Christmas is tomorrow (already?????) and it looks like it will be a white one...barely. Seriously, we have less than an inch of snow on the ground and we only have that because of snow fall a couple days ago. December is a month when the Christmas spirit is supposed to be augmented by the white falling water crystals like how you get the sneak-attack bonus while using an enchanted weapon (sorry...might have been up too late last night playing Skyrim). Instead, we had to deal with patches of ice and fields of frozen mud and dead grass all month. How freaking depressing!
At least we have some snow, though. And I'm hoping that this little tiny snow we have will stay through at least tomorrow. Unfortunately, tomorrow is supposed to get past the magic number (32) in temperature, and the next day warmer still. Goodbye snow- I sure will miss you!
Sadly it seems that my moving to Marquette has effectively killed the Epic Snowstorm industry that I have heard so much about. I wouldn't be surprised if the six winters I've been up here are the six worst years in terms of accumulated snow fall. I also wouldn't be surprised if you told me the sun revolves around me.
So in order to keep myself from gluing cotton balls all over the front yard in order to stave off the depression, I've been pondering global warming. Probably doesn't seem like something you'd want to think about to try and keep from being depressed about the weather, but that's the way my mind works. I think about global warming, and the effects that it might have on, say, weak snow storms where I'm at and huge snow storms in places that aren't supposed to get huge snow storms. And now I'm depressed again. AARRGGHH (runs off to watch Frosty Returns).
As far as global warming goes, I personally know just enough to have an extremely uninformed opinion, so if you came here looking for the usual wisdom, counsel, and guidance that I usually offer...well then stick around, because that's exactly what you're going to get. Merry ChristMAS!!!
Admittedly, I should know more about the subject. But even though I'm (for all intents and purposes, willfully) ignorant, I do try to do my part to be an ecologically responsible citizen. I walk to work sometimes (hopefully more frequently when the weather warms up). I shut lights off in rooms that I'm not in. I recycle. I eat cardboard (not true). Sometimes I even hold my breath- anything to reduce my personal carbon foot print.
But sometimesI wonder if this climate change is just a natural thing that we're caught in the middle of and global warming is our attempt to understand and make sense of it. Sure, that's a tremendous simplification. Still, think about various times in our history when things were drastically different than they are now. The ice age, for example. Obviously the Earth was not always covered in ice- it gradually had to change to get that way- except that it's not still covered in ice, so clearly there was another ginormous gradual change. And yet, here we are today, after all that massive change and the countless tragedies in terms of the loss of plant and animal life. Ta-da!
Our world today did not just happen like some magical pop-up book. The world as we know it has been violently shaken and crafted by the impartially cruel forces of nature. And it will continue to happen, regardless of what we do or don't do. Maybe global warming, then, is less a 'thing' and more of a label to help us feel like we are at least a little bit in control of things that we are really not in control of at all.
That doesn't mean that I am advocating for a hummer in every heated garage or loosened smog restrictions. It bothers me that people are cutting down forests to make golf courses and luxury hotels. I'm against the blatant misuse of resources. I have kids, after all, and I would really like them to be able to grow up in a world that more resembles Max and Ruby than it does Mad Max (actually...scratch that, because that would mean that four-foot tall talking female rabbits would be the dominant species).
For now all I wish is that we could have a white Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
5 secretly traumatic Christmas songs
Aside from religious wars, annoying relatives (uh...that I've heard about. Not any of my relatives. Moving on) and Linnea calender inserts as gifts, Christmas is a peace-filled, loving, and hopeful season that brings out the Thomas Kinkade painting in all of us.
The only reason the lyrics to this song don't make us piss our pants every time we hear it (other than Bruce Springsteen's oddly reassuring fake laugh) is that Santa Claus (SPOILER) isn't actually real. Which is a good thing, because the Santa Claus of this song is a mixture of a vengeful deity, big government, and Edward Cullen.
- You better watch out
You better not cry
Generally when you tell someone they had 'better watch out', it's not because you're genuinely concerned for their well-being. It's because you want them to know that you are a force to be reckoned with and quite possibly a loose cannon as well. Santa starts off his triumphant procession into town by letting everyone know that he is fully capable of kicking ass and taking names.
-He's making a list
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice
So I'm fine with a system of checks and balances. I understand that Santa wants to have standards, and I think he should. After all, you don't want to be spending all your time and magic making gifts for kids that really don't deserve them. It's what makes Christmas work. You have to be good all year so you get that big pay out at the end. Otherwise, society falls apart. It's not that part that bothers me (although considering Santa's bullying tendencies, it is a little disconcerting). No, the problem is this...
-He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
This is where things get pretty creepy. We've already established that Santa is a bully. Now we find out that he's pretty much an omniscient voyeur who is constantly stalking you and keeping track of your actions- and the tone of this song would suggest that he is just waiting for that one moment, that one time when you slip up and let your defenses down. BANG.
3) Santa Baby
My friend Summer pointed out that this song paints a gold-digging picture of women and implies that a woman finds her worth in being good looking and having a rich man give them lots of fancy stuff (as opposed to earning it herself). Now she's really smart and a woman (um....I don't mean that in a scientific discovery sort of way- like, World's first actually smart woman found frozen in ice cave) so I can't comment too much on her thoughts (But she's right).
No, I want to focus on the fact that the woman singing the song seems to be suffering from a severe case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It's not fatal- it'll probably just lead to the downfall of Christmas.
In case you didn't read the hyperlink, here's a few of the symptoms of NPD. Let me know if any of these sound familiar:
•Take advantage of other people to achieve his or her own goals
•Exaggerate achievements and talents
•Be preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, beauty, intelligence, or ideal love
•Have unreasonable expectations of favorable treatment
•Pursue mainly selfish goals
Obviously this woman is blatantly trying to rip off the 'Be good/get free stuff' holiday system by being marginally good and asking for way more stuff than any one person should be. Amongst the things she asks for are: a sable (not sure what a sable is. It could be this. Or this), a light blue '54 convertible, a yacht, the deed to a platinum mine, a duplex, blank checks (already signed, presumably from Santa's magical money bank), and something else...what is it...oh yeah. A ring. Not on the phone either. A ring.
She's not the kind of person that can accept that, maybe this year you only get the '54 convertible and the blank checks but you'll have to wait until next year for the other stuff. No, she's like SANTA BRING ME ALL MY STUFF RIGHT NOW!!!!
