no chimney. return to sender.

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last seen: paying postage

24 december 1996 12:50 p.m.

When it comes to giving Christmas presents, the thought most certainly counts. Do not underestimate, however, the importance of the postmark. Now, on the list of "most insane hobbies," going to the post office on Christmas Eve ranks right up there with bungee jumping, knife juggling and voting Republican. Nevertheless, I braved the bustling traffic early this morning to test my mettle. It was a breeze. You see, I discovered something very precious to those who have the tragic combination of chronic procrastination and crowd-phobia: the post office on campus is open, even during the winter break. Since there are no classes, students were almost entirely absent from the breezy green lawns of UH. A near-empty lot at the Burger King saved me the parking fee, and a line of exactly two people greeted me as I sealed my last card. Most miraculous of all, the postal workers behind the counter were actually friendly, and chirped out "Merry Christmas!" at the same time I did. While everything I dropped off today will make it off-island tonight, I know nothing will make it under a tree or onto a wall before the 27th -- maybe not even before 1997. But just as Hallmark expects you to believe that "civilized" people look at the back of cards to make sure they're genuine, highy-prestigious Hallmark products, I expect my friends to feel the same underlying sentiment of love when they scrutinize the little red stamp on the box that proves I got their gifts in the mail before Christmas Day. Word of the Day: "tree" la`au (laa- `ow) Nani loa ka la`au Kalikimaka i keia po. "The Christmas tree is very pretty tonight." (Pretty very the tree Christmas [dative marker] this night.) I'm not much of a Christian, but I am praising whichever deity I must that there are fewer than twenty-four hours left in the December torture that is Christmas music. Frankly, there are only two Christmas songs I can tolerate. "Carol of the Bells" is one, especially when performed live and well, and "O Holy Night," if done very gently. Everything else in high radio, waiting-room and phone-hold rotation pretty much drives me to the edge of a homicidal rampage. Especially since Christmas music was being piped everywhere as of 12:01 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving. As of this week it's literally impossible to avoid, and when my will is weak, I find myself humming the first few bars of a song myself. Of course, I immediately pound my head on the nearest wall to drive out the demons. All those "novelty" parodies and grunge rock Christmas collections are especially grating. "Jingle Bells" should be flat out outlawed, or at least embargoed until Dec. 20. And "We Wish you a Merry Christmas" should not be sung by anyone who hasn't fully completed the rites of puberty. In short, until Thursday, I am experiencing anything but peace on Earth. However bizzare, one local caroling tradition is singing the "Twelve Days of Christmas" pidgin style. I don't know who's responsible for writing it (though I'd have a few choice words to say to the guy), but suffice it to say it's burned into the brain of every grade-schooler from their very first classroom Christmas. It is frequently accompanied by a number of hand gestures (and, if you're 12-and-under, several humiliating flimsy paper costumes), but I won't go into those. Still, if I am to suffer, others will too. Just be thankful you aren't being subjected to my actual singing, once compared to the "death cries of a flock of Klingon geese." Ahem... "On the 12th day of Christmas, my Tutu gave to me: Twelve televisions, Eleven missionaries, Ten cans of beer, Nine pounds of poi, Eight `ukelele, Seven shrimp a'swimming, Six hula lessons, Five big fat pigs, Four flower lei, Three dried squids, Two coconuts, and One mynah bird in one papaya tree." The only other occasionally trying part of the Christmas holiday comes with any other holiday -- the e-mail showers of every humor text in the history of the net. I don't think there's a net junkie out there that hasn't found more than a few copies of "Net is Slow" (Let it Snow) and the geek's version of the above "Twelve Days" in their inbox, along with more than a few ASCII reindeer and snowmen and Santas. This year, though, there was one notable new contribution out there... Tonight I shall revel in the holiday cheer with Derek and his family, upon whom I shall unleash my famous potato salad. Those who survive, it is rumored, will be able to witness exactly how indelicately I open presents, and whether or not I can accurately gauge Derek's sweater size. Tomorrow will find me with mom, who will probably split some caviar and a box of crackers with me before handing me a envelope containing the only Christmas gift that always fits. Mele Kalikimaka kakou -- Merry Christmas to all.