All over by c*****mas
Visited the large shop of American horrors this arvo. It is already filled with objects of a yule-based nature.
(Tangent - there's a 'party shop' a few streets away. Although it's more a deserted hangar where good intentions go to be tortured to death. I've never been inside something like that before, so since I was feeling rather adventurous I wandered in. Then I wandered through, mostly keeping my eyes averted so that I would not become infected by the awfulness, and indeed wandered out at a fair clip ditto.)
One of the objects was an allegedly wooden advent calendar. It seems to me that objects like that are selling an idealised yule-based experience that has only ever existed in the head of a particularly annoying product-marketing executive who has likely watched 'It's a wonderful life' once too often (ie - once).
There were also six-foot 'wooden' 'soldiers' with teeth like meat-grinders. I have no clear idea what those would be for, other than providing the next generation with a valid excuse for hating the yule-based period and thus repeating the cycle of marketing-based hope over terrible reality.
In short: homburg.
(Tangent - there's a 'party shop' a few streets away. Although it's more a deserted hangar where good intentions go to be tortured to death. I've never been inside something like that before, so since I was feeling rather adventurous I wandered in. Then I wandered through, mostly keeping my eyes averted so that I would not become infected by the awfulness, and indeed wandered out at a fair clip ditto.)
One of the objects was an allegedly wooden advent calendar. It seems to me that objects like that are selling an idealised yule-based experience that has only ever existed in the head of a particularly annoying product-marketing executive who has likely watched 'It's a wonderful life' once too often (ie - once).
There were also six-foot 'wooden' 'soldiers' with teeth like meat-grinders. I have no clear idea what those would be for, other than providing the next generation with a valid excuse for hating the yule-based period and thus repeating the cycle of marketing-based hope over terrible reality.
In short: homburg.