Ode to the Christmas Letter

Dear friend: A bunch of us met via conference call last month to plan an intervention. I volunteered to make our case to you, so here goes: By all means, write a Christmas letter. But, please, for the love of God, when you get to the part where you always have your cat "write" a couple of paragraphs, stop, just stop. Close the document, walk away from the computer. Do not do this.

Nobody thinks this is cute. We all agreed: When your letter arrives, we all open it with a mixture of apprehension, concern for your sanity and snarky, mean-spirited anticipation. "Oh, Lord, do you think the cat's gonna write again? Sure enough, here we go: 'My owner says I'm vewwy, vewwy spoiled, but I think I'm just purr-fect ...'" Yes, you use that stupid pun every year. We are not proud of our nasty laughs at your expense; hence, the intervention. Just make it stop, OK?

Ah, the Christmas letter -- as old as Christendom itself. In fact, Joseph was the first to write one. Oh, how he went on and on and on about his foster son. "He walks on water ... heals the sick, cures the lame ... turns water into wine ... oh, the miracles my boy creates. He's the Savior of the world, did I mention that? As for me, the carpentry work has slowed a bit, but, on the positive side, I am a Saint now. So I got that going for me, which is nice."

On top of all that, Joseph called his missives Immaculate Communications. Oy.

Like Joseph’s, many Christmas letters are exercises in self-absorbed, bombastic braggadocio that seem meant to make those on the receiving end feel inadequate and incomplete. Others make clumsy runs at cute and clever, like having a pet or baby "contribute." Another favorite technique is to butcher "The Night Before Christmas," "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus," or some other classic as a vehicle for the letter. (In the interest of full disclosure, I have done this myself, but I didn't respect myself in the morning. If you insist on this approach, be original. Adopt, say Cormac McCarthy's "The Road" or Joyce's "Ulysses." This will delight some, baffle most and, in either case, thoroughly establish your intellectual superiority to your readers.)

Some letters commit multiple offenses against the English language. Then there are those gems that do all of the above.

No wonder the Christmas letter tradition has gotten a bad rap over the years, and many sophisticates and would-be sophisticates sneer at them.

Not me, though. The Christmas letter is about the only regular personal written communication left that consists of more than the paltry few characters that Twitter and Facebook permit. So, it is a tradition to be embraced, not scorned. And yes, I approach some of them, as I would a car wreck by the side of the road, with an unhealthy anticipation of just how awful they're going to be, but that's part of the fun. So, keep ‘em coming, even if you must let your cat write.

I just finished our letter myself. Like most everything I write, I despise doing it but am thrilled when it's done. Truth be told, I wouldn't write one at all, were it not for my wife withholding Christmas goodies from me until it's completed -- she locks me up with nothing but carrots and celery to eat until I slide copy under the door. It’s the same way an old newspaper editor got work out of me – although with the promise of last call, rather than Christmas treats, as motivation.

You’ll be happy to read in our letter that we Mosers had a great year, much better than yours, I’m sure. In fact, this might be our last traditional Christmas letter. As I tried to capture 2010, it occurred to me that this tired old format is woefully insufficient to capture the sheer awesomeness of a year in the life of my family.

So, next year I anticipate sending a web link to my friends and relatives. At that site, you'll find a multimedia extravaganza: a series of PowerPoints outlining each family member’s accomplishments for the year and resolutions, sure to be kept, for the next; testimonial letters; a half-dozen videos, several of which I expect to be so incredibly heartwarming and spectacular that they’ll go viral ala Susan Boyle; and supporting documents including a financial report, recipes, TSA body scans, white papers, report cards, scholarship awards and employee evaluations.

But that’s next year. For now, I need to wrap the letter up and get it to my cat for editing.

Yeah, that's right: Our cat's my editor. A damn good one, too; in fact, he contributes most of my best lines – though also the occasional gratuitous swipe at dogs, which I'm trying to break him of. He’ll also translate it into Spanish and, by next year, I expect he'll be trained to do the sign language interpretation for our online missive. (He's also really itching to do that "Ulysses" treatment, by the way.)

Which makes our cat way smarter than that idiotic feline of yours for whom you have to ghost-write – and, come to think of it, way smarter than your kids, too, I’ll bet.

Not that I'm bragging.

Well, Merry Christmas, all. I hope you still can enjoy it, even knowing how inferior your family is to ours. I’ll pray for such acceptance -- lucky for you, my prayers are always answered “yes.”

As are the cat’s. (Editor’s note: I added that. Also: Cats rule, dogs drool.)