Season’s greetings from Fort Worth! Hopefully you’re curled up on the couch in comfy clothes with a warm mug. Maybe you’re checking in with Tom + Lorenzo’s Christmas Movie Dress Advent Calendar, my new favorite holiday tradition. Maybe you’re listening to Andy Cirzan’s Holiday Spectacular playlists, my old favorite holiday tradition. Maybe you’re catching up on new movies you missed, my evergreen holiday tradition. Maybe you’re recommitting to old rituals or breaking with convention entirely. Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing this week, thanks for reading. It’s good to be blogging again.

As an only child of divorce with dead parents, Christmas is hard for me. As a kid, I never really had two Christmases because I always had one foot in Texas and one foot in Florida. As a result, most of the canonical holiday films are pretty alienating viewing experiences for me—especially the ones with big families. Maybe you relate. But two years ago, Alexander Payne warmed my Scrooge-ass heart with The Holdovers, a melancholy tale about the fleeting but necessary connections between chosen family. Next year, I plan to start a recurring series for this blog about only children in popular culture. Maybe I’ll start with Angus Tully, a troubled only son who’s left behind at Barton Academy during December 1970. Dominic Sessa uses his gangly limbs to push everyone away until he finally lets himself slump into an embrace. Everyone sees a troublemaker, but teacher Paul Hunham and cafeteria manager Mary Lamb see a fellow lost soul.

Speaking of children of divorce, Sally Draper was promised two Christmases too! As a TV show about advertising’s manifestations of post-war white American psychology, Mad Men had the best Christmas episodes. My personal favorite is season four’s “Christmas Comes But Once A Year,” when the folks at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce put on a show to entertain their biggest client. But my favorite moment is in season five’s “Christmas Waltz” when Don takes Joan out to blow off some steam after her boorish husband Greg serves her with divorce papers at work. In two delicious scenes, these two long-time colleagues get tipsy, commiserate, flirt, consider why they never got together, and then think better of it. There’s so much history in this sequence. I love how Don slips the mask to reveal a bit of Dick Whitman to Joan by admitting that she scared the shit out of him when they first started working together and by comparing her to Rita Hayworth as a bachelorette by saying “Those flowers—my God, my first week here I thought you were dating Ali Kahn.” I also love how Joan asks Don for change to feed the jukebox and purrs “look at all these people dancing to my music” after her cocktail kicks in. Like me, Joan prefers Doris Day’s version of “The Christmas Waltz.” In the clear light of day, Don gives Joan a bouquet of red roses with a card that says: “Your mother did a good job, Ali Khan.” Roger, Don’s business partner and the father of Joan’s son, delivers the flowers to her before he ruefully asks, “How many times have I left you alone with a card from another man?” It gets me every time.

A few Christmases ago, I made a playlist for my friend Merinda’s holiday party. I was inspired by SCDP, Don & Joan, Christmas concerts from my choirgirl youth, Lutheran hymns, and A Very Special Christmas compilations. It opens with my favorite arrangement of “Carol of the Bells,” sung by jazz singer Dianne Reeves. It winds down with Linda Ronstadt’s luminous version of “Lo, How a Rose E’re Blooming,” my favorite Christmas carol. It includes my favorite Christmas pop song, The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping,” a short story about a new wave girl who finds love in the checkout line after a year of missed connections that makes you wish Susan Seidelman got to make more romantic comedies. And Rufus Thomas offers some mistletoe mischief for the folks who’ve had too much eggnog. The cover art is Mark Rothko’s “Untitled” (1956). If you ever find yourself in Houston, treat yourself to a contemplative sit at the Rothko Chapel. It’s sequenced to mimic the arc of a holiday party, from polite small talk to kiddie sugar rush to another round of cocktails to lampshade foolishness to slow dancing to quiet tidying up. You can stream it on Spotify. Turn it up, sing along, and don’t forget about Gary.