Month: December 2019

The Meaning Of Christmas

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Ever since The Year dot (literally) people have been tying themselves in knots, trying to define the true meaning of Christmas.  And, over the last 2-plus millennia, psychologists, anthropologists, philosophers and editorials have covered a lot of territory – everything from eternal salvation to Amazon Gift Cards.  Good on ya, folks but you ain’t even close.  The true meaning of Christmas … is loot.  That’s right!  Like it or not, admit it or don’t, the harsh reality is Christmas is all about the presents.  Let me explain.

Right from the very beginning — Here we are in Bethlehem.  There’s Mary, Joseph, Jesus in the manger and a couple of sketchy shepherds.  There’s a knock on the door.

“Who’s there?”
“Three Wise Men.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.  We brought gifts.”
“Cool!  Come on in.”

And thus, Christmas was born.  Plus the fine tradition of getting useless crap for Christmas (I’m looking at you, myrrh) instead of something Mary and Joseph might actually need – like an extra helping of gold.

Fast forward 2,000 years or so – Here we are visiting Santa Claus.  There’s you (as a little kid); there’s a parent (or two); there’s the photographer, the incessant jingle bell music and a couple of over-happy elves.  You’re not there to discuss the care and feeding of flying reindeer or talk about the weather at the North Pole.  You’re there to negotiate.  You’re there to effect a deal between you and Santa so he’s convinced you’ve been more nice than naughty and therefore deserve your share of the loot.  You know it’s the truth, but it’s no particular sin.  Remember, it was the parents who told you how the system worked.

Add a couple more decades — It’s three days before Christmas.  There’s you (as an adult.)  There’s a couple of your kids, a spouse, maybe a dog.  You’re walking over a crisp blanket of new-fallen snow that crunch, crunch, crunches under your feet.  You can see your breath, and your hands are warm in cozy mittens.  At home, there’s hot chocolate, and Grandma’s making cookies.  The coloured lights from the street twinkle and dance across the early evening, and there’s the faint sound of children singing,

“Oh little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie.
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by.”

It’s the most idyllic scene, out of the most beautiful Christmas card you could ever imagine … and what are you thinking?  Totally stressed, cuz it’s your turn to host the family dinner, you’re thinking, “What the hell am I going to buy Harry/Harriet and Uncle Bob for Christmas?  Screw it!  Amazon Gift Cards.”

I rest my case!

An “Olde” Christmas Tradition

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I love Christmas.  I love everything about it.  I love Santa and the reindeer, jingle bells, mistletoe (yeah, I said it) the baby Jesus and the Wise Men – everything.  I like the crowds and the bitchin’ and the music in the malls.  I even tolerate that stupid Little Drummer Boy – the first 500 times.  It’s all too cool, but I’m an old-fashioned guy, so I like the older traditions best.  That’s why, every year, I wait, in uncontrollable anticipation, for one of our society’s oldest and dearest traditions — the arrival of The Annual Christmas Basher.  For me, the arrival of the Christmas Basher actually kicks off the Christmas season.  When I was younger, the Christmas Basher was usually just an odd malcontent who’d been disappointed with Christmas (and perhaps, life) since puberty and wanted to spread the misery around.  However, in the 21st century, Christmas bashing is trending, and the Basher could be anyone — a friend, a colleague, the guy you meet in the mall, even a family member.  Like Christmas itself, the Christmas Basher has become somewhat universal.

So who are Christmas Bashers?  They’re that person, who, filled with the spirit of “I’m Smarter than You Are” (and overcome with joy at the sound of their own voice) takes it upon themselves to explain just how screwed up Christmas really is.  This could be the guy who stops you in mid “Merry Christmas” to tell you to say “Happy Holidays.”  (Or vice versa.)  Or the woman who tells you, “Christmas is becoming just too commercialized.”   Or it could be that pompous ass who explains, “According to the fragmentary records from the Augustan period of the Roman Era BCE, tax collection was done in July of the Julian calendar; therefore, Christ could not possibly have been born in December.”  But the one I like the best is the cynical jerk who questions the holiday itself, asking, “How did we get from the birth of the ‘so-called’ Saviour to Santa Claus and elves?  All of the things we have for this ‘so-called’ Christian holiday are really just pagan symbols.”   When I hear these dulcet voices singing, I know it’s finally Christmas.  I like to take a second or two to contemplate the infinite universe and its delights before I respond, in my best little kid voice, “Sorry, I forgot.”  What these neo-fascists don’t realize is that they’re actually engaging in a Christmas tradition that is one of our very oldest.  Christmas bashing actually pre-dates most of what we know to be a traditional Christmas.  In truth, these modern merry morons are merely acting like our most intolerant Christian ancestors – the Puritans.  They didn’t like Christmas, either – over 400 years ago.

