There Will be Christmas

     Well, friends and neighbors, it is indeed that time of year again. The ubiquitous pumpkin flavoring fades back into the cultural ether, only to be replaced by Peppermint, Eggnog, and Gingerbread. The beautiful bright reds and oranges and complimentary browns of nature shift into the gray skies and dark, muddy browns of bare tree limbs. This change, coupled with the dried, crunchy corpses of fallen leaves and occasional snowfalls, allows nature to take on a grim, darker sort of beauty, a reminder that life has stages, and death is part of that.
     This of course scares the daylights out of people, so they cover everything in bright colors and lights, in some weird and vain attempt to control nature and ward off death.
     And then they start in with the music.
     Oh, thank heaven for the contrived, vapidly happy music piped into every public place this time of year. If not for it, I might not have remembered that Santa made out with my mom, the weather is frightful, my grandmother was murdered by a flying reindeer, another reindeer (possibly that same vile fiend) has a bright red nose (which one would think would make him easier to catch and bring to justice), and my Christmas without you will be a blue one indeed. And shame, SHAME I say, on those who insist that if we cannot manage to end this "horrid, blood curdling, omnipresent auditory onslaught" (not my words, mind, not at all (except they obviously are)), then perhaps we can at least get some new songs. How dare you, I must ask, in order to continue. These plastic, heartlessly cheerful songs are as much a part of our holiday tradition as the yearly retail war we mournfully know as 'Black Friday,' so named because of the uncontrollable Birth Of The Savior fueled rage and violence that overtakes the reasoning faculties of so many retail shoppers. We need these songs, and as anyone who has ever worked in a retail environment will tell you, they are often the only thing that makes the day worthwhile, obviously excepting the joyful mood of the laid back, congenial customer.
     Insert segue here.
     However, the holiday -sorry, Christmas- season will not be completely here until I hear those valiant warriors of irrationality take their stance against the War On Christmas, and mercilessly attack all those who do not openly rejoice in this season of giving and tolerance and love. I am sure that this, the Yuletide Crusade, has begun, and the rumblings are being heard, but they have not reached my waiting ears just yet.
     My breath is baited.
     Speaking of tolerance, I also love the inclusive cheerfulness this time of year spreads to all kinds of people. Especially the Interesting Ones who insist that saying "Happy Holidays" is practically sacrilege, and everyone should feel free to exclusively say "Merry Christmas" instead, just like they do. These are usually the same harbingers of Joy and Noel that force feed their relatives holy abominations like fruit cake, and babble incessantly about the impending unlawful entry of Santa Claus. All done because, as another fictional character once said, "Christmas is a time when people of all religions come together to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ."
     Finally, I would like to remind everyone that the true reason for the season, as they say, is to remember that we, most of us, have people in our lives that we love, and very probably could not do without. Furthermore, the best way to show these people that we care is through the thought and (especially) the act of giving them stuff. With that in mind, I am going to do all of you the favor of providing the opportunity to do just that.
     I have decided, for all of the completely well thought out and thoroughly practical reasons that generally come with spontaneous whimsy, that I want a Roomba. You know, one of those vacuum robots? Yeah, those. Lucky for you all, I cannot afford to spend $300.00 dollars on such a necessary object, which is where your opportunity comes in. All I need is ten bucks from thirty people, and this momentary, passing, and all important dream of mine can come true. That's an easy enough way to satisfy my insecure need for others to prove they love me through the giving of material possessions, right? Ten bucks? Come on, don't pretend like you don't have ten bucks' worth of love for me.
     The best part of it is, I'm proving my love for all of you by giving (see?) you the opportunity to give. Plus, you don't even have to go to the mall. See how much I care?
     Come on, gimme ten bucks. I'd do it for you, if I had a Roomba already. And ten bucks' worth of love for you.
-John