Thus far, the arrangement has been quite practical. The past three Christmases my wife and I have been alternating between my parents and hers. This year we spent Christmas with her folks in lovely, rustic, bucolic, Rockwellian (the painter, not the singer) Essex, Connecticut, home of the Griswold Inn and its “hunt” breakfast. The air was cold and snow was lingering in little mounds around us, but inside the house, friends and family feasted on a robust Christmas turkey, mashed potatoes, and a string bean casserole, among other festive fixings. It rained a good bit, though it didn’t really bother me–not when you have a Dewar’s and soda or three. On Tuesday we loaded all the booty into the car and wistfully departed the Nutmeg State, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. (Perhaps it was the Dewar’s.)

Then it was off to the Jersey shore for a few days with my parents. Less than 24 hours after we arrived, we found ourselves flying down the GSP. Destination: Exit 38B, the Atlantic City Expressway. What a touching way to end the holiday season, at a craps table inside the Tropicana, hoping the shooter hits a 6, 8, or 9. He was a burly man, the shooter, looking much like B.B. King (complete with tinted glasses). The table had been blowing hot and cold all night (or was it day?), no one quite getting on a run. But now was the moment, I recalled. He was throwing well. A 6, 8, or 9 was all I needed. And the shooter sported a t-shirt auspiciously emblazoned with the words “Natural Born Player.” The dice flew. “SEVEN!” yelled the croupier. Mr. Natural Born Player had just crapped out. Naturally.

Everything you’ve read and heard about the newly renovated Tropicana is true. It really does feel like a Vegas casino inside, the shops all connected by one of those passages with the fake blue sky above. They’ve got Carmine’s and P.F. Chang’s and the Palm steakhouse. In front of the Red Square Russian restaurant stands a towering statue of Vladimir Lenin. (Was Stalin unavailable? How about Beria?) All of these venues were booked solid, thereby exiling us to the “beachfront” buffet, where degenerates try to cover their losses by piling their plates high with crab legs.

On our way out, my father played a few rounds of poker. Video poker. The kind that doesn’t even reward you for two pairs. The minimum hand for an extremely minimum payout is three of a kind. And yet people continue to play these machines. I scolded my old man who then landed four of a kind.

Figures.

P.S. According to a bartender at the Tropicana, sports books are still illegal in AC. I had always assumed, having seen the horses on the jumbotron, that other betting was also legit. Turns out you still have to place that bet in Vegas. Or online. Or through your local bookie.

Yet another sign The End is near: Mariah Carey has topped the charts for the 17th time, according to Billboard, tying Elvis Presley. She is now only three hits away from the Beatles.

“This is unjust and undemocratic.”

–Barzan Ibrahim al-Tikriti, Saddam Hussein’s half brother, complaining about a 30-minute television censoring delay during war crime trial proceedings, Dec. 22, 2005.

Could it be for real?

I can’t tell. I think so. Although the timing of its launch–October, 2005–is very suspicious. If this is a real Bob Loblaw’s law blog, then I can’t help but wonder how he’s circirumventing the suits at Fox.

Bonus: I’m obviously not the first person to find this. Check out the comments.

Christian Lowe reports:

The raid was very interesting. Real-world door-to-door room clearing urban combat stuff. The section leader we were following, Sgt. Kitter, who’s Texas twang made me feel pretty damned safe, was very agressive and seemed to know his stuff. He was climbing all over the roofs and ordering his Marines around like he’d done this a thousand times. What a good dude. We also went into a set of rooms that housed an old Iraqi man with his family. They were caretakers for the school and had just been hassled by a group of insurgents. It was hearbreaking to hear how they’d scared the daylights out of the poor man. I watched as Lt. Awtry…the platoon commander, handed a little girl a blue chem-light…she smiled. Will she remember this kindness when she grows up? What side will she be on when the chips are down. I wanted to think that gesture would go a long way — for both the parents and the child — but I wasn’t sure.

I talked with the interpreter for a few minutes while Capt. Powledge formulated a new plan with Lima Company commander, Capt. Quinn. He is Iraqi. A Sunni from the north…I forget which town. His wife is in school there. He has no kids. He’s been living in San Diego. I asked him if he thinks things are getting better. “No,” he said quickly. “It is the same for the last three years.” “Before, it didn’t matter if you were Shiia or Sunni or Kurd (he pronounced these “sheeeya, sun-nee and kord). But now, it matters…” his head shaking in disgust.