In Elizabethan England, Christmas was the main holiday of the year.  When good Queen Bess was on the throne, the locals really knew how to party.  First of all, Christmas lasted 12 days – the 12 days of Christmas, from the song.  Secondly, nobody went to work, so if you wanted your wood chopped, your candles waxed or your doublet patched, you were out of luck until January.  What people did was roll out of bed and head for the local tavern.  They drank and gambled and chased women (who returned the favour by not running that fast.)  They sang bawdy songs, ate, laughed, joked and then drank some more – and this went on every day.  They dressed up as supernatural creatures and animals and danced in the streets or watched acrobats, or bear-baiting or one of Will Shakespeare’s new comedies.  It was called Topsy-Turvy time — when the servant became the master and the shepherd became the sheep.  The Elizabethans celebrated by honouring the Lord of Misrule, a local dimwit or barmaid who rode backwards on a donkey through the streets to the steps of a church or cathedral where he or she was crowned, in front of the cheering, jeering mob.  Basically, it was all one big, queen-sized debauch.  Clearly, our ancestors saw Christmas as an opportunity to have fun, much as we do.  So it was only a matter of time before somebody wanted to put a stop to it.

Enter the Puritans.  Without overstating it, the Puritans were a gang of uptight, intolerant fanatics who wanted the world to do as it was told, and they wanted to do the telling.  They were so narrow-minded they could look through a keyhole with both eyes.  They believed life was a serious business and anybody who wasn’t serious about it needed to be whipped into shape – literally.  They also believed they had all the answers, and were willing to provide them– even when nobody was asking for their opinion.  Actually, they compare very well with our contemporary Christmas bashers — except the Puritans didn’t have Twitter.  They looked at Christmas, circa 1570, and practically burst a blood vessel.  One unnamed source wrote “There is nothing else [at Christmas] but cards, dice, tables, masking, mumming, bowling and such fooleries…”   It was clearly the work of the Devil.  As early as 1583, some churches were setting penance for “keeping the superstitious day called Yule,” and by the turn of the 16th century, the common folk were well-advised to stay off the streets after the middle of December.  The times were changing in Merrye Olde England: it was getting a lot less merry.  By the time Cromwell and his Puritan crowd actually came to power, anybody who wanted to celebrate Christmas did it at their peril, and in the privacy of their own hovel.  Within a couple of years, there was nothing much left of Christmas, and on December 24th, 1652, it was formally banned.  The proclamation read, “That no observation shall be had of the five and twentieth day of December, commonly called Christmas nor any solemnity used or exercised in churches.”  It would take Christmas just about 200 years to recover.

So, as you can see, all the oh-so-enlightened Christmas bashers who wander the earth, setting everybody straight year after year, are just following in the footsteps of their Puritan ancestors. They’re actually celebrating a very, very old Christmas tradition.  That’s why I wait for them so eagerly every December.  They’re as much a part of Christmas as Santa Claus himself and, for me, the irony is just too good to miss.

I Love Collective Nouns

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Collective nouns are cool.  They add colour and flavour to the otherwise boring job of naming things.  Plus, once you get past the regular stuff like a herd of cattle, a flock of sheep, a pack of dogs etc., they get uber-creative.  I wanna meet the person who thought up “a parliament of owls.”  What kind of a mind can do that?  Or a cauldron of bats?  A prickle of porcupines?  And everybody’s favourite – a murder of crows?  I look at lemurs and think “cute little furry buggers” but somebody else thought “a conspiracy” and, yeah, they were right.  A group of lemurs huddled together look like they’re plotting something.  So, with that in mind, I thought I’d try my hand at creating collective nouns.  Some are more creative than others.

A treachery of politicians – This illustrates the lie/deny cycle of political life.

A scold of environmentalists – A fine label for the holier-than-thou attitude most of these people take.

A robbery of insurance companies – This one speaks for itself.

A congratulation of celebrities – No other group on this planet spends as much time telling each other just how “awesome” they are.

A labyrinth of lawyers – If you can’t get there from here, there’s always a lawyer hiding around the corner somewhere.

A necessity of police officers – Let’s face it!  Without the cops, the streets of most major cities would be a war zone.

A vocalization of vegans – Do you have any idea what these people don’t eat?  Oh, never mind: they’ve already told you – twice!

An annoyance of evangelists – Nothing is quite as big a pain in the ass as somebody interrupting your day to tell you that their God can beat up your God.

A tremble of university students – Here’s a group so fragile they need “safe spaces” and “trigger warnings” just to make it through the day.

A lethargy of government workers – One government worker is no problem — but in a group … glaciers move faster.

A swindle of salesmen – Unfortunately, it’s always men who give this profession a bad name.

A tantrum of Twitter users – Once again, this speaks for itself.

A pharmacy of athletes – Professional athletes take a lot of “supplements” – a lot!

A trudge of tourists – What else would you call crowds of sober-faced 40-somethings, plodding through the streets, looking for art galleries, museums and monuments — day after day?

A disgrace of journalists – Once an honourable profession, as a group, these people haven’t done their job properly since Edward R. Murrow roamed the Earth.

A prance of parents – This group is particularly pleased with themselves — even though the vast majority of them are only parents because they let a Ryan Gosling movie get out of hand.

And finally:

A misery of millennials – These perpetual malcontents are constantly complaining about something.  And when they run out of ordinary stuff to whine about, they trot out their student loan.  God, people!  Give it a rest!  Nobody can be that unhappy.

Did I miss any?