I absolutely adore Thanksgiving. It's the only holiday I insist on making myself.

I know. I'm lazy. But I made myself a New Years resolution that I would write myself something really special. Which means I have 'til December right?

Every Christmas now for years I have found myself wondering about the point of the celebration. As the holiday has become more ecumenical and secular it has lost much of the magic that I remember so fondly from childhood.

When I was eight years old I got a dummy for Christmas and started teaching myself. I got books and records and sat in front of the bathroom mirror practising. I did my first show in the third grade and just kept going there was no reason to quit.

For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival. I was convinced that the woods were calling me. I camped a lot I took classes. At 18 I told myself if I don't live in the woods by myself by the time I'm 25 I have failed.

I'm bad on Valentine's Day but even worse on Christmas. I go shopping at nine o'clock on December 24th every year. Nobody else is there. I'm in Toys'R'Us all by myself. I get there five minutes before closing.

The cheese board is my big treat at Christmas that I have to deny myself during the rest of year.

I don't pay to have my dirty work done for me. I do it myself.

My ideal relaxation is working on upholstry. I spend hours in junk shops buying furniture. I do all the upholstery work myself and it's like therapy.

The biggest risk I've ever taken is going on American Idol and trying to be myself. I wasn't going to try too hard to conform and I knew that it could possibly not work out.