No Reason For the Season
I promised I wasn't going to do an "I Hate Christmas" post yet again this year... I lied. I'm pissed off right now and this is cheaper than therapy. I'll warn you now that this isn't going to be funny, witty, or probably even interesting. It may even offend some of you. I'm sorry if that's the case. It wasn't meant to and you're advised to stop reading now.
Still here? Don't say I didn't warn you...
"How can you hate Christmas?" I hear almost daily during the month of December. "No one hates Christmas!"
I am called Scrooge and Grinch and every other cartoon iteration of a miserly old curmudgeon that is seen 6000 times a day on cable TV from Thanksgiving to New Years. I'm told that Cbristmas is a time for joy, caring, giving, and love.
Bullshit.
Let me fill you in on what Christmas is to me...
My first bit of "Christmas cheer" began today, at the annual Christmas dinner with my dad's side of the family. I never see these people during the year because they don't really like me all that much and, to be honest, I don't have the time or the inclination to try to change their opinions.
There are at least 400 children on this side of the family, with each of my cousins dutifully having 12 or so each, so the house resembles a den full of monkeys shot up with Ecstacy. No problem. I'm good at ignoring people and there's football on today. I settle down to watch the game and try to stay below the radar.
No luck there...
Unfortunately, several of my family remembered the fact that I am not a loyally slavish supporter of our state's local parole group, er NFL franchise, and quickly spread this news to the rest of the family. Suddenly I was the leper. Instead of quietly watching some football, I was suddenly everyone's favorite "trash talk" opponent. Every time their team completed a pass, kicked a field goal, or even took the field, someone insisted on throwing some crap in my direction, despite the fact that A) they weren't playing against a team I follow so I had no investment in the game and B) even if they were I don't assign my entire psychic well-being on the fortunes of a football team and wouldn't get this riled up if they were. Still, everyone insisted.
Everyone except my father, that is.
My dad decided that taunting me about football teams I couldn't care less about wasn't getting the proper rise, so proceeded to drag out all of the news he's read or heard about the failings of my place of business. Fair enough. I don't run from that, despite the fact that all of the "failings" happen in the major urban sections of my business and have nothing to do directly with me.
Unfortunately, this was also not getting enough of a rise from my dad, so he had to make sure I knew that my entire business was a failure, everyone who worked there was a failure, etc. To take a quote from Todd Snider "I knew what he meant when he said I suck. But he wanted to go on and on about it... So he did..."
Then came the food...
I've learned something in my almost year and a half of dieting that I would really like someone to do some research on. If you're overweight as I am, people will insist on making disparaging comments anytime you get within throwing distance of the desserts.... Unless, that is, you're dieting. Then they insist, forcefully, that you eat not one but all of it. My dinner conversations now go like this;
"Try the Death by Chocolate cake!"
"I can't, it's not on my diet."
"Aw, one piece won't hurt you."
"Yes. It will actually. I'm trying to keep my diet up even during the holidays."
"Oh, just try a spoonful!"
"No, really. I've gotten over my sweets cravings and I don't want them back."
"But you HAVE to have dessert on Cbristmas..."
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Everything after that was a blur. Gifts were exchanged. More inappropriate food was offered. The home team won the game. I know this because, even after I left the television to get away from the homers, they followed me to make sure I knew that their quarterback had successfully thrown the ball or their kicker had kicked it. There were further insistences that my method of putting food in my family's mouth was disgraceful (for those of you who don't know me, I'm a social worker, not a bookie or a loan shark or a prostitute if you were wondering). Since my wife had long since joined the homers who were standing outside my emotional walls with pitchforks and torches, I tuned the whole thing out and looked for my opening to leave.
Still wonder why I hate Christmas? Read on, dear souls.
Tomorrow I get to run the gauntlet with dinners at my mom's family and my wife's family. At my family, I will be mostly ignored, which I'm ok with actually. There won't be any "I'll be Home for Christmas" type of joy at my arrival, but I likely won't be labelled a whore either so that washes. The homers will be out in force at this location as well, but without a game to chaw on, I should be able to deflect them handily.