We moved out. None of the insurgents were found. No shots were fired. But Awtry was pretty convinced that the insurgents used the school as an overwatch position and to detonate IEDs when they saw US vehicles go by. When I got back to camp, I took a look at the map…just across the dirt road from the school, within plain view, was the place the 7-ton truck had been hit…where the 12 Marines were injured and the one killed…the place with the severed feet. I had a feeling we’d be back to this place…and so would the terrorists.

Before I go, I want to say again that I hope all of you reading this are praying for the health of our friends Walker and Janet’s new son, Michael. He is surely as strong as his parents and will come through this trial unscathed, I am sure of that. Keep the Carters in your thoughts please. And keep the widow of Samuel Tapia and his beautiful daughter Samantha in your prayers as well…

While we’re at it, perhaps we should now note our ten worst films–a task much harder than it seems. To qualify, these have to be movies you actually saw from beginning to end (or at least really attempted to), ideally in a theater where the thought of having flushed good money down the toilet makes the experience especially unnerving.

In no particular order:

Congo – Having a device that allows a gorilla to communicate in English does not suddenly make the gorilla act or think like a normal human being. That and the scene where the “gorilla” is strapped to a parachutist. I saw this one in a theater.

Cannonball Run II – I genuinely enjoyed the first one. Sadly, I cannot say the same for the sequel, which included the separately taped segment with Frank Sinatra and the montage to the music of … Menudo.

Problem Child – If the aim of this movie (or its sequels) was to have me wish ill towards the kid, it worked. I don’t care why he’s a lousy brat. I used to confuse Problem Child with Child’s Play. Difference is, I’d welcome the doll to my home any day.

Out on a Limb – Who knows what Matthew Broderick saw in the script. The leading lady is rather unappealing. Couldn’t even tell you about the plot. Simply a horrible film.

Little Buddha – At one point, Keanu Reeves, playing Siddhartha, is sporting a bouffant.

Hercules – It starred Lou Ferrigno. I saw it in the theater. I was only ten. I didn’t know! I was just a child!

Those were just six and I am wiped out. Galley friend Mike Woody lists Caddy Shack II, She Devil (starring Roseanne Barr), Casualties of War, Ishtar, and “anything with Jean-Claude Van Damme except Bloodsport. That was rich.”

Finally, in terms of great disappointments, no doubt I would have to place The Godfather Part III on top.

I had promised myself that I wouldn’t blog anymore for the remainder of the year. Yet no matter how much I hate blogging and despise the blogosphere, I’ve come back for more. Why? Because I love you. And I’m going to make your day better, right now.

First, go watch the new trailer for Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto. It’s all very serious and dire, even if I couldn’t tell you exactly what it’s about.

Now, click here to see one of the frames that Gibson inserted into the middle of the trailer, just for kicks. (You could hunt it down yourself by going frame-by-frame, but an enterprising AICN reader has saved you the work, so why bother.)

Even if you’re at the office and aren’t going to watch the trailer, for the love of God, click on that second link. You’ll thank me for it.

Bonus: The trailer doesn’t give a credit for the score, but I’m pretty sure it’s the handy work (get it?) of Buster Bluth.

Not that I have anything better to do–in fact I do–but since Mr. Last posed the question, herewith my list:

(1) Goodfellas

(2) The Godfather Part 2

(3) The Godfather

(4) Almost Famous – Isn’t this how every writer wishes he got his start?

(5) When Harry Met Sally – It’s the story of me and my wife. I play the role of Sally.

(6) Raiders of the Lost Ark

(7) Jaws

(8) Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

(9) The Empire Strikes Back

(10) As Good As It Gets – “What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you’re that pissed that so many others had it good.” That about sums up my attitude on life.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the old black-and-whites, but they just don’t do it for me. It’s hazy, gray, and worst of all, if there are any children in the picture, they usually can’t act to save their life. (Case in point, the daughter in Gone With The Wind.) As for honorable mentions, I’ll throw in Any Given Sunday, Shawshank Redemption, Big Night, Heat, and Schindler’s List.