There are those for whom the holidays become a painful and baffling ordeal wrapped up in a glittery, nauseating package. We are the types who check our clocks on Thanksgiving and Christmas around noon, and think, “Fuck. Everything’s closed… now what?” We roll our eyes at, “If you have no place to go you are welcome here!” Facebook status updates, take in stupid movies and high-five Chinese restaurant owners. Grinchy? Scrooge-ish? Maybe so, but the point remains the same—shit’s rough, and if you need some reasons as to why this time of the year has got us down, we’ve got your reasons right here:
When the über-Christian corporate craft titan starts putting up Christmas stuff in April, it's not only confusing; it's just plain weird. OK, April is a stretch, but even if we ignore their refusal to carry Hanukkah merchandise, there's something inherently wrong with shoving cheer down our throats so many months before the big day. Hey, Hobby Lobby, at least let us get through Easter, all right?
Yes, farolitos are cool, look beautiful and are a decidedly Southwest addition to the holiday proceedings (note for out-of-towners: farolitos are those glowing paper bags you're probably seeing all over the place), but nobody ever seems to recall the days that follow Christmas and the horrendous drag that comes from cleaning those things up. Sand everywhere…candle wax burns…bag folding… the homeless. We know you're thinking, "Get the plastic ones, you idiot!" But those kind of make the whole thing lame and it becomes another example of the cheapification of America. For shame!
Your Little Brother/Sister
"What the hell time is it?" you wonder as your kid sibling jumps on your bed shrieking incomplete sentences about presents and candy and blah, blah, blah. 5:30 am in case you were wondering. Yeah, you're related, so you can't kill the bastard, but maybe you could throttle them just hard enough to buy a couple more hours of sleep. Instead, you rouse yourself and bide your time waiting for the inevitable 11 am sugar crash, at which point you can slap them in the face and shout, "Happy Christmas!"
Plaza Ice Sculptures
Is there someone we can ask about this? I mean, presumably those ice sculptures on display are paid for by the city, so the question here is why? Ice sculptures are stupid…artistically impressive, maybe, but stupid. They're the kind of thing you look at and think, "Huh" and then you move on, never to think about them again as they melt into a puddle and evaporate into nothingness. If they're like, donated, then never mind.
What the hell is wrong with people? Again, stuff ownership is awesome, but when a pack of idiots camp outside a Walmart for days to save a few bucks, wherein the mob mentality turns perfectly rational people into a stampeding herd of maniacs willing to cause bodily harm to their fellow man and when businesses openly do their best to create buzz that inevitably results in more demand than supply and at least a few broken hearts come Christmas morning, something is very wrong. People of earth, I implore you; the savings aren't that great, and y'all should take a long hard look at yourselves (on YouTube).
What once was a fun and beautiful event about togetherness and swillin' cider has grown into yet another example of the city turning on its denizens. If I want to be out in the cold next to a bonfire all night, what the shit do you care, Santa Fe? But sure, go ahead…get your cops driving down the street, shouting at revelers. Look, this ain't Zozobra, and while we get people are out there drinking and whatever, there are certainly better uses for city resources and manpower than shining that awful 50-billion candle power cop-light at carolers (more ice sculptures, perhaps?) Oh, and carolers, you aren't safe either. I'll get to you in a moment.
Those Who Go A-Wassailin'
Do not come to my house to sing just as I won't go to your house and critique your record collection. OK, so wassailing isn't your job, but I still don't want you on my dry lawn and, no, that doesn't make me a jerk. Maybe I prefer my holidays to be a quietly introspective time for enjoying the new crap I got on Black Friday. Maybe I like my solitude. Maybe the sound of carols is tolerable when I'm expecting it (and in public), but when I'm at home I'd just as soon skip your bullshit. Think of me as Mr. Daniels from Dylan Thomas' A Child's Christmas in Wales, only take out the part where I join in on your stupid, off-key rendition of "Good King Wenceslas" and replace it with the turning on of a hose that will soon be aimed at you and your ridiculous period-appropriate hat.
Red or Green or Christmas Chile Jokes in Restaurants
For the love of God—servers across town—nobody thinks this is funny. You guys are awesome and do a great job, but when it comes to sycophantic tip-pandering based on the official state question it becomes hard for us locals to not pray for a tragic Christmas tree accident after which you're never able to properly empty your bowels and your family is never the same.
Any Movie Version of A Christmas Carol Without Muppets
If there is a better Scrooge than Michael Caine, I'll eat my hat. And no, Bill Murray doesn't count. It's a pretty good rule that Muppets make everything better, even Christmas. Man, I love Rowlf.
You ever walked around in the stuff? It shoots up your pant leg as freezing water settles inside your shoe beneath the arch of your foot. I don't know how, but this is also Christmas's fault. Thanks, Baby Jesus.