Well this has been one sucky-ass Christmas Eve.

1. The Bulls fired Coach Scott Skiles today, even tho they should have fired GM John Paxon instead for putting together such a crummy team and over-paying an old Ben Wallace and drafting high a guy who can't shoot. Skiles was a disciplinary coach who was well-respected and it's not his fault the idiots aren't making their shots.

2. My favorite Jazz musician died, Oscar Peterson. I'm still pretty new to the Jazz world, but I found myself finding his stuff my favorite.

3. What was my Christmas present today? I got not only my credit card bill, but my car insurance bill as well! This is like my companies saying "we sure hope you didn't spend all your money on gifts for loved ones, because you need to pay us large sums of money, so you better screw them over and pay us! Baw-hahaha!" Well up yours, companies, 'cause I don't Christmas shop or give / receive gifts.

I will tell you a short story of how my parents helped killed Christmas for me. In 1990, I was doing my Christmas list as usual, and for some reason, my parents decided to teach me a lesson about Greed. My parents put this present under the tree two weeks before Christmas, and they kept pointing to it, saying how much "I'm absolutely going to love it, and how it'll be the greatest gift I have ever gotten", so being the idiot gullible un-suspecting 12-year old I was, I started getting excited. So fast-forward to Christmas morning, and I open up my presents; same usual crap: some books, a few T-shirts, a piece of sports equipment, and then finally.... "the present". I was handed it while sitting on the couch, and it was pretty heavy. I open it, parent with camera in hand, opened, *flash* and then laughter. What was it? It was a rock.. a big, oval shaped melon-sized beige rock with "Merry Christmas Mark 1990" painted on in yellow paint. Lacking in teenage hormones, I was unable to hurl the rock at my parents with extreme anger but sat there in utter shock. And from that moment on, I started caring less and less about Christmas. And also, Christmas doesn't really mean much to teenage guys, and by the time I reached adulthood, I was so sick of everything related and completely stopped celebrating. Family? Lunatics aren't family.

So tomorrow will just be like any other day in the day; just like my birthday; and just go about my business as usual. And I've said it before and I'll say it again: "Scrooge had the right idea and George Bailey should have jumped off that bridge". Bah humbug!