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"You know what my Uncle Roy says Jews do on Christmas?" my ten-year-old, pillow-headed, goyisha-kop friend, Timmy Murphy asked.

Instead of, "What we don't do is sit alone in our basements like Roy, drinking ourselves to oblivion," I played along with a simple, "What?"

"You stay home and count your money!"

Unc's assumption couldn't have further from the truth. Jews do their annual wealth tally over Easter break. (For most of us, one day simply will not do.) Christmas is reserved for Chinese food and movies.

Many a Christmas morn has been spent rifling through the movie pages in search of something to do while the gentiles are in Church. My maiden viewing of Raging Bull took place on Christmas Day, 1980 in a lily

white suburban theatre on the outskirts of Chicago. (There couldn't have been more than 15 fellow parishioners in attendance.) Fifteen minutes prior to showtime and there wasn't an empty seat in the house when The Godfather: Part III held its Christmas Day premier at the Old Orchard Theatre in the predominantly Jewish suburb of Skokie, Illinois.

Remember those image-heavy posts that used to regularly occupy this space? They're back! I've been stocking up on holiday images throughout the year in hopes that Santa would place a photo gallery and pop-out lightbox under The Big Screen's Christmas tree. My name must have made this year's "nice" list! Time to take it out of the box and see if it works.

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