|"I need some love like I've never needed love before..."|
I turn down DJ booking requests if they clash with the night of the Toy Show.
Each December, I'll insist on melting my heart at least 2-3 times by watching movies that, really, I should be writing blogs mocking (and also Die Hard).
|Yippee-kay-yay to all motherfuckers, and to all motherfuckers a good night...|
And I still look forward to work Christmas parties despite their track record of doing nothing but damage to my professional reputation.
I fucking love Christmas. But I can't figure out for the life of me why.
Think about it: everything that trained you to love Christmas is a damn, dirty lie.
"Oooh look, Santy! YAY! This rather large man you only meet once a year in a creepy little shed from Woodies DIY, who sits you on his lap and makes you tell him what you want more than anything else in the world. He then breaks into your house, eats your mince pies and leaves you what you've asked for...as long as Argos hasn't sold out of them..."
Basically, he's a fat Jimmy Saville in a red suit. In fact, if I could design one ideal suit for Jimmy Saville to do his pedophile thang in order to remain unnoticed to society, it would probably look pretty fucking similar to a Santa suit. If I could think of an ideal grooming technique, it would be to lavish a child with gifts in order to access their house unquestioned. If you could summarise the idea of 'Jim'll Fix It' in a few words, would it not be, 'Santa Claus...except he's Jimmy Saville'?
|A man who has emptied his sack for children more than most...|
If you're a Catholic, when you cop onto the fact that Santa Claus isn't real (and is, in fact, everything your school is trying to teach you to avoid in terms of 'Stranger Danger'), they may try and teach you what Christmas is really about: after all, it was the birth of our lord Jesus Christ.
Now you kind of have to figure out that lie for yourself.
|Jesus may not be real, but Ming Flanagan is...|
"Oooh, Jesus was totez brill! He died for our sins."
Yeah, that's how al-Qaeda justify murdering thousands of people too. But our god is the 'real' one. So when our deities are martyred it's heroic, but when other people do it, it's terrorism. Don't get me started...
Now that organised religion (in the western world, at least) is a few generations away from dying out and being laughed about in our great-grandchildrens' history classes, I wonder how we'll justify celebrating Christmas? Because, let's face it, Christmas isn't going anywhere.
We'll probably have to universally make up a new lie to cover our arses (no doubt said lie will be spread by a chain, 'POST THIS ON UR TYMLINE TO SPREAD DA WORD' Facebook status). Maybe we can say that Christmas was the day Santa was born instead? Though that does raise the awkward question of, "Why is the only day of the year we expect Santa Claus to do anything for us his birthday?" Perhaps we could combine that with the Jesus myth and say that Santa gives us presents for our sins...or some shit, I dunno. It's a lot of effort just to justify a Turkey dinner and a few mince pies, isn't it?
"It's a day for family," they say.
I can kind of get behind that. In theory. In practise, Christmas every year just serves to remind me how little I get to see my extended family these days. Every year, I'm astounded by my family's skill to just...make conversation. We meet up in my auntie and uncle's house after the bleary-eyed present-opening shenanigans of that morning, all exhausted and slightly shaken by the nervy drive along the icy roads that got us there, and turn idle conversation about the weather into a genuine bit of craic with people we've only seen sparingly over the past 12 months. It's actually kind of impressive. I dunno if it's worth the hype of it all...but it's something.
And we're one of the lucky ones. I'm genuinely blessed with both sides of my extended family that there are no long-running grudges or scores to settle that all emerge unceremoniously with a few jars on us. At worst, when it comes to me, my extended family are just a bit bemused by how weird my life is from year-to-year. "Oh you're a wrestler now, is it?" "Oh you're a DJ now, is it?" "Oh you were on Take Me Out now, is it?" "Oh you're a bully now, is it?" And I don't blame them, truth be told. I'm one weird cunt when you put it all down on paper like that.
But, realistically, is it really a good idea to have a day where you force family to come together and attempt to bond like that? To put the 18-year old girl cousin going through her 'slutty phase' in the same room with the evermore-senile 70-year old uncle who's known to get 'handsy', and add copious amounts of alcohol to proceedings? To have your drug dealer brother forced to go outside for a smoke with your Garda brother-in-law and try to find something in common?
|THIS IS HOW WE LOVE EACH OTHER!!!!!!!!!|
Andy Williams once described it as, "The most wonderful time of the year."
Is it, though? Really? My bank account tells me it's not. I've a litany of Christmas presents still to buy and, despite being sensible and only bringing out €50 to a Christmas party last Friday, unfortunately I remembered that I still had the Visa on me once I hit the nightclub. My landlord, electricity, phone and television providers also suffer from a lack of Christmas cheer as they stick invoices up my hoop in December; the same invoices I could barely afford in September before I had this frankly ridiculous list of shit to buy for no particularly good reason.
My diet goes to shit, too. If you were to write down my regular diet on paper, it's not fantastic, I'll be the first to admit. But as soon as December 1st hits, add '....and a warm mince pie, with a scoop of Ben & Jerry's on top' to the end of every meal. It just makes the lie that I tell myself every year, that I'll get into top shape again in January, even less believable.
And yet, none of this matters to me. I sit here now, writing this, watching the football with the Christmas tree lights on and, for some reason, a Santa model glowing at me from the fireplace, costing me money in electricity. I could look at everything that I've just written and adopt some sense, plug the fucking lights out and go for a run. I could get to work on making myself a more fit, better person. I could opt out of buying presents, decorations and all the other utter drivel that comes with the season and start planning for a financially healthier future. But I don't and I won't.
|I cannot actually think of one good reason that this exists, much less in my sitting room, much less why I've chosen to leave it switched on all afternoon.|
|"You NEED me!"|
Maybe it's all just an excuse to go on both an individual and combined adventure together and re-evaluate, and remember, what matters to us. And, if so, I think it's pretty fucking amazing what we've come up with to do just that.
Merry Christmas everyone.