It seems that, as I get older, it takes longer and longer for me to get into the Christmas Spirit. No matter how many times I see old Building & Loan in glorious black and white, it still seems I have more Mr. Potter in me than George Bailey.

Not that this situation is necessarily a bad thing.

Something occured to me last night. Advertisers go a long, long way toward making the general public think upscale when they go Christmas Shopping. You know -- tie a big red bow on a Jaguar for your beloved for Christmas. Or, if she gets embarrassed when you shout your love through the piazza, give her a whopping big diamond ring. Conspire with that new baby on what diamond-studded whatever to give the new mother.

So, how come so many people get those stupid, vapid singing fish for Christmas?

Does this mean that the advertising dollars spent to sell us all the latest Chia Pet is better spent than Jaguar's?

Oh, I know, the closest I'll come to getting a Jaguar would be if somehow, someone gives me a Barbi's Dream House with the optional sports car. And that thought isn't about to cross the mind of anyone in my family. And, after looking at my bank account -- using the term generously -- I know for certain that I'm not tying a big red bow on anything with four wheels.

But I'll be damned before I get anyone a singing trout.

More soon