Santa, I want new sinuses for Christmas

You’d be surprised — waking up with a massive sinus headache every morning for several weeks in a row can get old. This is one of those “it’s a bitch to get old” things. Even with steroids and Alkalol (a gentle “mucous solvent and nasal douche”), just getting the head off the pillow is a painful exercise.

The girls are up and watching “A Muppet Christmas Carol,” which is the best Christmas Carol ever. Really. I can even forgive the songs. Michael Caine does more than just cash his paycheck, the sets are marvelous, and the whole thing is a delight. Our VHS copy is more than a little blurry these days, though . . .

But I’m not buying DVDs ever again. They just hide from me, so what’s the point? First, I spent weeks searching for my copy of “The Champion” (not the best boxin’ pitcher ever — John Garfield’s “Body and Soul” carries that title). Then, a couple of weeks ago I could have sworn I picked up a bargain copy of “Heathers” at the Target. But with much rummaging through all the Christmas stuff, “Heathers” does not show up, so I finally convince myself that we looked at “Heathers,” but decided to leave it for another day. Last night, cleaning up some of the endless mess in the dining room (we still call it that, though it’s the room with all the computers, phones, faxes, and it’s where stuff gets dropped when we come in the door), and I found a bag of DVDs that not only included two copies of “Sandlot,” one of which was supposed to have been shipped out for Christmas already, but also the aforementioned copy of “Heathers.” Which would be just fine, except that on Friday night I picked up another copy because I had been jonesing to see it, especially after seeing “Pump Up The Volume” just a couple of weeks before. The whole early Christian Slater thing (by the way, when they make the movie about my executive team, I expect to be played by an early Christian Slater. I’ll settle for nothing less.)

Last weekend was first-time directors’ weekend: Paul Hunter’s “Bulletproof Monk,” which was quite excellent, much better than I had expected, and Sofia Coppola’s “The Virgin Suicides,” which felt like “Inventing The Abbotts” but with unexplained suicides. Interesting, lyrical, nicely done, but I’ll admit I didn’t quite get it.

I don’t suppose that tree’s going to put itself up, is it?