Celebrating the insanity of the season

December 16, 2003

The Christmas season has always been one of my favorite times of the year. That's why I was shocked to come to a sudden realization a few days back: The vast majority of Christmas traditions are insane.

This hit me as I was assembling my fake Christmas tree. It's a holiday tradition at Casa de Boegle to have a lovely tannenbaum, decked in all sorts of lights and festive ornaments. I've had one almost every year that I have lived on my own; the first couple of years, I always went and bought a real Christmas tree.

I should mention now that I have a small, furry cat named Beavis. He views the world differently than I; his general opinion is that every thing in the world (i.e., my apartment) exists solely for his amusement or for his lounging comfort. Well, you can imagine the chaos that ensued when I introduced a tree bedecked with ornaments into his environment.

I was able to deal with the ornaments being knocked off the tree. I was able to cope with him occasionally breaking one. Yes, I was even able to survive the 3 a.m. games of kitty soccer, when Beavis would bat around an ornament containing some sort of bell, waking me up, along with the rest of my building. But I was not prepared for the drama that ensued one day when Beavis and some sap from my Christmas tree had an unholy union.

As you may know, pine trees occasionally ooze a VERY sticky substance--pitch, pine tar, sap, whatever you want to call it. Somehow, Beavis got some in his fur, and his attempts to clean it out via the typical kitty method were stymied for two reasons: one, it is VERY sticky, and two, it tastes awful. The episode really freaked out Beavis, and me, too, since I had to deal with him during this episode.

The next year, I bought a fake Christmas tree. I've used it every year since. It is basically a plastic rod with holes in it for the wire metal branches, covered in fake needles. Bare, it's hideous, but when you put lights and ornaments on it, it's more than presentable.

The aforementioned realization hit me when I was fighting with one of the metal branches, trying to get it to stay in its plastic hole: This is stupid. Whose idea was it to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ by going into the forest, hacking down an innocent tree, dragging it inside to create a fire hazard, trying to get it to stand up again, and then decorating it with multi-colored orbs? This sounds like the unfortunate result of a bad acid trip -- and there I was, doing this very thiing, except for the fact that I was doing with it with a FAKE tree as a result of my traumatized cat.

Ever since the realization, I've been looking at all the Christmas traditions in a different, jaded light. I was in Wal-Mart tonight -- I am bad (for giving my business to such an evil multinational corporation) and stupid (for shopping at the insanity that is Wal-Mart with barely more than a week before Christmas), I know, but that's another column for another time. This is relevant because my cashier was wearing a Santa hat. Do you realize that a Santa hat is effectively a dunce cap in need of Viagra that some moron covered in fuzz? With a white ball placed on top?!?

Then there are the songs. Some, like "Silent Night" and "Frosty the Snowman&" are kind of cool, even though the thought of a smoking snowman coming to life as the result of a possessed hat is frightening beyond belief. But other songs are just heinous. Like "The Little Drummer Boy."

Have you ever actually stopped and listened to these lyrics?

Come they told me
Pa rum pum pum pum
Our new born King to see,
Pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring
Pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King
Pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
So to honor Him
Pa rum pum pum pum,
When we come.

First, I don't recall some brat ever coming to visit Jesus in the New Testament. Second, if some child had approached Jesus while banging on a drum, Mary probably would have kicked his little butt right out of the stable, because YOU DO NOT MAKE DRUM NOISES AROUND A BABY, EVEN IF HE IS THE PERFECT SON OF GOD. Babies need sleep, not a kindergarten version of Max Weinberg.

I could give numerous other examples of how Christmas traditions make no sense. For example, I haven't even MENTIONED the whole flying reindeer thing. Ho ho ho!

Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan in exile in Arizona, where they actually decorate saguaro cacti with lights, the bastards. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.

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