But when is right now? Is it Christmas eve? If so, isn't it a little unreasonable to present Santa with the above Christmas list on the night before Christmas??? Sure, Santa has some magic- but little elves make most of the stuff. You think you can just place an order for an antique car, a yacht, and a duplex like elves are some fantasy short order cooks? And if it's not Christmas eve, then who does she think she is, ordering Santa to make an extra trip?
Really, she should be thankful to get anything. Despite her claims to have been an 'awful good girl', she offers very little evidence to support her claim. Apparently by missing out on tons of fun and not kissing a bunch of dudes, she thinks that she's somehow the Mother Theresa of gift requesters. Well you know what lady? I didn't have much fun this year- it's called "being poor". And I didn't go around kissing a bunch of other people, either. It's called "I love my wife". But you don't see me asking for a bunch of crap for Christmas- the only thing from your list that remotely appeals to me is the blank checks from Santa. And I might not be a good guy, just so you know.
Nonetheless, I think Santa will do the right thing. I trust Santa's decision making- this is the same guy that initially denied Ralphie's request for an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle because of concerns about shooting his eye out. But after reading this list, Santa might bypass 'well she can't have this/this/that' and just go straight to 'I quit'. If you spend any time around older people, you know some of the disdain they have for the entitlement of our generation. Well imagine being as old as Santa Claus and spending your entire life revolving around giving people nice things for free and never really receiving the proper thanks. Now imagine that some woman unloads a Christmas list worth more than some small countries and demands immediate service. Sounds like retirement to me.
I know, I said songs that were 'secretly' tragic. So how does this one qualify- the tragedy is in the fracking title!
To which I say 'Yes, yes it is'. Obviously it would be horrible to have a relative die on Christmas eve in any fashion. The fact that the family dresses in black, returns gifts, and eats fig pudding speaks about the terrible, inconsolable Christmas that they had this year. And even as the years go on, as the pain slowly fades away there will still be a twinge of regret about the events of that fated Christmas eve.
Regret, mixed with vile hatred and an insatiable thirst for revenge. Because the tragedy is not what happens to grandma, but what is spawned from the aftermath of her death.
Let's start with the premise that there is some tension between the Santa Claus faithful and the non-believing element. Evidently in this Santa Claus-exists universe, there is a crisis of faith. How there can be such a crisis of faith in a world where Santa is real, I don't know- but they are having one. It must be at least a decently sized group, since the implication is that it took the death of grandma at Santa's hands for grandpa to believe.
So Santa Claus, needing to reestablish his legitimacy, accidentally runs over some old woman while out on his rounds. Now, the whole thing is probably just a misunderstanding gone wrong. Some drunk elderly woman (who had forgot her medication) walking home on a snowy night gets run over by reindeer-drawn sleigh. It happens. Most likely what happened is that Santa is simply guilty of negligent homicide. He should have left a note with his contact info and insurance information. Or at the very least, hide the body. End of issue.
Instead, Santa not only leaves the body with no expression of recourse or remorse- but he plants Claus marks on her back. I'm not sure what a Claus mark is, but it's enough of a mark to where people can see it and say 'Oh my God- this was the work of Santa Claus!'. Yup- this story just took a turn into serial killer land.
But Santa is not a serial killer- he's a father figure who has fallen on hard times and is trying to protect his family. The whole Christmas operation runs on the Christmas spirit that, for whatever reason, seems to be dwindling. Faced with making tough choices like laying off elves or possibly cutting back on presents, Santa has to do something drastic to reignite the passion in everyones hearts. Unfortunately, he's a little out of touch with the mainstream and doesn't realize that it's not really acceptable to kill people and leave their bodies lying around as a form of communication.
Grandma's family takes this action personally and funnels their passion into an anti-Santa bunker mentality. This family has decided that this one simple, probable accident is the last straw and they want to revoke Santa's license. Whatever it was that happened on that fateful night, Santa Claus can look forward to an eternity of 'God hates Santa' posters and Christmas eve picketers on rooftops all over the Bible Belt.
Imagine a universe where Santa Claus is solely responsible for creating Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church. Because that's what will likely happen after grandma's funeral is over. Praise the Lord- and pass the ammunition.
PIC- Kinkade http://www.kinkadecentral.com/kinkade-2010-bambis-first-year-1st-art-disney-thomas.jpg
Firearms- http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/11/27/article-2066860-0EF6BD5E00000578-307_636x392.jpg
Santa- https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUH0nCGo0HvKgoFB8AN48wWJanjw0g6mn_zbqRC5d6diKso6m-JN5tAW-8_dZo0Tj16-5P8_7kNsCbJE1ekb93jFzQSA3WLKiu1kgo5GbKBVyD64GVcWGuV5P759HLMVhww_8jvpAZrEP9/s1600/url.jpeg
Elf sniper- http://www.victoryforce.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=VFM&Product_Code=770111&Category_Code=storybook
The Ring- https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtIvpih8Cs9O2WH02iL7F27mr_ABOfssoa5j3EKPBRqBMnzbuussN5mVeWfVoEKTwp645nwT3c3g1KkE_ZDelal8Rd4i9UgmZhbik9hZvpiPxdF2AplCtWAigeCWqHCkVRVT92Z9Mw_M/s1600/655b6f0c-baca-411b-a3a6-8f0be0207a4a_Samara_Morgan.jpg
Fred Phelps- http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20060922084242/wikiality/images/1/1e/Fred_Phelps.png
 |
| Just let me know when you've stopped throwing up |
But the holidays are not all baby deer and rainbow brooks- Christmas is one of the most stressful times of the year. Financial concerns, family stresses, and trying to keep up with the Jones' can make any jolly old elf start dreaming of a white supremacist Christmas.
But even when things are at their absolute worst, you can always listen to Christmas songs. Beacons of light and hope, they are full of heartwarming innocence and wonder. Well, except for the following five songs, which are harboring secret messages of tragedy and trauma and seem to be working to push cognitively unstable people off the edge of their mental cliffs, possibly to serve as minions for Santa in his power play for world domination.
5) I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
To a kid, about the only thing grosser than the idea of kissing is the idea of your parents kissing. Most kids freak out at the thought of their parents being intimate. Understandable, since that is the yuckiest thing ever. So this song already provides a little bit of trauma right there. This poor little kid, sneaking downstairs hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious enigma of Santa Claus, only OH MY GOD THAT IS DISGUSTING- KISSING???? BLECH....and then, he sees it.
