I always find, this time of year, that part of me looks forward to Christmas and part of me loathes the holiday season with a passion. I hate many things about Christmas; the mad shopping rush that drives every shred of sanity out of otherwise rational human beings; the incessant “classic” Christmas music that accompanies every commercial, plays in every store and buries itself deep inside your subconscious until you’re singing or humming the words and melody you’ve known by heart since you were 5; the sappy feel-good commercials promoting products that having nothing more to do with Christmas than trying to make money by dressing the products and actors up with red and green and white (who promotes toothpaste and spaghetti with Santa?); jingle bells—not the song, the bell sound used by every commercial, TV show or song meant to indicate Santa’s sleigh and herald Christmas. By the end of the first week after Thanksgiving, my ears and head are ringing with the sound of bells and repetitive Christmas music.

The part of me that actually looks forward to Christmas does so for reasons that usually manage to overcome my loathing of the season. Searching out classic Christmas specials that bring back fond memories of my childhood and showing them to my younger sisters for the first time because they’re too young to have grown up with them the same way that I did. The unusual holiday music that my family listens to, especially one of my favorite songs: Gothic Christmas by Within Temptation. Who can beat the verse:

“And Rudolph’s going to change his name, ‘cause Rudolph just sounds pretty lame
So now we’ll call him Ragnagord, the evil reindeer overlord
His nose it shall be red no more, it will be blackened to the core
His eyes will glow an evil glow, to guide the chariot through the snow”

Beats the hell out of your average Christmas carols.

Lastly, I look forward to how my family spends Christmas Day. Every year is the same routine, and that’s what makes it great. Inevitably, it begins with a terrible night’s sleep, as I guard the spread of presents beneath the tree from overzealous cats who think that wrapping paper and bows are just the coolest things ever. Come morning (finally) I put on coffee and the house wakes in this order: my mom, roused by the smell of coffee; my younger siblings, awake for hours but creeping down now that they hear movement; and finally my dad, after about an hour of my mom insisting he get up so that the family can sit down and open presents.

Wrapping paper flies everywhere, much the way you would expect with two young girls, while I set up our Christmas music playlist of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Jethro Tull, the Dubliners and everyone’s favorite song: The St. Stephen’s Day Murders (it’s a great song). The morning is spent watching Christmas specials, eating candy canes and extracting things from the deathtraps that stores call packages. Around noon, my dad extracts himself from the living room and begins crafting a gorgeous Christmas dinner.

I spend more time concentrating on helping my parents shop for my younger siblings than I do bothering to think about what I want, and my list often ends up very short. Last year I got everything I wanted: a tri-wing screwdriver, a ribbon cable for my DS, a copy of Chrono Cross and a cheap mp3 player.

This year, I’ve put a little more thought into what I want. The list I’ve come up with, on reflection, consists almost completely of older games. Given the choice, I would rather have a PSX or PS2 and a choice of five games for them than a PS3 and a choice of as many games as I want for it.