Merry Christmas (or "Why I hate December")
My wife hates February, probably because it is cold and dismal, and nothing interesting happens during it-there are no holidays or breaks of any sort from the monotony of winter. But I hate December, for exactly the opposite reason: I never feel more stressed than during the holiday season.
I hate the holidays. I hate Christmas, I hate Hanukkah, I hate Kwanzaa. None of them stand for my beliefs-or rather, I suppose they do secondarily (kindness to others, forgiveness, solidarity, and all that crap), but all of them are tainted with bogus religious connotations and lies. Christmas blatantly pillages from paganism. Hanukkah represents all manner of useless traditions for tradition's sake. And Kwanzaa is at its core a racist idea-no matter how much its supporters couch it as integrative, in the end it is racially divisive. I hate Jesus, and I hate Santa Claus. Well, not them personally, but I hate the results of their mythologies perpetuated within our culture. I hate that people lie to their children, but I hate that they lie to themselves and each other as adults even more.
I hate capitalism. Actually, I like the idea of capitalism, and a lot of its advantages, but again, I hate its ramifications within society. I hate the constant feeling that corporate juggernauts are tirelessly working to squeeze money out of me like pulp from an orange. The end of the year is the absolute worst time when it comes to this perception. Somehow the TV advertisements seem even more insulting and omnipresent than usual, commercial enthusiasm seems even more phony, if that's possible, and the Christmas music on the radio all month beats mercilessly against my psyche.
I hate the feeling of obligation associated with gift giving, that by not buying someone a set of matching coffee mugs or wind chimes or some other crap they probably don't want and almost certainly don't need, you somehow cast your relationship with them into doubt. I hate consistently denying myself things because they are outside my tight budget, yet spending money on presents for others that they wouldn't buy for themselves. And I hate the gnawing uncertainty and dishonesty of it all, too. Can they use my gift? Do they even like it? Are they just lying to spare my feelings? Did someone else give them the same thing? Why do I have to guess? Why does it have to be a surprise? If I guess right, does that make me a better friend or family member? Why can't we just spend some time together-that's what everyone supposedly really wants, right? (Yeah, right.) If buying this shit is so important, why not just go shopping together, and we can each buy something we want for ourselves?
I hate snow. It is a freezing wet blanket smothering my life, especially when it is too cold for it to possess any fun properties. I hate that it saturates my boots then melts when I go inside and covers the floors of campus buildings with grime. I hate that I can't drive around town in my convertible with the top down, that the roads are especially dangerous, and that the salt which keeps the infrastructure functional also destroys my car. I hate that everything I touch gives me an electric shock, and I have to run a humidifier in my house that needs daily replenishment and weekly cleaning and maintenance.
There are other, less December-specific things that contribute to my vortex of unease and disgust, too, especially this year. I hate having split priorities, and lacking the ability to focus fully on one thing at a time. I hate the feeling of resentment that builds up surrounding all of my obligations, and knowing that if I drop out for even a short time, it may take me weeks to regain the momentum (and the money). I hate that Bush vetoed H.R. 3043, which would have granted NIH a budget increase of more than a billion dollars; now NIH has frozen all grant proposal decisions until Congress tries again, before which I have no hope of a raise.
Walking around town this time of year, I can't help but notice the red kettles of the Salvation Army at every crossroads of humanity. The sound of their ringing bells fills me with rage. I walk close by in the hope that they might try to solicit a donation from me or wish me a Merry Christmas, ready with my witty retort: "Bah, humbug!"
"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, 'Is it good, friend?'
'It is bitter -- bitter,' he answered;
'But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.'"
-Stephen Crane, The Black Riders and Other Lines (1895)
I hate the holidays. I hate Christmas, I hate Hanukkah, I hate Kwanzaa. None of them stand for my beliefs-or rather, I suppose they do secondarily (kindness to others, forgiveness, solidarity, and all that crap), but all of them are tainted with bogus religious connotations and lies. Christmas blatantly pillages from paganism. Hanukkah represents all manner of useless traditions for tradition's sake. And Kwanzaa is at its core a racist idea-no matter how much its supporters couch it as integrative, in the end it is racially divisive. I hate Jesus, and I hate Santa Claus. Well, not them personally, but I hate the results of their mythologies perpetuated within our culture. I hate that people lie to their children, but I hate that they lie to themselves and each other as adults even more.
I hate capitalism. Actually, I like the idea of capitalism, and a lot of its advantages, but again, I hate its ramifications within society. I hate the constant feeling that corporate juggernauts are tirelessly working to squeeze money out of me like pulp from an orange. The end of the year is the absolute worst time when it comes to this perception. Somehow the TV advertisements seem even more insulting and omnipresent than usual, commercial enthusiasm seems even more phony, if that's possible, and the Christmas music on the radio all month beats mercilessly against my psyche.
I hate the feeling of obligation associated with gift giving, that by not buying someone a set of matching coffee mugs or wind chimes or some other crap they probably don't want and almost certainly don't need, you somehow cast your relationship with them into doubt. I hate consistently denying myself things because they are outside my tight budget, yet spending money on presents for others that they wouldn't buy for themselves. And I hate the gnawing uncertainty and dishonesty of it all, too. Can they use my gift? Do they even like it? Are they just lying to spare my feelings? Did someone else give them the same thing? Why do I have to guess? Why does it have to be a surprise? If I guess right, does that make me a better friend or family member? Why can't we just spend some time together-that's what everyone supposedly really wants, right? (Yeah, right.) If buying this shit is so important, why not just go shopping together, and we can each buy something we want for ourselves?
I hate snow. It is a freezing wet blanket smothering my life, especially when it is too cold for it to possess any fun properties. I hate that it saturates my boots then melts when I go inside and covers the floors of campus buildings with grime. I hate that I can't drive around town in my convertible with the top down, that the roads are especially dangerous, and that the salt which keeps the infrastructure functional also destroys my car. I hate that everything I touch gives me an electric shock, and I have to run a humidifier in my house that needs daily replenishment and weekly cleaning and maintenance.
There are other, less December-specific things that contribute to my vortex of unease and disgust, too, especially this year. I hate having split priorities, and lacking the ability to focus fully on one thing at a time. I hate the feeling of resentment that builds up surrounding all of my obligations, and knowing that if I drop out for even a short time, it may take me weeks to regain the momentum (and the money). I hate that Bush vetoed H.R. 3043, which would have granted NIH a budget increase of more than a billion dollars; now NIH has frozen all grant proposal decisions until Congress tries again, before which I have no hope of a raise.
Walking around town this time of year, I can't help but notice the red kettles of the Salvation Army at every crossroads of humanity. The sound of their ringing bells fills me with rage. I walk close by in the hope that they might try to solicit a donation from me or wish me a Merry Christmas, ready with my witty retort: "Bah, humbug!"
"In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, 'Is it good, friend?'
'It is bitter -- bitter,' he answered;
'But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.'"
-Stephen Crane, The Black Riders and Other Lines (1895)