Posted on December 21, 2010
The Christmas Problem
I think it’s time we talk about the Christmas Problem. Or, more to a point, it’s time that I talk and you listen. And agree, unless you’re a hypocrite – in which case you can just go right on and have yourself a merry little bowl of shut the hell up.
I’m going to skip through the usual Christmas hate, bypassing altogether the hand-wringing over the commercialism, the wanton spending and strange disconnect from the purported purpose of the holiday. All of these things are as self-evident as Jingle Bells muzak in October, and I won’t waste your time repeating them here.
Instead, I’m going to cut straight through to the heart of the Christmas Problem and attack it head-on. In my usual roundabout way.
For one reason or another thousand, I’m not in a festive mood this year. My stepson is away at his Dad’s, being as even-numbered yuletides fall on the father’s side of the King Solomon approach to child rearing. Money continues to be a problem, in the sense that we have so little of it. Work is bothersome of late, and my family is far removed in a neighboring city that might as well rest on the edge of the world, for all the gas we don’t have to get there.
All in all, it’s a pretty lonely holiday. But that’s not the Problem.
The television is filled with Christmas specials. And I watch them, reminding myself of younger, happier years in much the same way as salt rubbed into an open wound reminds the flesh of more joyous, less blood-soaked times. It hurts, but it’s not the Problem, either.
Neither are the shambling hordes of ridiculously grinning happy holiday pushers intent on selling me the elusive drugs of peace on earth and goodwill toward man.
Nor are the bell ringers and the charity drives and the one time only sales to blame. The Christmas Problem cannot be tagged to one offending party. It’s the collective groupthink that’s to blame, and so I blame you all.
Christmas will be just another day for me this year. A Saturday, in fact, and one without even cartoons to ease the misery. Instead, there will be parades and endless channels of Jimmy Stewart and the kid who shoots his eye out. Everywhere I look, I find the joyous symbols of a wondrous holiday in which I don’t get to participate.
I’m kind of like Rudolph, except without the Montgomery Ward’s ad campaign to give me a happy ending. I’m just a clumsy, goofy-looking reindeer with a shiny honker and a speech impediment, and I’d do quite well enough alone in my cave with a cup of hot cocoa and good book, thankyouverymuch.
But you lot are a vile and vicious sort of festive little herd. Instead of leaving me to wallow in peace, you stand outside singing carols and throwing cookies at my head, all the while telling me how happy I should be about how happy everyone else is.
Only, I don’t care about everyone else. I care about me and mine, and the rest of you can get bent. I don’t need to be made to feel like an ogre because I can’t get into the Christmas spirit this year, when the great four-year-old joy of my life is absent and I’ve just enough money to wish my wife a “Mer X-ms” because the printer charges by the letter and I need some change left over to buy more crackers for dinner.
It’s not my fault that I can’t muster up the inner light of happiness to join in your reindeer games and go along with your witless shenanigans. The stresses and demands of real life have gotten in the way this year, and I’ll thank you to step aside and let them pass so they can go ahead and trample each other on their way to see who gets first grabs at ripping out my soul.
Unless, of course, your spirit of giving extends to leaving a briefcase full of money on my porch. That, I would make an exception for.
Happy Holidays! Bah, humbug!
There, I fixed it!
Want some books? 'Course ya do!
NOTE: I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.
I'll take care of it.
Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers
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Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?
Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?
If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.
You're welcome.
Short Stories
Available now from the following retailers
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.
Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.
Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.
Always get back up.
Gaming | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.
The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.
Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.
If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.
I'll try to not be boring.
Horror
Available now from the following retailers
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What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.
What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.
You've been warned.
Can I have a briefcase full of money as well? Or how about enough money to get YJ a much, desperately, must have because the others are more holes than soles, pair of shoes? I’ll trade you food bank rice for some of your crackers.
The step-son hugs? Those are all yours, and may the memories keep your cocoa warm until he’s home again.