Okay, Muse. Hit me with the Monday morning.
In case you haven't been up to speed, I didn't have any plans for the holiday.
Inspired by a devious friend, I chose to spend Thanksgiving Day movie hopping by myself. Three for one special. None of the films left a particular impression on me, though two of them involved teeth being violently ripped out. Somerville was a ghost town. It was strange, and it reminded me of the feeling of going to the convenience store on New Years Day 2000 and the streets being completely empty. I wandered around listening to Guided by Voices. The Café was open, the video store was open, actually on Thursday it was business as usual, but there were no people around.
The Dot Com granted us leave on Friday as well, which made for an interesting four-day experiment in solitary confinement.
I was listening to myself recently and realized that I sound like such a humbug, bitching about meaningless holidays, and I'm trying to decide what that's all about. I don't want to be the one who's always raining on everyone's parade. All sarcasm and self-deprecating humor aside, I'm a positive person in general, but there's something about being nice to people because 'tis the season that gets under my skin. You don't have to be pleasant to your family any other time of the year. You need a reason to show someone you love them, plastic and sugar make up for a year of neglect, the economy needs stimulation, and the homeless only starve in December. It's the hypocrisy that drives me mad I think, right up there with assholes flying six foot American flags from their cars trying to hit me in the crosswalk: "I love America, I just can't stand Americans!"
So I've still got Christmas to gripe about, but I'll see if I can find something else to toss around for the next few weeks instead. Cause I'm sure I won't be the only one with something to say on the topic that's already been said a million different ways.
I can give Christmas some credit. I remember the first time I hung Christmas lights on the walls of my room when I was 16. My parents were having a party and I snuck up to my room and lay on the floor to talk to my boyfriend all night on the phone, enchanted by the changing colors. We didn't talk about anything relevant but I remember how it felt to be warm and inspired under the glow of festivities. I've had Christmas lights hung in my bedroom ever since, though now they're purple, blue and amber.
And then there was the year my cat got into her presents a little early, and having found the five pound bag of catnip, tore through the annual Christmas party onto the tree, knocking the whole thing down on top of drunk Aunt Betty, who in turn landed in a large potted plant.
CVS has already begun to deck the halls, so it must be time to shop.
Last week during a marathon run of Sex and the City, I learned that not having sex for a year renews your membership in the Virgin Society, erasing all of your sexual past and leaving you with a clean slate.
I'll leave you with that.
RSS: subscribe to feed