As soon as I hit “publish” on this post, I’m going to take the family to my folks’ house for a nice Christmas Eve dinner. Then I’m going to come back, do my very best to settle Mookie and Tyrus Raymond down and get them to bed under threat of Santa skipping our house. Then I’m going to pour a nice brown beverage into a low glass and marvel at how Donna Reed didn’t just up and leave that moody, dissatisfied workaholic Jimmy Stewart and take the family out of Bedford Falls for good (call me Donna!). We’re not much for traditions in the Calcaterra household, but those we do have are dear to us.
Remember George, no man is a failure who has friends. The fact that we only interact in this virtual space doesn’t mean we’re not friends. I think of that way anyway. We talk baseball. We tell jokes. We act like we’re better than people not in our little group. If that’s not friendship I don’t know what is. The point is, I was blogging about baseball before someone paid me to do it and — don’t tell Mr. Ebersol this — I’d still be doing it even if there wasn’t a paycheck in it. A big reason for that is all of you people, and I thank you for coming by our little shop every day.
Merry Christmas, movie house. Merry Christmas, Emporium. Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building and Loan.