For all of the generosity and good will the winter holidays foster, one can't ignore the fact that the Christmas season also brings out the crazy in us.

Consider those stressed-out party planners who, after spending weeks obsessing over every detail of the annual Christmas gathering, fume silently — or not-so silently — because their guests have the audacity to enjoy themselves instead of pay solemn homage to their host's hospitality and largess.

Or the otherwise amiable second-cousin's-uncle's-uncle who turns the corner on his fifth Crown Royal and decides to divest himself of 40 years of familial gripes. (Hint: Once you hear the immortal words, "Eh, you know what your problem is? ..." find the guest bedroom and don't come out until you hear, "Coffee time!"

Or the morose friend who skulks around looking for fresh opportunities to share his annual "I hate Christmas" declaration. (Newsflash: Christmas hates you, too.)

We might give a pass to that cheapskate who shows up at the potluck-for-strays party with a $1.99 bag of carrots, complains all evening about the injustice of a world that finds him dateless on Christmas, then bids adieu with five plates of leftovers — simply because it is consistent with his nature. But what about those men and women of good will he leaves behind? You know, the ones who spend the rest of the evening slandering the dude, his family, his culture, his carrots?

It's all understandable, of course. Holiday season in the West is a crockpot of high expectations, guilt-bonded obligations and copious, copious spending. After two or three months of slow cooking, it's no wonder our sensitivities glow red hot and our sanity turns to mush.

And yet, despite the gulf between the real meanings of Christmas (or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or ...) and our modern exercise of its customs, there is something noble and assuring about the season that should inspire us to keep our crazy to ourselves.

Regardless of our faith (or lack thereof), shouldn't the spirit of the season — which provides such a welcome excuse to draw close to friends and family and reconnect with those who our busy schedules keep distant — be enough to guide our actions and keep our anxieties and antagonisms in perspective?

Maybe this year we should exchange those doomed-for-failure New Year's resolutions for a more manageable short-term holiday vow, y'know, something to keep in mind when the warm flush of reconnection gives way to cool remembrance of why exactly we don't keep in touch with certain people.

Something like: Shut up, eat your pie, and pretend you're happy like everyone else.

Reach Michael Tsai at mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com.