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Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas y’all.
Kinda.
Not.
Perhaps it’s me in my “advancing maturity” and burgeoning cynicism. I’ve about had it with that time of year which starts around the fourth Thursday in November and caps itself off with the typically illegal display of new year inspired neighborhood fireworks which are designed to force thunderstruck dogs to run laps around the couch, jump on the kitchen counters to rearrange your bucket of spatulas and tongs (or thongs, take your pick), and let loose the contents of her nervous colon on the new Duck Dynasty area rug in the foyer.
The process just no longer makes sense to me anymore.
You should probably be advised at this point that I’ve consumed my standard Friday breakfast of biscuits and gravy, and I’m now doing virtual kegels to satiate an itch.
On one end of the spectrum, you have the those enlightened by secular humanism who choose to point out the fact that this time of year in the 21st century is just a bastardized amalgam of celebrations from centuries past. That’s not all bad though. Without said bastardization, the phrase “I gotchur yule log right here, buddy” just wouldn’t carry the meaning it does today. Regardless, the premise behind this approach provides justification to make Christmas whatever they hell they want to with it.
Fine. I can understand that approach. I think it’s a buncha bullshit, but I’ve moved on from telling them so much in favor of avoiding self-immolation.
Meanwhile, in the other corner, a different level of militancy resides under the banner of “Keep Christ in Christmas”. This is the group that’s offended by the bastardization efforts by those who stress “Happy Holidays” versus “Merry Christmas”, and those who sue local governments over Nativity scenes.
Fine. I can understand that approach too. A certain piece of our culture is under attack and it’s not holding up that well.
Yet still, hypocrisy abounds on both sides of the discussion.
Why do we have to put up a tree? We cut down an evergreen tree to symbolize everlasting life, but then we discard it before the end of the year to avoid littering the joint with dead needles. Who-da ever thunk everlasting life involved a trip to a mulching pit?
To avoid that, we purchase an incredible simulation in the form of a tree to symbolize everlasting life. To carry on in the spirit, we box it back up and store it away for another year. That’s right. Life everlasting takes place at one month intervals once a year.
For what it’s worth, I have three in my garage. This is the second year in a row I haven’t put it up.
What’s with all the baking?
What’s with all of the feasting (gluttony)?
What’s with all of the lights?
By the way, here’s a quick rant about Christmas lights.
My brother and I spent our youth being packed in the backseat of the Impala during Christmas 
season without so much as an as-of-yet-to-be-invented electronic device or a Star Wars action figure to quell our apathy while Mom and Dad drove all over God’s Creation (that was Casper, Wyoming) looking at Christmas lights in the richer areas of town.
Many years later when we were in our twenties and knew everything there was to know, my brother and I made a 7 hour drive from Houston to Abilene one year to see Grandma. Upon arriving, she dumped us in the car so that we could go look at Christmas lights. I was assigned the driving
duties at the time because Grandma’s night vision wasn’t what it should be. Rest assured, I didn’t slow down every time it was commanded so as to take in the full effect of some elaborate display of lighted Disney characters displaying the magic and wonder of Christmas in some dude’s front yard.
Why do most offices designate at least one unoccupied desk to house multiple bottles of flat soda and vast collections of baked goods should probably be Julian dated?
What’s with all of the Christmas cards?
What’s with all of the letters to and from Santa?
For that matter, what’s with Santa?
Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s all about the giving and not the receiving.
Right?
Quick side note. To the Secret Santa at work who gave me a Subway gift card, thank you very much. I grabbed a toasted foot long buffalo chicken sandwich on whole wheat. I topped it with pepper-jack cheese, spinach, lettuce, tomato, onion, and ranch dressing. It was delicious.
It would seem that the entire holiday is in dire need of a major overhaul so as to realign it with the reason it should be celebrated in the first place.
None the less, I’m off of work next week. In the coming days (this rant is being composed on 12/23 while MS Access is not responding to my demands), I’ll break out a couple of Berke Breathed Christmas favorites and set all of my gritchin’ aside so as to celebrate the holiday either in the way I feel it should be, or shooting my eye out.
Beyond that, I’ll post an incredibly boring recount of the last year in the life of yours truly along with a couple of other things which could potentially be used against in a mental competency hearing.
Boom-Shanka y’all.
As always, I chuckled along with you at your rant.