If I have been gone for a while, it is only because a deluge of holiday spirit consumed me, and only now am I able to break the surface of its glittery �flood. Of glitter. But here I am, covered in sparkles and only slightly hungover from getting Winehoused on Champagne and brandy at my friend Becky�s tree-trimming party last weekend. That is my new term for it: �getting Winehoused.� Consider it my Christmas or appropriate holiday-themed gift to you, my friends. �Winehouse� is turning out to be a versatile verb, as in the following uses:

I�m broke, so I Winehoused that New Pornographers CD from Borders.

If that bitch touches my boyfriend one more time, I�m going to Winehouse her right in the face.

&c., &c., &c.

In addition to Winehousing myself into a happy stupor, I have been fixated on the task of creating an invitation to my company�s annual holiday party. Why I am so absorbed by an activity with little inherent value, that promises no hope of reward, is a Mystery for the Ages, my friends. A beautiful Christmas mystery.

Faced with a useless task, my naturally competitive nature throws me under the bus every time, compelling me to be the BEST at this inherently useless, reward-free task. In this way, I am able to remain busy at all times, without actually accomplishing anything. (See Spark and Foam, Sept. 2004 � present.)

Several years ago, I worked as a production designer (read: made PowerPoint charts all day long) for a management consulting firm in San Francisco. Our offices were high in a circular glass tower downtown, and the designers were housed in the very center of the building, with walls to the ceiling, so that there was no chance that daylight might sneak in and distract us from the task of making a pie chart to illustrate the value of centralizing distribution at a major winery. The consultants, all recent college grads making double what we were paid, treated us as if we were pieces of office equipment. From time to time, they�d throw us the bone of allowing us to design an invitation to one of the parties they threw, to which we were never invited. All the designers would work on the project, and amused by the novelty of the task, I�d always try hard to create a design they�d choose, poring over our vast collection of hideous clip art. My friend Juliana found the exercise ridiculous, and would invariably turn in something like this:

They never chose hers, but then, they never chose mine, either. I bring up the story because it has informed my process for this year�s holiday party. I�ve made invitations for the past five years, illustrating elaborate Christmas trees, a raccoon on a sled, and one year, a fantastic Enchantment Under the Sea theme, with coral and starfish. That year, which was by far the best, I received a total of one compliment on my design, so I have given up the fight. Here are several finalists in my Inspiration Corner, courtesy of our fabulous collection of clipart. Please vote for your favorite, and I will use it.

1. Candle of Despair

Embodying all the joy and warmth of a black mass, with four little twigs fencing off a lonely candle, this image brings to mind the sense of futility that comes with seeing an Amnesty International bumper sticker on a passing Volvo station wagon.

2. Have a Holly Jolly Hades

Is Santa�s mouth open in delight? Or is this the look that comes when it�s time to deal with the Naughty children? Let�s take a closer look�

Oh, yeah. It�s the latter.

3. For the Masses

Military, generic, and nearly illegible, this stark ornament is the visual equivalent of the tinny clank of a Salvation Army bell. It serves as a reminder of the bleak stretch of post-Christmas sales yet to come. �Don�t get too merry,� it tell us, �we still have to get through January.�

4. The Reason for the Season

�Hast thou forgotten me?� asks giant Jesus, stretching out his hand in a gesture that we must not, no matter what, associate with a certain Evil Guy With a Specific Style of Facial Hair. �SANTA is just an anagram of SATAN!� he seems to say. Won�t you heed his call? (Consideration: he is big enough to squash you.)

5. Santa Freud

So, boys, your mother dressed you as a girl until you were 12? She made you answer to the name �Sissy� and told you that women are all whores? Your castration fears are logical, and deserve expression at this time of holiday togetherness. Nurse them as you sit through another tedious dinner listening to Mama�s shrill criticism while your cold and distant father hides down at the end of the table, drowning his pain in Crown Royal and lumpy gravy.

And so that ends my Holiday Clip Art roundup! Cast your votes, and use caution when getting Winehoused this season. If you�re too drunk to drive, go home with a stranger.

Star of the day. . .Penn Badgely