Another Christmas is almost upon us. Every year about this time, neck deep in the hustle and bustle, staunch in my refusal to submit to the cultural demand to play the Christmas Card game, hating those tacky Christmas sweaters everyone seems to think are so darling, dealing with the nagging regret of being FORCED to perpetuate the great red-and-white lie of the jolly Christmas Eve home invader and cookie stealer, behind in the present buying/wrapping, and victim to the miserly "Christmas Spirit" of John Q Public I find myself wanting to throw my hands up, find out exactly when during the Spring/Summer historians believe was the actual DOB of one Jesus of Nazareth and celebrate creation's gift with my son on THAT day.
Call me a Scrooge, paint "humbug" on my forehead, and strip me of my National Lampoons Christmas Vacation Decorators Club card. I'm okay with that. Just deliver me from this holiday nightmare. (I'm still looking for the "holiday" part... holiday inferring rest and relaxation.) The mall is filled with psychotic idiots, and the roadways are the collection of several malls worth of psychotic idiots. Those who've seeded lunatics now travel in packs as the little lunatics the older once demonically spawned have come home to roost for these weeks of "family togetherness." What about this screams, "Peace on Earth?"
Those three words: Peace on Earth. For me they conjure a Bond-Villain-Like plot that involves something like flooding the world through the venting of thermal pockets along the worlds largest fault lines via gigantic lasers, and then starting fresh on the island of Everest; releasing a pathogen that transforms the un-elect into a new species of tree; or, if push comes to shove, becoming an interstellar hermit on Mars. Ah, now that sounds nice.
So yea for years worth of debt to save face for one day of unrealistic expectation in celebration of "what's-His-name," family meals complete with epic dysfunction, roadways overflowing by the directionally challenged, and the industrial giants who produce Santa hats, plastic trees, and those obnoxious little bells the Salvation Army threatens you with outside of Wal-Mart. This holiday has been plundered for the sakes of people to mend their conscience with a biannual hat-tip; those who get some sense of delusional doo-dad that allows them to pretend they have the first clue as to what the concept of family is; and finally a big "cheers" for everyone who shines their purple heart of convictional-oppression because they made some obnoxious display to tell the poor girl at Belks, who is not responsible for company policy, "Merry Christmas."
Hmmm... "Boiled in their own pudding?" The wheels are turning...
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