Wait a minute- mommy's not kissing Daddy. Mommy's kissing Santa Claus.
Kids aren't generally relationship savants, but even they know that mommies are only supposed to kiss daddies. Sure, maybe the kid would think 'Hey it might be kind of cool to have a new dad who has access to magic flying reindeer and literally every toy I've ever wanted'. More than likely, the child would retreat into an internal safe place where you don't have to worry about your mom leaving the family for a land of elves and candy canes to live with an ageless old geezer while you and your dad live out the rest of your days eating baked beans by the trash can fire.
4) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
But even when things are at their absolute worst, you can always listen to Christmas songs. Beacons of light and hope, they are full of heartwarming innocence and wonder. Well, except for the following five songs, which are harboring secret messages of tragedy and trauma and seem to be working to push cognitively unstable people off the edge of their mental cliffs, possibly to serve as minions for Santa in his power play for world domination.
 |
| Ho. Ho. Ho. |
To a kid, about the only thing grosser than the idea of kissing is the idea of your parents kissing. Most kids freak out at the thought of their parents being intimate. Understandable, since that is the yuckiest thing ever. So this song already provides a little bit of trauma right there. This poor little kid, sneaking downstairs hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious enigma of Santa Claus, only OH MY GOD THAT IS DISGUSTING- KISSING???? BLECH....and then, he sees it.
Wait a minute- mommy's not kissing Daddy. Mommy's kissing Santa Claus.
Kids aren't generally relationship savants, but even they know that mommies are only supposed to kiss daddies. Sure, maybe the kid would think 'Hey it might be kind of cool to have a new dad who has access to magic flying reindeer and literally every toy I've ever wanted'. More than likely, the child would retreat into an internal safe place where you don't have to worry about your mom leaving the family for a land of elves and candy canes to live with an ageless old geezer while you and your dad live out the rest of your days eating baked beans by the trash can fire.
4) Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
The only reason the lyrics to this song don't make us piss our pants every time we hear it (other than Bruce Springsteen's oddly reassuring fake laugh) is that Santa Claus (SPOILER) isn't actually real. Which is a good thing, because the Santa Claus of this song is a mixture of a vengeful deity, big government, and Edward Cullen.
- You better watch out
You better not cry
Generally when you tell someone they had 'better watch out', it's not because you're genuinely concerned for their well-being. It's because you want them to know that you are a force to be reckoned with and quite possibly a loose cannon as well. Santa starts off his triumphant procession into town by letting everyone know that he is fully capable of kicking ass and taking names.
-He's making a list
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who's naughty and nice
So I'm fine with a system of checks and balances. I understand that Santa wants to have standards, and I think he should. After all, you don't want to be spending all your time and magic making gifts for kids that really don't deserve them. It's what makes Christmas work. You have to be good all year so you get that big pay out at the end. Otherwise, society falls apart. It's not that part that bothers me (although considering Santa's bullying tendencies, it is a little disconcerting). No, the problem is this...
-He sees you when you're sleeping
He knows when you're awake
He knows if you've been bad or good
This is where things get pretty creepy. We've already established that Santa is a bully. Now we find out that he's pretty much an omniscient voyeur who is constantly stalking you and keeping track of your actions- and the tone of this song would suggest that he is just waiting for that one moment, that one time when you slip up and let your defenses down. BANG.
 |
| You just got taken out by the naughty list. Merry Christmas. |
My friend Summer pointed out that this song paints a gold-digging picture of women and implies that a woman finds her worth in being good looking and having a rich man give them lots of fancy stuff (as opposed to earning it herself). Now she's really smart and a woman (um....I don't mean that in a scientific discovery sort of way- like, World's first actually smart woman found frozen in ice cave) so I can't comment too much on her thoughts (But she's right).
No, I want to focus on the fact that the woman singing the song seems to be suffering from a severe case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It's not fatal- it'll probably just lead to the downfall of Christmas.
In case you didn't read the hyperlink, here's a few of the symptoms of NPD. Let me know if any of these sound familiar:
•Take advantage of other people to achieve his or her own goals
•Exaggerate achievements and talents
•Be preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, beauty, intelligence, or ideal love
•Have unreasonable expectations of favorable treatment
•Pursue mainly selfish goals
Obviously this woman is blatantly trying to rip off the 'Be good/get free stuff' holiday system by being marginally good and asking for way more stuff than any one person should be. Amongst the things she asks for are: a sable (not sure what a sable is. It could be this. Or this), a light blue '54 convertible, a yacht, the deed to a platinum mine, a duplex, blank checks (already signed, presumably from Santa's magical money bank), and something else...what is it...oh yeah. A ring. Not on the phone either. A ring.
 |
| No, no, no- not The Ring- just a ring. |
But when is right now? Is it Christmas eve? If so, isn't it a little unreasonable to present Santa with the above Christmas list on the night before Christmas??? Sure, Santa has some magic- but little elves make most of the stuff. You think you can just place an order for an antique car, a yacht, and a duplex like elves are some fantasy short order cooks? And if it's not Christmas eve, then who does she think she is, ordering Santa to make an extra trip?
Really, she should be thankful to get anything. Despite her claims to have been an 'awful good girl', she offers very little evidence to support her claim. Apparently by missing out on tons of fun and not kissing a bunch of dudes, she thinks that she's somehow the Mother Theresa of gift requesters. Well you know what lady? I didn't have much fun this year- it's called "being poor". And I didn't go around kissing a bunch of other people, either. It's called "I love my wife". But you don't see me asking for a bunch of crap for Christmas- the only thing from your list that remotely appeals to me is the blank checks from Santa. And I might not be a good guy, just so you know.
Nonetheless, I think Santa will do the right thing. I trust Santa's decision making- this is the same guy that initially denied Ralphie's request for an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle because of concerns about shooting his eye out. But after reading this list, Santa might bypass 'well she can't have this/this/that' and just go straight to 'I quit'. If you spend any time around older people, you know some of the disdain they have for the entitlement of our generation. Well imagine being as old as Santa Claus and spending your entire life revolving around giving people nice things for free and never really receiving the proper thanks. Now imagine that some woman unloads a Christmas list worth more than some small countries and demands immediate service. Sounds like retirement to me.
2) Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer
Thanks to the wonder of claymation, we all know the story of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. The upstart mutant freak of the North Pole saved the day, married the girl, and lived happily ever after.
Except he didn't.
Because the song leaves us right before Rudolph leaves on his big Christmas saving adventure. We literally don't know what happened the next day, or any of the days after. Sure, the other reindeer say 'you'll go down in history'- but that's just because Rudolph is about to bail them out big time. They'd say anything to get him to help them out.
So what do you think happens when the reindeer return to the North Pole? They're returning to the same culture where Rudolph was repeatedly ostracized for his glowing non-conformity. The ones that hated him before will have even more reason to hate him now that they see everyone fawning over him for saving Christmas. And that hatred will burn even brighter- you could even say it'll glow. Life is not some cheesy movie or simple song- the apparent instantaneous transformation from disableists to Rudo!ph 4ever!sts probably has more to do with the fact that he was saving their asses than it does any change of heart. Now that they're back in the normal routine, they'll realize that they still hate Rudolph.
It's no coincidence that Rudolph is pretty much never heard from again (despite the songs' claims that he is 'the most famous reindeer of all'). Rudolph is the classic shooting star- he came out of nowhere, saved Christmas, and then disappeared from the scene forever. And do you know why we probably never heard about Rudolph again? Because the other reindeer finally let him play some reindeer games. Specifically the 'Gut Rudolph And Dump The Body' one.
1) Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer
Thanks to the wonder of claymation, we all know the story of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. The upstart mutant freak of the North Pole saved the day, married the girl, and lived happily ever after.
Except he didn't.
Because the song leaves us right before Rudolph leaves on his big Christmas saving adventure. We literally don't know what happened the next day, or any of the days after. Sure, the other reindeer say 'you'll go down in history'- but that's just because Rudolph is about to bail them out big time. They'd say anything to get him to help them out.
So what do you think happens when the reindeer return to the North Pole? They're returning to the same culture where Rudolph was repeatedly ostracized for his glowing non-conformity. The ones that hated him before will have even more reason to hate him now that they see everyone fawning over him for saving Christmas. And that hatred will burn even brighter- you could even say it'll glow. Life is not some cheesy movie or simple song- the apparent instantaneous transformation from disableists to Rudo!ph 4ever!sts probably has more to do with the fact that he was saving their asses than it does any change of heart. Now that they're back in the normal routine, they'll realize that they still hate Rudolph.
It's no coincidence that Rudolph is pretty much never heard from again (despite the songs' claims that he is 'the most famous reindeer of all'). Rudolph is the classic shooting star- he came out of nowhere, saved Christmas, and then disappeared from the scene forever. And do you know why we probably never heard about Rudolph again? Because the other reindeer finally let him play some reindeer games. Specifically the 'Gut Rudolph And Dump The Body' one.
1) Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer
I know, I said songs that were 'secretly' tragic. So how does this one qualify- the tragedy is in the fracking title!
To which I say 'Yes, yes it is'. Obviously it would be horrible to have a relative die on Christmas eve in any fashion. The fact that the family dresses in black, returns gifts, and eats fig pudding speaks about the terrible, inconsolable Christmas that they had this year. And even as the years go on, as the pain slowly fades away there will still be a twinge of regret about the events of that fated Christmas eve.
Regret, mixed with vile hatred and an insatiable thirst for revenge. Because the tragedy is not what happens to grandma, but what is spawned from the aftermath of her death.
Let's start with the premise that there is some tension between the Santa Claus faithful and the non-believing element. Evidently in this Santa Claus-exists universe, there is a crisis of faith. How there can be such a crisis of faith in a world where Santa is real, I don't know- but they are having one. It must be at least a decently sized group, since the implication is that it took the death of grandma at Santa's hands for grandpa to believe.
So Santa Claus, needing to reestablish his legitimacy, accidentally runs over some old woman while out on his rounds. Now, the whole thing is probably just a misunderstanding gone wrong. Some drunk elderly woman (who had forgot her medication) walking home on a snowy night gets run over by reindeer-drawn sleigh. It happens. Most likely what happened is that Santa is simply guilty of negligent homicide. He should have left a note with his contact info and insurance information. Or at the very least, hide the body. End of issue.
Instead, Santa not only leaves the body with no expression of recourse or remorse- but he plants Claus marks on her back. I'm not sure what a Claus mark is, but it's enough of a mark to where people can see it and say 'Oh my God- this was the work of Santa Claus!'. Yup- this story just took a turn into serial killer land.
But Santa is not a serial killer- he's a father figure who has fallen on hard times and is trying to protect his family. The whole Christmas operation runs on the Christmas spirit that, for whatever reason, seems to be dwindling. Faced with making tough choices like laying off elves or possibly cutting back on presents, Santa has to do something drastic to reignite the passion in everyones hearts. Unfortunately, he's a little out of touch with the mainstream and doesn't realize that it's not really acceptable to kill people and leave their bodies lying around as a form of communication.
Grandma's family takes this action personally and funnels their passion into an anti-Santa bunker mentality. This family has decided that this one simple, probable accident is the last straw and they want to revoke Santa's license. Whatever it was that happened on that fateful night, Santa Claus can look forward to an eternity of 'God hates Santa' posters and Christmas eve picketers on rooftops all over the Bible Belt.
PIC- Kinkade http://www.kinkadecentral.com/kinkade-2010-bambis-first-year-1st-art-disney-thomas.jpg
Firearms- http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/11/27/article-2066860-0EF6BD5E00000578-307_636x392.jpg
Santa- https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUH0nCGo0HvKgoFB8AN48wWJanjw0g6mn_zbqRC5d6diKso6m-JN5tAW-8_dZo0Tj16-5P8_7kNsCbJE1ekb93jFzQSA3WLKiu1kgo5GbKBVyD64GVcWGuV5P759HLMVhww_8jvpAZrEP9/s1600/url.jpeg
Elf sniper- http://www.victoryforce.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=VFM&Product_Code=770111&Category_Code=storybook
The Ring- https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtIvpih8Cs9O2WH02iL7F27mr_ABOfssoa5j3EKPBRqBMnzbuussN5mVeWfVoEKTwp645nwT3c3g1KkE_ZDelal8Rd4i9UgmZhbik9hZvpiPxdF2AplCtWAigeCWqHCkVRVT92Z9Mw_M/s1600/655b6f0c-baca-411b-a3a6-8f0be0207a4a_Samara_Morgan.jpg
Fred Phelps- http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20060922084242/wikiality/images/1/1e/Fred_Phelps.png
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Everyone wants to keep CHRIST in Christmas...what about MAS?