From there I will go to my wife's family. My every move will be weighed, measured, judged, and computed to see if I am worthy of their little girl. The answer will come out "no". People will be loud. Arguments will occur. Northern food strange to my southern palate will be served. I will probably be told at least once that that isn't how things were done back in Syracuse. I may be asked about my reproductive intentions with their daughter. And I'll drive. A lot.
Oh yeah. In between those times, I will be bombarded with television images of people who are happier than I. I will be told by at least five people to remember the "real reason for the season."
Problem is, I don't know if there is any real reason...
If there really is a God (something I'm less than 90% sure of anymore) and if he even cares what humans do anymore (something I'm less than 50% sure of), I can't imagine that he looks down at the people spending money they don't have for stuff they don't need to give to people they don't like, at the grandmothers bashing each other in the skull for the privilege of paying $600 for a video game system that will be obsolete in two years, at the people swearing at each other in traffic, arguing as families always do, at the folks getting completely piss drunk to deal with the stress, and says "Boy, those guys sure do a good job of celebrating my kid's birthday."
Here in the town where I live, two rival churches are running large ads in the local paper debating whether you can even get into Heaven without taking a bath with the preacher. They're spending the church donation funds on this. They aren't feeding the hungry, as Jesus taught. They aren't helping the sick, as Jesus taught. They're engaging in a giant penis waving contest.
If there is a God, and if he is watching, I have to believe he's ashamed of our entire race and probably rethinking that whole dinosaur extinction thing at this time of the year.
People wonder why the suicide rate goes up around Christmas. I don't. I know all too well...
And that's why you continue to get "I Hate Christmas" blogs from me on a yearly basis.
Hooray!
Still here? Don't say I didn't warn you...
"How can you hate Christmas?" I hear almost daily during the month of December. "No one hates Christmas!"
I am called Scrooge and Grinch and every other cartoon iteration of a miserly old curmudgeon that is seen 6000 times a day on cable TV from Thanksgiving to New Years. I'm told that Cbristmas is a time for joy, caring, giving, and love.
Bullshit.
Let me fill you in on what Christmas is to me...
My first bit of "Christmas cheer" began today, at the annual Christmas dinner with my dad's side of the family. I never see these people during the year because they don't really like me all that much and, to be honest, I don't have the time or the inclination to try to change their opinions.
There are at least 400 children on this side of the family, with each of my cousins dutifully having 12 or so each, so the house resembles a den full of monkeys shot up with Ecstacy. No problem. I'm good at ignoring people and there's football on today. I settle down to watch the game and try to stay below the radar.
No luck there...
Unfortunately, several of my family remembered the fact that I am not a loyally slavish supporter of our state's local parole group, er NFL franchise, and quickly spread this news to the rest of the family. Suddenly I was the leper. Instead of quietly watching some football, I was suddenly everyone's favorite "trash talk" opponent. Every time their team completed a pass, kicked a field goal, or even took the field, someone insisted on throwing some crap in my direction, despite the fact that A) they weren't playing against a team I follow so I had no investment in the game and B) even if they were I don't assign my entire psychic well-being on the fortunes of a football team and wouldn't get this riled up if they were. Still, everyone insisted.
Everyone except my father, that is.
My dad decided that taunting me about football teams I couldn't care less about wasn't getting the proper rise, so proceeded to drag out all of the news he's read or heard about the failings of my place of business. Fair enough. I don't run from that, despite the fact that all of the "failings" happen in the major urban sections of my business and have nothing to do directly with me.
Unfortunately, this was also not getting enough of a rise from my dad, so he had to make sure I knew that my entire business was a failure, everyone who worked there was a failure, etc. To take a quote from Todd Snider "I knew what he meant when he said I suck. But he wanted to go on and on about it... So he did..."
Then came the food...
I've learned something in my almost year and a half of dieting that I would really like someone to do some research on. If you're overweight as I am, people will insist on making disparaging comments anytime you get within throwing distance of the desserts.... Unless, that is, you're dieting. Then they insist, forcefully, that you eat not one but all of it. My dinner conversations now go like this;
"Try the Death by Chocolate cake!"
