Well, Christmas is almost upon us.
"Oh great," you say. "Now he's going to bitch about Christmas!"
Oh ye of little faith! I have nothing against Christmas! People complain all the time about the commercialization of Christmas, but that doesn't bother me at all. That sounds to me like the ranting of a lot of liberal malcontents. So who cares if the make red and green M&M's? Who cares if people put up decorations in May? Who cares if they have red and green condoms with a light on the tip so you can make your own Rudolph the Red-Nosed Ding-Dong? Who cares if they make a Christmas Edition of Pokemon? Well, that last one would suck, but still, who cares? Does it really take away from the season or does it just draw out the Christmas revelry?
I don't mind giving gifts either. In fact, I'm one of those sick, perverted individuals who actually ENJOYS giving gifts. It's a sick joy I get from finding that perfect gift that nails the recipient right in their hot button. Heck, in the old days, like 24 J.E., I would spend hours shopping for that perfect gift. Thank God for the wonders of the Internet. Now I can give gifts under the pretense that I trekked to Asia and fought a Mongolian tribe for this little trinket that I know would bring the loved one such joy when actually I stumbled upon something in between surfing porn sites. Yes, the look of surprise on their faces and the speechless exuberance in their eyes when they receive that thing that they've always felt that they wanted but could never articulate or at least excellent acting to that effect is almost reward enough for me.
Almost. Of course I want a gift in return. It's not like I'm going for Sainthood here, for Christ's sake. The downside of all this is that I know that my own hot buttons are as elusive as a sane chick who finds me hot. Heck, I don't even know what I would buy myself. I know it when I see it, though. That always makes it a little risky, since I very often way outdo them. Fortunately, those people who are close to me can usually get me an adequate gift, but only after multiple interrogations. Yeah, presents are cool.
I'll say this, though. Christmas just isn't as fun as it used be when I was younger and stupider. I remember that knotting of anticipation in my gut beginning as soon as the first wreaths graced the streetlamps of my childhood town. For months I would stare longingly at the calendar as the days ground down. There was the Christmas tree, Christmas cookies, Christmas arson, Christmas looting… Sigh. Those were the days. In the last few years of my life at home, my mother tried to strongarm me into feeling some Christmas cheer by forcing me to engage in those traditions that I enjoyed when my mind was vacuous. Maybe she was remembering times when she was younger and happier, but I'm remembering times when I was stupider and shorter. I like Christmas, but all of the personal pageantry (i.e. WORK) got really old. It's a lot more fun than Arbor Day, though. Maybe I'd enjoy it more if I got a Christmas screw out of it, but elves don't turn me on.
What can I say? When I found out that Santa Claus wasn't my real dad, the whole thing lost its magic.