Well, November is over halfway done, and Thanksgiving is next week (this week if you're one of those crazies that starts their week on Sunday), which can only mean one thing- Christmas season started 3 weeks ago.
Normally I'm all gung-ho for Christmas. A couple years ago, I spontaneously decorated the house one early November weekend because we got an inch of snow. This year....well, this year I'm trying to remember that Turkey Day technically comes first chronologically and there's still a whole month to enjoy the Christmas festivities afterwards. Besides, snow (obviously) plays a huge role in my Christmaspiritometer, and Marquette has been going through a period of snow impotence lately. I mean, I woke up to our first snow day of the year to find this on the ground:
Most people don't care about that though, and so Christmas has begun. Viva la Christmas!
With the onset of the Christmas fever, it is inevitable that Facebook walls, Twitter, message boards, and church signs everywhere will begin the War on anti-christ-mas and those unholy spawns of Satan who want to ninja-sneak into our beds and slice the CHRIST right out of CHRISTmas- leaving behind a poor, tired, huddled -Mas. Indeed, it has already begun, and can only lead to a holly, jolly blood bath, some amped up rhetoric, and all of us waking up on December 26th just to realize no one really changed anyone's mind or made any headway in winning the war. Nope- we just took a month of peace and goodwill, dragged it out back, and shot it in the face. Ho ho ho indeed.
It doesn't have to be this way though. Because here's the thing about holidays- they are what you make them. You. Singular. Emphasis on YOU. You decide the meaning of the holiday. I literally cannot make this any more clear. Seriously, I can't. I bolded/underlined/italicized it. Then I changed the size and the font. Finally, I gave it some color (Christmas colors in fact). The only thing I could do at this point would be to provide a hyperlink, but if you can't understand it here, you sure as heck aren't going to understand it there, where they don't even go to the trouble of providing such witty banter and excellent service.
Think about the various Christmas traditions. Santa Claus. Christmas trees. The decorations. The giving of the gifts. Even the date (December 25th). All of them have some basis on Pagan traditions. But most of us don't care about that because all of those things mean something completely different to us now. Saturnaila is out of the picture. We aren't worshipping the trees by adorning them with precious idols.
And we are able to celebrate free from the stain of guilt on our pious consciences because we have made these customs our own. Each person, each family folds a desired practice into their celebration and lets the other things fall by the wayside.
This doesn't just go for Christmas, either. It's all holidays. In our family, Halloween is not some big Satan fest (we celebrate that on 'SomeBigSatanFest Day')- it's a day where we get to dress up like Batman and go get free candy. I'm sure I have spent at least a few Thanksgivings without giving thanks for anything besides that big old turkey we chomping at the bit for. On Easter we teach our kids about the time the Easter Bunny rose from the dead to check if there was six more weeks of winter and to give all the good little boys and girls of the world pastel candy.
Of course, we also have the freedom to ignore holidays should we so choose. Columbus Day pretty much comes and goes like any other non-Columbus Day in our house (except with disruption to the mail and banking sectors. Even in death, Chris Columbus is giving us the finger).
I believe the reason that things started to shift away from Christmas and towards Wintersmas is that some people couldn't understand/accept the idea of different beliefs being taught than what they believed and felt persecuted. Then they went on a crusade for their beliefs. So the powers-that-be, not really understanding how to accommodate minority belief systems without upsetting the majority, just decided that nobody gets to play Special Winter Holiday today (which is honestly how any good parent decides a dispute between their two children fighting over the same toy. That is what good parents do, right?). Many Christians, not understanding/accepting the idea of different beliefs than what they believed, started to feel persecuted and began to crusade for their beliefs.
Just saying.
Personally, I have no problem saying 'happy holidays' to someone. I'm acknowledging the fact that there are like, a bunch of holidays in the span of a month as well as acknowledging respect for another persons feelings and beliefs. Maybe they celebrate Christmas because of Jesus, maybe they even celebrate Christmas without Jesus (because, let's be honest- the idea of unlimited sweets, free stuff, and two weeks off of school are all pretty good non-religious reasons to celebrate Christmas), and maybe they don't celebrate Christmas period. In a country that was forged by a group of people fleeing religious persecution, I don't mind not persecuting someone's religion.
Myself, I wouldn't mind if schools allowed the incorporation of different festivities- and not just so I could keep my CHRISTmas. It'd be a way for my kids to learn about people outside their tiny bubble. I mean, come on- most children end up believing what their parents believe anyways so it's not like our kids are going to drift away into heresy. As long as we're actively involved in their lives, and they know we love them and want what is best for them, we have nothing to fear about them being exposed to things outside of our comfort zone. If we actually embraced differences (instead of treating them like they're a great big game of Hot Potato) then maybe our kids would grow up and realize that 'Hey. We can, you know...actually talk about our differences in a respectful fashion and maybe not just hate each other because of some invisible, ideological divide'. Crazy talk, I know.
PICS- Columubs- http://sepiamutiny.com/blog/2005/10/10/o_henry/
John McClane- http://media.screened.com/uploads/1/13855/580047-3.jpg
Normally I'm all gung-ho for Christmas. A couple years ago, I spontaneously decorated the house one early November weekend because we got an inch of snow. This year....well, this year I'm trying to remember that Turkey Day technically comes first chronologically and there's still a whole month to enjoy the Christmas festivities afterwards. Besides, snow (obviously) plays a huge role in my Christmaspiritometer, and Marquette has been going through a period of snow impotence lately. I mean, I woke up to our first snow day of the year to find this on the ground:
 |
| In serious need of some snow Viagra. |
With the onset of the Christmas fever, it is inevitable that Facebook walls, Twitter, message boards, and church signs everywhere will begin the War on anti-christ-mas and those unholy spawns of Satan who want to ninja-sneak into our beds and slice the CHRIST right out of CHRISTmas- leaving behind a poor, tired, huddled -Mas. Indeed, it has already begun, and can only lead to a holly, jolly blood bath, some amped up rhetoric, and all of us waking up on December 26th just to realize no one really changed anyone's mind or made any headway in winning the war. Nope- we just took a month of peace and goodwill, dragged it out back, and shot it in the face. Ho ho ho indeed.
