I've been to Philadelphia

Holidays are all about candy, for me. Sometimes it's about candy that you can only get at that time of the year. For examply: Christmas Nougat. Those soft white candies by Brachs with green stripes along the outside, and a green and brown xmas tree inlay. I love those. Though oddly, one of my most distinct taste memories involves eating one of those right after I'd brushed my teeth, as a child. Horrible taste. But, through rote exercise and constant conditioning, I have overcome that memory and triumphed.

Examply number two: Mellowcreme pumpkins. I loves mellowcreme pumpkins. Though one almost killed me once. Quite nearly choked on one, and my wife (then girlfriend) did the heimlich thing and then I didn't die. It was awesome, and the first of the two times she's had to keep me from killing myself with food. So now I don't talk when I eat, which is a mighty strain.

For other holidays, it is simply the candy that I eat around that holiday. Jellybeans at Easter, for examply. You can get jellybeans all the live long year, but I only eat them at Easter. I think that's how the baby Jesus would want it.

Another thing about holidays: I don't care for them. There are expectations. My parents are eternally trying to get us to visit them at xmas, or for the July 4th thing, or whatever. I won't do it. I don't travel on or near holidays, because every other spawning trout is slouching his or her way home. I'm just not a family person. Don't care. I was dragged to every family event, every reunion, shuttled from house to house and handshake to handshake. Holidays became a time when I was uncomfortable, either on a plane or in some strange bed or in a rented car in traffic in an unfamiliar city. And the only thing I wanted to do on these family excursions is find someplace quiet where no one would bother me so I could read my damn book. Inevitably I'd be tucked into some corner of some strange family room, with my book, and Aunt Whoever would limp in and start interrogating me about me. And I don't want to know about you, and I don't really care if you know about me, so why are we talking old lady? I'm reading. Go away. Go talk to the dog or a stack of magazines, or watch TV.

This has probably made me into a bad, unempathetic person, but really I don't care. Really, I just want to read my book. But that's probably too much to expect, isn't it?