Now that Thanksgiving has passed, we can finally turn our attention to a much more important holiday tradition -- St. Andrew's Day.

Oh, sure, I'll admit that celebrating the patron saint of Scotland has become far too commercialized. The day isn't until Nov. 30, but they were blaring bagpipe music in the Wal-Mart back in early October. And while I'm as big a fan as any of the St. Andrew's Day classic "It's Haggis, Charlie Brown," the number of schmaltzy films and television programs with St. Andrew's themes is simply over the top these days.

It's as if we have forgotten the true reason for the celebration -- drinking.

I'm kidding, of course; the Scottish need no excuse to drink. According to my friends Chris and Jenny, who have both genuine Scottish accents and Scottish inclination toward profanity, St. Andrew's Day is not all that big. That's a shame, really, because one St. Andrew's tradition suggests that single ladies should sleep in the nude. That sort of thing that should be encouraged.

Another St. Andrew's practice is that it marks the beginning of an almost-month-long bipolar episode in which I tussle with myself over Christmas. That's more of a personal tradition, I suppose.

I am the sort of person who likes to build traditions around holidays; but I am also the sort of person who likes to sit around and do nothing. These two attitudes tend not to mesh very well, and the Christmas season is when my internal tumult reaches a peak.

I come from an untraditional family. Not "untraditional" in the sense that I was raised by a lesbian Flamenco troupe, but in the sense that my family has never been particularly keen on sticking to protocol.

Over the years, we made a go of it from time to time, but somehow we would end up eating Christmas Eve dinner at Chili's or postponing Christmas until the 27th so everyone could get their shopping done.

During my teenage years, I was the Christmas instigator. On or around Dec. 20, I would suddenly put up all the Christmas lights in a fit of panic, paranoid that some girl I liked might drive by my family's house, see our un-festive home and decide never to speak to me again. Yes, such a scenario was unlikely, but why take the risk?

Back then, as now, I lived in the great state of Minnesota, and late December was not the best time to put up Christmas lights. It was cold and usually dark, due to the fact that the sun sets around 4:30 p.m. up here, which worked against my teenage requirement of watching 16 hours of television a day.

Most often I found myself putting up lights in the pitch dark during a snow storm. But the point is, it got done. I had always thought of myself as a rather festive fellow --until I met my mother-in-law.

She keeps at least two Christmas trees year-round, and planning for Christmas never stops. Pictures taken on my wedding day -- in June -- would lead most people to believe that Santa oversaw the ceremony.

Until recently, my mother-in-law used to all but ignore Halloween because it cut into her Christmas preparation. I suppose it could be worse, she could be one of those people who keep dead cats in a freezer, but this Christmas obsession is a bit weird.

I admire, though, all the traditions that my wife has brought from her family into our marriage. Well, not all -- I refuse to listen to Johnny Mathis until after Thanksgiving.

I regularly find myself wishing that I could be as dedicated to convention. I would like to build a whole catalog of new traditions. I dream of hosting impossibly complicated events like the balls in Jane Austen novels and serving up festive drinks loaded with expensive alcohol: "Here, have some eggnog. Each cup is worth about $30."

As I said, I am too lazy to do any of that. The only solid Christmas traditions I've built over the years are these:

My wife and I put up and decorate our tree the day after Thanksgiving.

We watch "A Christmas Story" at least once.

We listen to every Johnny Mathis Christmas CD at least 9,000 times.

I drink winter ales.

I promise myself that I will learn the words to "Good King Wenceslas," then never do.

It's probably to my benefit that I'm not energetic enough to do more. Traditions become as such because they are things we enjoy doing. If I were to push myself to follow more elaborate rituals, they would soon become obligations and make the holiday season no more agreeable than, say, St. Andrew's Day.

While St. Andrew's Day kicks off almost a month of my wishing that I did more while wanting to do less, I think I'm starting out OK this year. Perhaps my new tradition can be learning to enjoy the holiday season with or without building traditions.

Although, a holiday that involves nude women is still pretty agreeable.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.