It doesn't have to be this way though. Because here's the thing about holidays- they are what you make them. You. Singular. Emphasis on YOU. You decide the meaning of the holiday. I literally cannot make this any more clear. Seriously, I can't. I bolded/underlined/italicized it. Then I changed the size and the font. Finally, I gave it some color (Christmas colors in fact). The only thing I could do at this point would be to provide a hyperlink, but if you can't understand it here, you sure as heck aren't going to understand it there, where they don't even go to the trouble of providing such witty banter and excellent service.
Think about the various Christmas traditions. Santa Claus. Christmas trees. The decorations. The giving of the gifts. Even the date (December 25th). All of them have some basis on Pagan traditions. But most of us don't care about that because all of those things mean something completely different to us now. Saturnaila is out of the picture. We aren't worshipping the trees by adorning them with precious idols.
And we are able to celebrate free from the stain of guilt on our pious consciences because we have made these customs our own. Each person, each family folds a desired practice into their celebration and lets the other things fall by the wayside.
This doesn't just go for Christmas, either. It's all holidays. In our family, Halloween is not some big Satan fest (we celebrate that on 'SomeBigSatanFest Day')- it's a day where we get to dress up like Batman and go get free candy. I'm sure I have spent at least a few Thanksgivings without giving thanks for anything besides that big old turkey we chomping at the bit for. On Easter we teach our kids about the time the Easter Bunny rose from the dead to check if there was six more weeks of winter and to give all the good little boys and girls of the world pastel candy.
Of course, we also have the freedom to ignore holidays should we so choose. Columbus Day pretty much comes and goes like any other non-Columbus Day in our house (except with disruption to the mail and banking sectors. Even in death, Chris Columbus is giving us the finger).
 |
| No holiday pay for you, SUCKAS!!!! |
Just saying.
Personally, I have no problem saying 'happy holidays' to someone. I'm acknowledging the fact that there are like, a bunch of holidays in the span of a month as well as acknowledging respect for another persons feelings and beliefs. Maybe they celebrate Christmas because of Jesus, maybe they even celebrate Christmas without Jesus (because, let's be honest- the idea of unlimited sweets, free stuff, and two weeks off of school are all pretty good non-religious reasons to celebrate Christmas), and maybe they don't celebrate Christmas period. In a country that was forged by a group of people fleeing religious persecution, I don't mind not persecuting someone's religion.
If you want to keep Christ in Christmas, then first try being Christ-like. Jesus didn't run around waving the sword of "Na-nana boo-boo" or smashing people over the head with the hammer of "Pwn'd n00bs". By and large, his earthly ministry was based on kindness, compassion, and humility. Of course, we take that example and become the religious equivalent of John McClane.
 |
| Shoot first, shoot later. THEN ask questions. Then shoot them too. |
Look, Jesus was the Son of God, right? The Son of freaking God. Not only that, but He was freaking God Himself. But He humbled Himself to come down to Earth to hang with us, teach us all really good lessons, and then die for our sins. I think if God was willing to do that...then maybe this Christmas we can all humble ourselves and spread some peace and goodwill instead of lobbing culture bombs at our demon neighbors.
PICS- Columubs- http://sepiamutiny.com/blog/2005/10/10/o_henry/
John McClane- http://media.screened.com/uploads/1/13855/580047-3.jpg
Friday, February 25, 2011
Phone again
So today was a very exciting day because our tax return was direct deposited and we are no longer uber poor! Naturally, we decided to go out and spend an extravagant amount of money on new phones! Well, actually, Sara spent a exorbitant amount of money on a new phone. I only spent a little money on mine.
Okay, okay, it wasn't a new phone- actually I didn't buy a phone today at all. I bought a phone accessory. Yes friends, a mere phone accessory convinced my college-educated brain that I somehow acquired an electronic device that I had not previously owned. When historians look back on this blog post, they will conclude that this is the day that I...oooooh look, shiny!!!
Let's flashback to October of 2010, when I got my new Droid phone as a super surprise Christmas present from my wife. It was amazing- I had probably spent the previous four years with a hand-me-down phone of some sort, so to be holding in my hands a brand-new smart phone- it was exhilarating. I couldn't wait to get home from work that night and try out my sweet new phone!
Flash forward just a tiny bit to right before I had to go to work that day. Delaney cut her mouth open, and I was distraught. Right before I left, I knelt down to give Shane a good-bye kiss- totally forgetting that I had put my keys and phone in the same pocket in my super duper tight jeans! Screen- cracked. Joy- depleted.
I spent the next few months wallowing in the anguish of my broken treasure. Sure, the screen still worked, and it was a smart phone. But there was an unsightly blemish on the starboard side, and every time I ran my finger over the distorted swelling, it stuck a knife through my warm fuzzies. I wanted to just cut ties with it, swallow the $90 deductible, and get a new phone...but the pragmatic side of me refused to part with a c-note over such a cosmetic deficiency. And so my internal civil war raged on for months.
Then, earlier this week, I remembered a scripture verse that gave me peace of mind and restored my hope. At least...I think it was a scripture verse. Maybe it was something that I made up all on my own. I think it was like 2 Dwayne, or something like that.
Jesus said to Nicodimus, 'Thou shalt not get a new phone except thoust phone come brand-new from the factory box a second time'. And thusly did Nicodimus then say 'But Lord, they are wrapped in cellophane and encoded with a special identification number per the terms of the cell-phone contract- how can it come brand new from the factory box again?'. Jesus replied 'Verily I tell you the truth, unless you buy a shiny blue hard case and replace thy olden screen protector, thy phone shall continue to bring shame to thee and thees household and thees households households'.
Sometimes I'm so frustrated that the Bible is such a cryptic piece of literature. I just wish it would speak more plainly on issues. So I filed this away in the back of my mind and proceeded to spend the rest of the week moping about the elephantitis on my phone's face, which at this point had also accumulated a fine layer of yucky dirt.
Anyways, today we went to Verizon to replace the phone that Sara had lost (and really, I'm surprised that this did not happen much, much sooner than it did). I was standing there, looking around, envying all of the paying customers who would be leaving Verizon Wireless with their happy brand new phones- when I saw it. It was in a clear plastic wrap- a hard case made of shiny blue. I decided to buy it. When I got home, I immediately put the case on my phone and became alive. Passion rising in my being, I tore the home apart, looking for the remaining extra screen protectors that I had laying around. Then, I found them.
