There is a new me. I am a me that believes himself capable of single-handedly conquering and simultaneously ruling all seven continents with an iron, yet unimaginably soft, fist. Think of a baby’s bottom plus cashmere and buttery smoothness. This is me, with the magical, perfectly balanced fist that will allow me to garner love and praise from my future six billion-plus worldly disciples, which is a product of the holiday season.

There is something about the period from right before Thanksgiving through New Year’s that makes me feel special. I’m not really sure what it is. Perhaps it’s that the tryptophan in the turkey knocks me for a one-month loop every year, perhaps it’s the hope that one year I’ll receive a giant-bow-wrapped Lexus. Maybe, and most likely, it’s the knowledge that every kiss really does begin with Kay. I tend to enter a stratosphere of giddiness known only to cheerleaders and Rachel Ray. Finals….pshhh, what’s the big deal, Santa’s coming soon!

This four-week period is like one giant artificial joy trip. I just want to dress my dog up in a Santa jacket and hat and hang some menorah bling around his neck. Next show on MTV: “Pimp My Dog.” What fails to enter my consciousness during the holiday season is reality. That endless downer can’t bring me back down to earth. No one’s going to take the 30 percent sales and dancing elves away from me. This is my time to relish in my Jewish appreciation of Christmas, i.e. presents, reindeer, Chinese food and bitterness that our holiday is totally outmatched by the Christmas machine.

Nonetheless, I retain my perch on top of the world. Not even Delta Airlines’ incompetence was able to make me cranky. At the point of this article’s conception, Delta has forced me to gate check my bag, lost it, and now, is still unable to locate it. Being of the sort that tends to dwell on the negative aspects of his or her existence, it is astonishing to me that I have not dug myself three feet underground with frustration. The holidays are a time to get caught up in the ridiculousness. When Best Buy tells me they are having a 400 percent sale on electronic book readers, I go nuts! Why? Because the holidays make me feel like Best Buy has a vested interest in my enjoyment of electronic book readers. Best Buy wants it to be my best Chrismahanakwanzakah ever.

As much as the holidays are about family and all that sentimental stuff, it’s also about a little bit (really read as A LOT) of self indulgence. Tell that cookie that his days are numbered since you just fired your diet, watch 40 hours of your favorite TV show in a row, spoil yourself, because you deserve it.

With my holiday-induced delusions of grandeur in full swing, I, ruler of the galaxies, say goodbye from my massive throne and sign off with my buttery soft, iron fist. Holiday wishes from your annoyingly cheery columnist!