Mush.

We are tree-purchasing masters. In the hard-handed, frosty bearded, thin lipped sense of the word. It's really the season's Great Race and there's no place for frivolity. We yoke the Yule and run him ragged. With results. This year came in a decade winner at thirty-seven minutes. That's including drivetime, selection, payment, setup, and a mild fracas concerning exits and entranceways at Home Depot.

There's no real art to it. More of a grab 'n go. No measuring or trunk trimming. No unwrapping for the twenty digit count. Just whatever's taller than us and small enough to shove inside the trunk of a midsized Nissan--twine takes time. Then the sprint to the house. An unceremonious dressing-down with the kitchen scissors. A shake, a spin, and a shove to the stand with a nasty injunction not to fall like 2004's defiant Douglass.

And back to our preferred screens. Leaving the holiday spirit panting and anemic and pinned somewhere between the bookcase and the wall.