And now, the moment of truth. I took the old screen protector off, expecting to find a huge gaping wound on the screen of my phone. What I found instead....was a barely noticeable nick. Really? REALLY??? I spent the last few months debating getting a new phone because of an unsightly blemish that was really just a natural reaction from air getting into the screen protector? AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!
Actually- that lasted for about .5 seconds, until I put the new screen protector on and got to experience the joy of having a new phone all over again. Seriously- it was like a second honeymoon today. My phone was lost, but now is found. It was dead to me- but it is alive again.
Oh happy day! Rejoice- and have another bean burrito, on the house!
Okay, okay, it wasn't a new phone- actually I didn't buy a phone today at all. I bought a phone accessory. Yes friends, a mere phone accessory convinced my college-educated brain that I somehow acquired an electronic device that I had not previously owned. When historians look back on this blog post, they will conclude that this is the day that I...oooooh look, shiny!!!
Let's flashback to October of 2010, when I got my new Droid phone as a super surprise Christmas present from my wife. It was amazing- I had probably spent the previous four years with a hand-me-down phone of some sort, so to be holding in my hands a brand-new smart phone- it was exhilarating. I couldn't wait to get home from work that night and try out my sweet new phone!
Flash forward just a tiny bit to right before I had to go to work that day. Delaney cut her mouth open, and I was distraught. Right before I left, I knelt down to give Shane a good-bye kiss- totally forgetting that I had put my keys and phone in the same pocket in my super duper tight jeans! Screen- cracked. Joy- depleted.
I spent the next few months wallowing in the anguish of my broken treasure. Sure, the screen still worked, and it was a smart phone. But there was an unsightly blemish on the starboard side, and every time I ran my finger over the distorted swelling, it stuck a knife through my warm fuzzies. I wanted to just cut ties with it, swallow the $90 deductible, and get a new phone...but the pragmatic side of me refused to part with a c-note over such a cosmetic deficiency. And so my internal civil war raged on for months.
Then, earlier this week, I remembered a scripture verse that gave me peace of mind and restored my hope. At least...I think it was a scripture verse. Maybe it was something that I made up all on my own. I think it was like 2 Dwayne, or something like that.
Jesus said to Nicodimus, 'Thou shalt not get a new phone except thoust phone come brand-new from the factory box a second time'. And thusly did Nicodimus then say 'But Lord, they are wrapped in cellophane and encoded with a special identification number per the terms of the cell-phone contract- how can it come brand new from the factory box again?'. Jesus replied 'Verily I tell you the truth, unless you buy a shiny blue hard case and replace thy olden screen protector, thy phone shall continue to bring shame to thee and thees household and thees households households'.
Sometimes I'm so frustrated that the Bible is such a cryptic piece of literature. I just wish it would speak more plainly on issues. So I filed this away in the back of my mind and proceeded to spend the rest of the week moping about the elephantitis on my phone's face, which at this point had also accumulated a fine layer of yucky dirt.
Anyways, today we went to Verizon to replace the phone that Sara had lost (and really, I'm surprised that this did not happen much, much sooner than it did). I was standing there, looking around, envying all of the paying customers who would be leaving Verizon Wireless with their happy brand new phones- when I saw it. It was in a clear plastic wrap- a hard case made of shiny blue. I decided to buy it. When I got home, I immediately put the case on my phone and became alive. Passion rising in my being, I tore the home apart, looking for the remaining extra screen protectors that I had laying around. Then, I found them.
And now, the moment of truth. I took the old screen protector off, expecting to find a huge gaping wound on the screen of my phone. What I found instead....was a barely noticeable nick. Really? REALLY??? I spent the last few months debating getting a new phone because of an unsightly blemish that was really just a natural reaction from air getting into the screen protector? AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!
Actually- that lasted for about .5 seconds, until I put the new screen protector on and got to experience the joy of having a new phone all over again. Seriously- it was like a second honeymoon today. My phone was lost, but now is found. It was dead to me- but it is alive again.
Oh happy day! Rejoice- and have another bean burrito, on the house!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Writings from the past #1 (no, this is not filler, even if it has fillerish qualities)
First of all...aren't you even a little bit impressed? I mean, here we are, a week into January- and I've been blogging pretty consistently (as in, extremely consistently). Granted- I haven't delved into anything too deep yet- but come on- the fact that I have shown this level of motivation in my blogging efforts has to count for something. Right? By the way, I imagine that I won't make a big deal about my consecutive blogging streak forever. Like, I'm sure the first few complete seasons Cal Ripken Jr. put in, he was probably pretty impressed with himself- and then after a while, it's just expected of you. So fear not loyal reader- my fawning over myself is not long for this world!
So over Christmas break, Sara and I did some hardcore organizing and sorting. It was pretty awesome- we threw some stuff away, got some stuff out that we forgot that we had, and cleared some more space in our 900 square footish place. I know, I know- you're impressed.
During all this sorting, I came across a treasure trove of old writings and musings and papers I have written over the years. Some of it (quite a big chunk, actually) is emo-driven babble from early 2000's relationship limbo. Don't worry, I won't subject you to (much of) that. But there was also some stuff that I'm pretty proud of...and since they don't do real life show-and-tell, the next best thing is to blog it!
I'll actually do a pseudo-series of this- and I'll call it "Writings from the past #". Now, I realize that I have taken the good name of "series" and basically treated it as though I was a whaling vessel- but I think that if I can come reasonably close to writing every day this year...I should be able to keep at least some vestige of consistency....I think. Plus, this series is, like, already written- I just have to type it into the computer. How awesome is that!
Anyways, without further ado (which, interesting aside- I used to think was further adieu), here is Writing from the past #1. It is a paper I wrote for a correspondence writing course (for childrens books) that I took back in 2003 (I finished about half of the course before I just stopped submitting work. Are you surprised?). I know it's past the holidays, but since there is still snow on the ground, we'll call it close enough. It's called Rudolph the Red-nosed Radio Tower, and it is a piece about my childhood memories of Christmas Eve at my grandpa and grandma's house.
So over Christmas break, Sara and I did some hardcore organizing and sorting. It was pretty awesome- we threw some stuff away, got some stuff out that we forgot that we had, and cleared some more space in our 900 square footish place. I know, I know- you're impressed.
