For all of you non-believers wondering what all of the fuss is about, Jesus Christ was a jolly, old man dressed in a red suit who liked to give out toys to kids every December and offer well-meaning but ultimately impractical advice, like "turn the other cheek." We like to celebrate his legacy by eating Reindeer-shaped sugar cookies and placing peppermint sticks on freshly-chopped coniferous trees. As with Rhonda Byrne's "The Secret," the "true meaning of Christmas" is elusive but very, very real. I usually re-discover it at about my 8th eggnog into Christmas Eve, yelling at Alastair Sim "for being a dick" in the 1951 black-and-white version of A Christmas Carol. Then I break down and cry. After that I usually shuffle off to bed, unless a late screening of Gremlins is on, of course.
So yeah. Happy Holidays, Edmontonians. I'm hoping for a Christmas miracle for Ales Hemsky's knee. Then again, this team kind of sucks so it doesn't matter.