Christmas Eve
I tried something new and it was amazing. I want to do it again.
For the first time in several years, I'm spending the holidays exclusively with my parents and siblings. It's pretty awesome, and my kittens keep me young.
Having reached the age where I have begun to divest myself of worldly possessions, the only material goods that interest me are books, movies, games, and cute shirts. When my little sis and I followed a late-night trip to Target with an excursion to the otherworldly hours of Wal-Mart, I managed restraint in almost every respect (only succumbing to the allure of The Lost Boys and Before Sunset for myself, not having yet seen the latter in spite of recommendations by friends who have avowed that it will appeal to my vulnerability for magical infatuation and significant discussion). What impressed me was the disparity between the two commercial enterprises. In many cases, Target had less expensive merchandise, though ironically Wal-Mart was populated by what I shall grotesquely generalize as a breed enticed by the promise of everyday low prices. How they plodded with an air of beleaguered entitlement, their collective demeanor loosely suggesting low incomes, Fox News, family values, and most importantly, the supreme value of personal convenience. By those endowed with greater economic luxury, I might likewise be ascribed to the furiously self-frenzied heart of America comfortably anesthetized by Monday night football and advertisements and religious groups and conspiratorial e-mail chains that persist in circulating paranoia and ignorance. It is the vanity of believing myself somewhat impervious to forces that evince unthinking behavior that enables me to observe, with sociological curiosity, the differences that lead to a preference between suppliers of commodity. Why would the impoverished spawn of academia be attracted to clean open spaces among labeled hangers and polite shoppers? Perhaps because I'm not enlightened enough to quit the movie habit (Rocky Balboa today), seek meaningful diversion, and make my own clothes. But I think I'm headed in that direction, having found life-altering purpose in environmental advocacy that has led to many informal speeches on energy, design, anthropology, and ecology.
In a yard that I pass while running there is a plywood sheet painted to resemble a present wrapped in white paper with a red ribbon bow and lettering that reads Jesus: God's Greatest Gift. When I think of how terrible and unfair the world can be, more to others than myself, I remember that glorious tribute and sigh with unadulterated happiness.
For the first time in several years, I'm spending the holidays exclusively with my parents and siblings. It's pretty awesome, and my kittens keep me young.
Having reached the age where I have begun to divest myself of worldly possessions, the only material goods that interest me are books, movies, games, and cute shirts. When my little sis and I followed a late-night trip to Target with an excursion to the otherworldly hours of Wal-Mart, I managed restraint in almost every respect (only succumbing to the allure of The Lost Boys and Before Sunset for myself, not having yet seen the latter in spite of recommendations by friends who have avowed that it will appeal to my vulnerability for magical infatuation and significant discussion). What impressed me was the disparity between the two commercial enterprises. In many cases, Target had less expensive merchandise, though ironically Wal-Mart was populated by what I shall grotesquely generalize as a breed enticed by the promise of everyday low prices. How they plodded with an air of beleaguered entitlement, their collective demeanor loosely suggesting low incomes, Fox News, family values, and most importantly, the supreme value of personal convenience. By those endowed with greater economic luxury, I might likewise be ascribed to the furiously self-frenzied heart of America comfortably anesthetized by Monday night football and advertisements and religious groups and conspiratorial e-mail chains that persist in circulating paranoia and ignorance. It is the vanity of believing myself somewhat impervious to forces that evince unthinking behavior that enables me to observe, with sociological curiosity, the differences that lead to a preference between suppliers of commodity. Why would the impoverished spawn of academia be attracted to clean open spaces among labeled hangers and polite shoppers? Perhaps because I'm not enlightened enough to quit the movie habit (Rocky Balboa today), seek meaningful diversion, and make my own clothes. But I think I'm headed in that direction, having found life-altering purpose in environmental advocacy that has led to many informal speeches on energy, design, anthropology, and ecology.
In a yard that I pass while running there is a plywood sheet painted to resemble a present wrapped in white paper with a red ribbon bow and lettering that reads Jesus: God's Greatest Gift. When I think of how terrible and unfair the world can be, more to others than myself, I remember that glorious tribute and sigh with unadulterated happiness.