During all this sorting, I came across a treasure trove of old writings and musings and papers I have written over the years. Some of it (quite a big chunk, actually) is emo-driven babble from early 2000's relationship limbo. Don't worry, I won't subject you to (much of) that. But there was also some stuff that I'm pretty proud of...and since they don't do real life show-and-tell, the next best thing is to blog it!
I'll actually do a pseudo-series of this- and I'll call it "Writings from the past #". Now, I realize that I have taken the good name of "series" and basically treated it as though I was a whaling vessel- but I think that if I can come reasonably close to writing every day this year...I should be able to keep at least some vestige of consistency....I think. Plus, this series is, like, already written- I just have to type it into the computer. How awesome is that!
Anyways, without further ado (which, interesting aside- I used to think was further adieu), here is Writing from the past #1. It is a paper I wrote for a correspondence writing course (for childrens books) that I took back in 2003 (I finished about half of the course before I just stopped submitting work. Are you surprised?). I know it's past the holidays, but since there is still snow on the ground, we'll call it close enough. It's called Rudolph the Red-nosed Radio Tower, and it is a piece about my childhood memories of Christmas Eve at my grandpa and grandma's house.
Rudolph the Red-nosed Radio Tower
Growing up, Christmas Eve meant going to Grandpa and Grandma's house. Grandpa and Grandma Parks lived in a white ranch-style hou(for childrese in Shepherd. Shepherd is smack dab in the middle of the "Mitten", as lower Michigan is affectionately known as. It was in a rural, but not isolated, area surrounded by rolling hills and endless pine tree forests.
We would knock on the door around 4 o'clock. The laundry room was the first room in the house. The faint aroma of baked ham and scalloped potatoes mixed with the odor of Tide and driveway dirt filled the air. The outside chill met the warmth of the furnace head on. Waves of cousins would run out and give us big bear hugs.
As we made our way through the kitchen to the living room, I would always make sure to grab a snack. Usually there were carrots, celery, and lots of other yucky vegetables, but there would also be cheddar cheese with Ritz crackers. There were also popcorn balls. A popcorn ball is just that: a ball of popcorn. You mix Karo Syrup with water and food coloring, boil until hard-ball stage (260 degrees F.), which is between soft ball and soft crack on a cooking thermometer, then pour over the popcorn and shape it into little balls.
The living room was where the adults would hang out. Uncle Jody would always ask about my grades. Aunt Kathy would comment on how much I'd grown (Aunt Kathy was roughly the size of a dwarf, so I was always taller than her anyway) and the dull roar of adult chatting and laughter congested the air.
To retreat from the madness, I would shoot down the fuzzy orange stairs to the basement. The kids congregated here after tearing away from the poking, prodding adults. The dim lights, musty smell and cold, concrete floor created more of a dungeon atmosphere, but that didn't break our spirits. We would engage in epic battles of pool and Monopoly, as well as the arcade game, Mr. Digg. The reserve snacks and pop were in the basement, too. I didn't go upstairs except for dinner food and Santa.
Dinner consisted of juicy ham, lumpy mashed potatoes, fresh corn, biscuits and all the pop we could drink. Santa would show up soon after the meal and hand out gifts. we got to sit on Santa's lap and get our picture taken with him. Santa would bring each kid a gift and we would all open them and compare them with the other gifts.
It always seemed that just when we were starting to have the most fun, it was time to go home. It was sad to leave, but happy because we knew that we were going home to bed and wake up to a tree overflowing with gifts! On the ride home, we would always see a tiny, red light off in the distance. Mom and Dad said that it was the nose of Rudolph the Red-Nosed reindeer, and that we had to hurry home and get to bed so Santa wouldn't bypass our house. Later on, I learned that the light was actually from a radio tower. I've grown up a little bit since those magic Christmas Eve nights, but I will always cherish those popcorn balls, Mr. Digg, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Radio tower.
Tomorrow, I tear the roof off of health "information". I think you'll love it.
We would knock on the door around 4 o'clock. The laundry room was the first room in the house. The faint aroma of baked ham and scalloped potatoes mixed with the odor of Tide and driveway dirt filled the air. The outside chill met the warmth of the furnace head on. Waves of cousins would run out and give us big bear hugs.
As we made our way through the kitchen to the living room, I would always make sure to grab a snack. Usually there were carrots, celery, and lots of other yucky vegetables, but there would also be cheddar cheese with Ritz crackers. There were also popcorn balls. A popcorn ball is just that: a ball of popcorn. You mix Karo Syrup with water and food coloring, boil until hard-ball stage (260 degrees F.), which is between soft ball and soft crack on a cooking thermometer, then pour over the popcorn and shape it into little balls.
The living room was where the adults would hang out. Uncle Jody would always ask about my grades. Aunt Kathy would comment on how much I'd grown (Aunt Kathy was roughly the size of a dwarf, so I was always taller than her anyway) and the dull roar of adult chatting and laughter congested the air.
To retreat from the madness, I would shoot down the fuzzy orange stairs to the basement. The kids congregated here after tearing away from the poking, prodding adults. The dim lights, musty smell and cold, concrete floor created more of a dungeon atmosphere, but that didn't break our spirits. We would engage in epic battles of pool and Monopoly, as well as the arcade game, Mr. Digg. The reserve snacks and pop were in the basement, too. I didn't go upstairs except for dinner food and Santa.
Dinner consisted of juicy ham, lumpy mashed potatoes, fresh corn, biscuits and all the pop we could drink. Santa would show up soon after the meal and hand out gifts. we got to sit on Santa's lap and get our picture taken with him. Santa would bring each kid a gift and we would all open them and compare them with the other gifts.
It always seemed that just when we were starting to have the most fun, it was time to go home. It was sad to leave, but happy because we knew that we were going home to bed and wake up to a tree overflowing with gifts! On the ride home, we would always see a tiny, red light off in the distance. Mom and Dad said that it was the nose of Rudolph the Red-Nosed reindeer, and that we had to hurry home and get to bed so Santa wouldn't bypass our house. Later on, I learned that the light was actually from a radio tower. I've grown up a little bit since those magic Christmas Eve nights, but I will always cherish those popcorn balls, Mr. Digg, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Radio tower.
Tomorrow, I tear the roof off of health "information". I think you'll love it.
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