There was not a musical note in sight; the snow came 15 minutes later.

So, O and I went out to the forest with an axe and a camera for a little father/daughter slaughter. Tree slaughter. This was no BJ#2 backpiece Abraham/Isaac crap. It was about 20 degrees out, damn cold. On the way, she kept saying, "I want a tiny, tiny, tiny, TINY christmas tree, Daddy." Once we were out of the car, though, the story changed. "I want a tree with lots of annual rings," she said. Annual rings? You know, three-year-olds these days, man. Three-year-olds. I convinced her that the 70-foot tall ponderosa wouldn't fit in the car, and that everyone might be most happy with the tiny one. The tree you see in the background is the one that she'll be rockin' the holydays away with. If you ever have a daughter, ever--go take her on special little dates. It's the best-feeling you'll ever have in your entire fucking miserable life.