I'm going to first of all realize that I don't have to believe in order to get swept up in the better spirit. I can go shopping instead, and not worry about the bills. I'm not kidding. It doesn't have to be shopping: pick your own outlet: lounge by the fire with a good book; be kind to family members that you loathe; ignore them when they loathe you back anyway; turn off the television news for a few days — when a week later you dial back to CNN, the world will either be there or it won't, and there's not much you can do about it in the interim; buy your kids the very thing they weren't getting this year because it was too expensive or frivolous, just too much or what have you — get it, leave it out Christmas Eve and watch them faint dead away when they wake the following morning.

For those of you in the social-worker Santa's helpers bunch, you're probably fairly set with your plans to dish out turkey and stuffing of questionable quality to the homeless and otherwise impoverished. Or you've collected toys for those children who would go without if it weren't for your efforts. But also realize that not every child is going to get a toy, not every homeless will be fed and sheltered, not every schizophrenic will get his meds and a bed for a week or two. You'll have done what you can, and what you can includes doing something at least near indulgent for yourself. You'll only be good for the downtrodden masses as long as you last; don't crack up over those who have already quite cracked up enough for everyone.

To be succinct about it: the hell with you all, I'm going to have a good time this year. And I hope the lot of you will, too, even though that may mean looking after yourselves a bit more than you believe jibes with Christmastime magnanimity. Just don't jump off the bridge unless you're really sure about how it is angels get their wings.