movie with me -- and she even giggled at bits!" I wouldn't have ever guessed it, but I think I really cheered her up. At the beginning of the movie she was complaining that she hadn't really had a Christmas yet -- that she liked buying presents and wrapping things and decorating and writing cards, and here it was, Christmas eve eve, and she was just wrapping her first presents.

So maybe by watching that movie with her, she really started to feel like it was Christmas -- she was wrapping, I was watching, she could start to feel like her old self again, like before she got sick. Or maybe she just wanted some company. All I know is what started out as me being lazy and not wanting to move ended up being the best thing I could have done for my mum right then and there. I helped her feel better -- and I didn't even know I was.

And secondly, I'm a sneaky person. I waited until Mum had gone to bed and Geoff had gone out and Dad was downstairs watching tv, and I took a peek at one of the presents under the Christmas tree. But here's the weird part -- it wasn't a present for me. Y'see, I'm pretty good at fingering packages and figuring out the general class of things in them: clothes, books, wine, gadgets, etc. But this present, given to Geoff from Mum and Dad, was just a tiny bag that weighed absolutely nothing. So I knew it had to be a check of some kind. But what for? Geoff was pretty poor, I knew that, but I didn't think that Mum and Dad would be so crass as to just give him money. He'd already paid his tuition, and given post-dated cheques to his landlord...So what was in there?

I pulled out the tissue paper, and found, not a cheque, but a folded up note. I opened it, and it said: "Rogers Cable, with Fox Sports World. Enjoy your soccer. Love, Mum and Dad".

I nearly cried. Geoff loves English Football. He knows the ages and stats of almost every player in the league, he has the Arsenal website bookmarked, and his fondest memory from a recent trip to London is hearing all the fans on the Underground singing soccer songs as they rode home from a Saturday afternoon game. But, as I mentioned, he's on a tight budget. So no cable, and certainly no specialty sports channels, for him.

That is, until after Christmas. He's going to be so happy, and I can't wait to see him open that present. That's what gift-giving should be all about. Yes, it cost a bit of money, but that's not what's important. It'll make him happy, make him smile, give him something he couldn't have gotten for himself.

And it makes me happy too.

Sorry for how sickeningly sweet this post has been, but I guess that's just the way I am sometimes. I promise to write more a week or two down the road (Oh, say, after I've been to a certain conference) and be much more bittern and acerbically witty.

Really.

It's Christmas! Run in fear, or leap for joy?

I'll write a quick note while my dad is enjoying his 'noontime repast'. Honestly, sometimes he's even too poncy for me, and he raised me to be poncy.

As with almost everything else, I'm stuck in the middle at Christmas. I don't have a terrible, stressful, frustrating time of it like Biku, and I don't seem to have warm fuzzy togetherness family time like... well, like some imaginary family I haven't met yet. Instead I have Daddy getting frustrated by how messy the tree is, Mum feeling like she's failed the family because she can't do all the things she normally does, and Geoff slouching about the house playing computer games and going out with friends at night. I also get mad at all the undue stress caused by presents and the commercialization of the season, but that's another thought for another day.

However, I also have nice moments -- cooking with the brother, verbally sparring with Dad over whether or not he should retire and become a pot courier from BC to Ontario (he actually suggested this over our posh restaurant dinner last night! I was shocked and Geoff nearly choked on his chocolate cake), and hugging Mum as much as she and I like.

As things go, I guess I have a pretty good holiday season. Maybe some people see my family as the perfect warm fuzzy togetherness family. Who knows.

Harder than it Sounds.

Being an a-type person who usually pays attention in class, I'm actually finding it kind of hard to not listen to Gord. Gord, in case you're wondering, is Biku's professor for her stoopid flash class. This is her last class, and there were supposed to be presentations; of course, seeing as how no one but her is done, Gord is instead rambling on about 'scenes' and '.swf's' and 'stages' and other things that I don't know about.

I have no idea what he's talking about, but Gord seems interested in it (and he's kind of cute, which Biku didn't mention), so I keep finding myself looking up and trying to listen to him. Which doesn't make much sense, since even Biku is playing Jigsaw on Shockwave.

Also, Biku informs me that Gord draws comic books for a living, so I'm kind of smitten.

Speaking of comic books, if you ever get a chance to read 'Persepolis' (or its highly originally-title sequel, 'Persepolis 2') by Marjane Satrapi, you should definately do so. It's a comic book autobiography by an Iranain woman who was born during the fundamentalist revolution. Fascinating.