I'm sitting here picking the caramel of Christmas music out of my teeth and wondering -- is it me or does this Christmas season seem completely f***ing interminable compared to Christmases past?
I mean, everyone here at my office has their iTunes and radios playing NOTHING but Christmas music, and frankly, I'm about to storm through the joint like Al Pacino, spitting, "Say hello to my leetle friend!" rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
As an antidote to my Mathis-induced diabetes, I had no choice but to to put on Time Zone the other day. There's nothing like Afrika Bambaataa and John Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten) singing "This is the world destruction, your life ain't nothin', the human race is becoming a disgrace!" to really get you full-swing into the perfect BAH HUMBUG mood.
I mean, really, what are the holidays but an exercise in futility and dashed expectations? Come on, folks, be honest... we spend November and December being bombarded with images of Tiny Tim cooing "God Bless us every one!" and the grinchy heart growing two sizes and snow drifting past picture windows while happy families exchange gifts next to a Douglas fir adorned with a thousand bucks worth of Christopher Radko ornaments.
The reality looks more like Christmas with the Bickersons. Or Christmas with the Drunk Relatives Who Save Up Their Resentments All Year for This One Magical Night. Or Christmas with the Mean Mother-In-Law Who Uses Her Gift to Show You What She Really Thinks Of You (a plastic over the door shoe hanger thing comes to mind for me).
What I'm saying here, people, is that we spend a month and a half trying to pretend we grew up on fucking Walton Mountain, when in actuality it probably bore a closer resemblance to Spahn Ranch, and what it turned us into was a nation of twitching neurotics who can't get through a week without a) medicating, b) therapizing, or c) indulging in some sort of substance abuse of the legal and illegal kind.
Maybe we should all give up and quit trying to get the Christmases we never had. And this year, just have the Christmas we get.
4 comments:
I am guessing that if you or I had grown up on Walton Mountain, it would contribute to ending up on Spahn Ranch (I had to google that one! I do need to read more than the usual pulp fiction I get my hands on. Helter Skelter, baby.)
Sounds like being Jewish pays off now and again. I just think the lights look pretty.
Rothstein
Being Jewish is SO cool at Christmas. You get to watch everyone else claw each others' eyes out at the mall while you stay home laughing and making threatening phone calls that make Bill O'Reilly blow aneurysms.
Plus the office peeps share their Christmas gift baskets with us anyway. Win/win!
Don't mind me. Janey's just cranky. I guess if your office party was lame, then a crackhead nearly burned down your house then the guy you are dating defaults to "recovery speak" (i.e. "But she's sick, she can't help it") you'd be crabby too.
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