Friday, December 23, 2005
I don't hate Christmas.
Honest, I don't.
I hate the fact that Christmas is on December 25th. On that day Winter is only four days old. We've still got to somehow get through 87 and 1/4 days of Mucus Season. So please forgive me if that doesn't make me feel like singing.
And that doesn't mean I hate Christmas songs either. Some of them I love like "O Holy Night" and "Angels We Have Heard on High". As far all that Frosty Rudolph the Little Drummer Boy coming right down Santa Claus Lane stuff, I'm okay with that, but please don't play it before December 18th or after the 25th. A week of it is plenty.
There is another category of song you hear this time of year and not only are these not enjoyable, they are downright disturbing, the lunatic blitherings of poor souls who have gone Winter-mad. These people need help not for us to sing along with them. What about that couple who are planning to get married in a ceremony officiated by a minister made of snow? If that's not madness, I don't know what is. And how about that guy who keeps saying "Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow"? Obviously he has obviously given up the will to live and has resolved to freeze to death. And that lady whose favorite thing is snowflakes that stay on her nose and eyelashes. Yeah, me too. And you know what else is fun? Frostbite.
But the worst one of all, the one that drives me almost as insane as these people who think Winter is a wonderland instead of a hyperborean hell, is that madman shouting about how this is the "most wonderful time of the year."
No it isn't, fool, and please find yourself a good doctor. Baseball season is the most wonderful time of the year. Winter is the most wretched time of the year is what it is, but if we all huddle together and drink hot toddies we'll get through it. But please no singing. We need to conserve our strength.