Thursday, December 22, 2011

It's the most wonderful time... to drink beer

Is it seriously Christmas time again? Seems like only a few weeks ago I was removing tinsel and wiping off a hot buttered rum stain from my holiday tie, which thankfully only comes out once a year. Yet, I'm wearing it again today for my company holiday party, and there's a damn Hannakuh Bush in my family room. What happened to 2011?

Fortunately, the incessant television advertisements and Christmas carols will only survive a few more days before they go back into hibernation and rise again from the dead next year on Halloween. Halloween of course is now the start of the modern holiday season (pushed forward by whomever decides this shit) since apparently the 5 weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas just wasn't enough for most people to get quench their insatiable desire for holiday spirit. Little do most of them know that an Egg Nog martini with a splash of sour mix the day after Thanksgiving will kill every ounce of that spirit within an inch of it's life - and frankly save a lot of the rest of us from the chaotic and rather annoying idiocy that precedes Christmas.

I wish I could just enjoy it for what it is, but the truth is I'm a bitter old soul and I tend to look for the bad in things before I see the good.  It's not my fault.  When the holidays became about X-Boxes and iPads, or waiting in line for 16 hours to get a $99 piece of crap flat screen TV - which will inevitably konk out before next Thanksgiving, that is if you avoid the stampede and actually make it home with your Chinese, economy-killing, sweat-shop supporting television still in tact - so with it came the cynicism I display here.  Don't give me the argument that going out and buying these kinds of things helps boost the economy.  Not a single thing most of us will give or receive this Christmas was manufactured in the United States, save for the occasional homemade gift that warms the heart but mostly ends up just taking up space in a brown box stuffed deep in your storage closet.

Then there's the company Christm- errr, umm, make that Holiday Party, where at least one guy get's atrociously drunk and begins talking freely about his female boss's anatomy, along with his utter distaste for his job and his employer in general, whilst spilling his drink all over in unison with his overly embellished hand gestures.  Thankfully, that hasn't been me in recent years. 

How Christmas morphed into an ogreous, dispassionately robotic exercise in indulgence is anyone's guess, but most probably a long story that this author knows very little about.  So I'll just leave that alone for now and wish that you and yours will enjoy the holiday for what it was intended - Peace, Joy, Family & Friends. 

...and perhaps a hot buttered rum or three to get you through it.

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