"I can't, it's not on my diet."
"Aw, one piece won't hurt you."
"Yes. It will actually. I'm trying to keep my diet up even during the holidays."
"Oh, just try a spoonful!"
"No, really. I've gotten over my sweets cravings and I don't want them back."
"But you HAVE to have dessert on Cbristmas..."
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Everything after that was a blur. Gifts were exchanged. More inappropriate food was offered. The home team won the game. I know this because, even after I left the television to get away from the homers, they followed me to make sure I knew that their quarterback had successfully thrown the ball or their kicker had kicked it. There were further insistences that my method of putting food in my family's mouth was disgraceful (for those of you who don't know me, I'm a social worker, not a bookie or a loan shark or a prostitute if you were wondering). Since my wife had long since joined the homers who were standing outside my emotional walls with pitchforks and torches, I tuned the whole thing out and looked for my opening to leave.
Still wonder why I hate Christmas? Read on, dear souls.
Tomorrow I get to run the gauntlet with dinners at my mom's family and my wife's family. At my family, I will be mostly ignored, which I'm ok with actually. There won't be any "I'll be Home for Christmas" type of joy at my arrival, but I likely won't be labelled a whore either so that washes. The homers will be out in force at this location as well, but without a game to chaw on, I should be able to deflect them handily.
From there I will go to my wife's family. My every move will be weighed, measured, judged, and computed to see if I am worthy of their little girl. The answer will come out "no". People will be loud. Arguments will occur. Northern food strange to my southern palate will be served. I will probably be told at least once that that isn't how things were done back in Syracuse. I may be asked about my reproductive intentions with their daughter. And I'll drive. A lot.
Oh yeah. In between those times, I will be bombarded with television images of people who are happier than I. I will be told by at least five people to remember the "real reason for the season."
Problem is, I don't know if there is any real reason...
If there really is a God (something I'm less than 90% sure of anymore) and if he even cares what humans do anymore (something I'm less than 50% sure of), I can't imagine that he looks down at the people spending money they don't have for stuff they don't need to give to people they don't like, at the grandmothers bashing each other in the skull for the privilege of paying $600 for a video game system that will be obsolete in two years, at the people swearing at each other in traffic, arguing as families always do, at the folks getting completely piss drunk to deal with the stress, and says "Boy, those guys sure do a good job of celebrating my kid's birthday."
Here in the town where I live, two rival churches are running large ads in the local paper debating whether you can even get into Heaven without taking a bath with the preacher. They're spending the church donation funds on this. They aren't feeding the hungry, as Jesus taught. They aren't helping the sick, as Jesus taught. They're engaging in a giant penis waving contest.
If there is a God, and if he is watching, I have to believe he's ashamed of our entire race and probably rethinking that whole dinosaur extinction thing at this time of the year.
People wonder why the suicide rate goes up around Christmas. I don't. I know all too well...
And that's why you continue to get "I Hate Christmas" blogs from me on a yearly basis.
Hooray!
posted by Gryphon at 12:35 AM
3 Comments:
Okay, that's it. Next year, you and your good wife are spending Christmas with MY family. We actually like one another, and we like you. We respect diets, aren't rabid about football, and happen to think that social workers are underpaid and undermined but are doing their best to do God's work.
From someone who is more than 90% sure that God exists, and considerably more than 50% sure that he cares about us, because even despite the whole free will debacle, he gives us blessings every day. And if your family is not a blessing, exchange it for friends, who are.
Merry Christmas, dear Griff.
I hear ya, cuz. I have the passive aggressive sister-in-law and the family that doesn't truly accept my husband of 11 years. Oh, yeah, they expect my rambunctious 4-year old not to play with the 1 year old grandson's toys or to run in the house.
I do believe in God and know he loves us. What I am less than 90% sure of is that humans are capable of peaceful coexistance especially during the holidays.
Love you, by the way. Also have plenty of other wonderful family. It's just separating the wheat from the chaff that's a pain.
Okay, my comment is showing up in some places and not in others. Can you read it?
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