Thank you in advance to everybody who is going to make the effort of telling me what the real meaning of the holiday season is over the coming days. Thank you for letting me know how shallow I am to enjoy a day spent devoted to purchasing commercially produced objects that will make the people I care about happy, and by extension how shallow the people I care about are for being made happy by commercially produced objects. Thank you for telling me that I am misguided to indulge in consumerism on a scale which can not be sustained throughout the year, because I was stupid enough to think that was kind of the point of a festival - to enjoy an excess of something that over the normal course of events I can engage in only moderately.
Well slap me stupid. Turns out I'm simply soulless.
Turns out I'm not supposed to be giving people stuff from the mall that I know they want. I'm supposed to give them home baked goods they may or may not want and will either be forced to eat anyway or feel guilty about throwing away. Or crap from goodwill - hey maybe I'll get lucky and wind up giving them back something they donated! "Merry Christmas! I found a lamp that perfectly matches the lamp next to your sof... hey, something happen to your lamp? Good thing I found this one!"
Of course if I truly were in any way evolved above the sludge that enlightened people's ancestors crawled out of, I'd hand make presents for everybody. After all, if you buy somebody something they don't like, they can just donate it to charity. Make them something they don't like, and they'll feel obliged to drag it around for the rest of their lives, no matter how hideous it is. That, as everybody with higher brain function knows, is true holiday spirit.
Listen here, wholesome holiday heroes - if you want lovin' from the oven, a charitable receipt and a sweater that there's a reasonable chance somebody died wearing, I want you to have and to enjoy all of those things. Your holidays should be everything you want them to be!
And so, my friend, should mine.
If I want a tree planted, I'll plant one. Don't plant one for me and call it a present. Not unless it's in Hawaii, and you plan on taking me over there to hug it personally. No. You get me something from a mall, wrapped in the pulverized and painted corpse of a tree. Got it?
The point of a one day a year holiday celebration is not donating to charity, exercising frugality, baking and making things for people you care about, and/or offering to help them out with baby sitting or chores.
THAT'S THE POINT OF EVERY DAY.
Charity, considerate acts, frugality: 364 days/yr
Orgy at the mall: 1 day/yr (conveniently identified as "Holiday")
That's right, zen master flash, a lot of holiday mall sluts do that crap day in and day out, all year round. Bragging that you manage it one day a year is not garnering you the admiration you think it does.
Now get off your high horse, get to the mall, and buy me something pretty. While you're there you can pick me up some glue and macaroni so I can make all of your holiday dreams come true too, okay?
- ▼ 2010 (48)