The Grinch who stole the Holidays: PCness in December

It’s that time of the year: the time from Thanksgiving until new year’s. You know, the Holidays. Oh, uh, (tugs at collar, wipes brow with cocktail napkin) I mean the Christmas season…right.

Is anyone as sick of this as I am? I mean crap people, if we are going to argue about something, can’t it be something of substance? A cure for cancer? A way to end world hunger? Our favorite kind of chewing gum?

Doesn’t this come up again and again every year? And don’t we always move further away from reaching a common consensus? No matter what you call this part of the year, I am sure you agree that you do not want it overshadowed by the bickering of people who are inflexible and absolute that it always be called by one name and never by another.

Both Christmas wishers and Holidarians (to coin an awkward and ridiculous term) are wrong to launch a full-blown media war over this controversy. Petitions, lawsuits, and boycotts should be enacted on things that matter, not petty battles over what Wal-Mart calls their merchandise. Civic action is a finite resource, and it is disheartening to see it wasted on something so incredibly silly.

Whether you call it the Holiday spirit or the Christmas spirit, all this bad blood ruins it. This really does not have to be as complicated and divisive as we have made it to be.

My mom works as a bank teller. She has conversations with hundreds of people every day, and thoroughly loves developing relationships with her customers. Every December, she wishes people a Merry Christmas, and a lot of people wish her this in return. If they wish her Happy Holidays, she reciprocates, and says Happy Holidays to them. If they say Happy Chanukah, she says Happy Chanukah. Seasons Greetings—Seasons Greetings, Happy Kwanza—Happy Kwanza, Ramadan Wishes—Ramadan Wishes.

If someone came into Ipswich Co-op Bank and wished my mother a “good buy-one get- one free Lysol window spray day,” she would, without a doubt, wish one back to them too, and with all the sincerity in the world.

When someone wishes you a merry Christmas, whether you are a Christian makes no difference. In fact, a Muslim customer recently wished my mom a Merry Christmas as a gesture of personal respect and kindness. My mom was very touched. When someone wishes something unto you, they are opening up their heart, not trying to impose their religion.

That’s all “Merry Christmas” and any other greeting means. It doesn’t mean, “accept Jesus as your savior” or “all other religions are bunk.” Wishing someone a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Chanukah, or any other thing is an expression of love and goodwill. It works as a more personal and heartfelt “have a good one.” It is not an attempted conversion, not a display of power, not an evangelistic statement.

Ben Stein, a Jewish man, wrote a great editorial on this subject last December, and said “it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don’t feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees. It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, ‘Merry Christmas’ to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year.”

Over 95% of the United States population celebrates Christmas, and in our culture, Christmas is not a primarily religious holiday (only 80% of Americans are Christians; the math does not add up). When people think of Christmas, they primarily think of presents, friends and family, and Santa, not Jesus. As a Christian, I find this troubling, but I am not dismayed by it. I can still observe my religion when people wish me happy holidays, but I do not want to be told I do not have the option of giving people my blessing how I choose. Later in his editorial, Stein said “I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution, and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.”

All I want is to be able to wish people well and to mark observance of one of the most important days of my year. Is that too much to ask? So when you see me over the next few weeks, let me know what what you celebrate—Christmas, Holidays, Hanukah…or whatever else. I will be glad to wish it to you, provided that you let me do the same.

Read the entirety of Ben Stein’s editorial here: snopes.com/politics/soapbox/benstein2.asp

Read Lou Dobbs’ recent commentary on this subject here:
cnn.com/2006/US/12/12/Dobbs.Dec13/index.html

Soda Silliloquy (-that isn't misspelled. I want it that way.)

I like soda, but I don’t do caffeine and I only drink diet, so, my choices are usually very limited. I’ve found that Fresca is my favorite—especially after sweating profusely—but it isn’t hearty enough for the winter months. When it’s cold outside, I want some girth in my calorieless beverage, thank you very much. Diet A & W and Diet Barq’s Root Beer are very good, and are perfect to warm you up on a frigid winter day. Don’t ask me how, but it just works. I think the best diet soda I’ve had is Coca-Cola Zero. Damn son, they must put cocaine in that shit! Unfortunately, it has caffeine in it, and when I found that out, I had to stop drinking it. I mean, I walk when the sign says “don’t walk” and order steaks medium-rare, but caffeine in my soda? There’s just too much risk. Sprite Zero is good too, and that’s decaf. That one seems to have an extra propensity for producing burpage though, so only drink it if you’re going to be alone or with your wife (ay-oh!).

Diet Sunkist has a surprisingly natural taste, but you have to look pretty hard to find it. It’s usually in the bottom of the soda cooler wall next to the open carton of half-and-half the employees use for their coffee (that open carton is always there, but you chose to ignore it, like you do with all the other problems in your life. Good job, loser.). The thing is, hoboes like to drink Diet Sunkist, too. So if you give a hobo change, they’re probably going to use it to buy the last Diet Sunkist, mix it with Vodka, and then ramble on the street for hours on end about the conspiracy for Lithuanian paraplegics to take over the continent of Europe, “just like Hitler did.” For this specific reason, always think twice before giving away your money to street people. The bums probably deserve it anyways.

I don’t know what happened with diet ginger ale, but ever since I had it at my diabetic grandparents’ house when I was eight, it has been completely repulsive. How can they sell that stuff? It would be sort of like putting cat shit in a box of Chinese take-out and calling it spring rolls (actually, it’s exactly like that). I mean, how can my grandparents buy it? I mean, I know their taste buds are worn away and useless, but balls, this takes it to a whole new level. The fake ginger flavoring in combination with the artificial sweetener makes the drink doubly bitter and unpalatable. Ew guys, just, like—ew. The aftertaste is like blood mixed with Colgate toothpaste mixed with placenta. And yes, I know what that tastes like, so piss off. I don’t know why the FDA is messing around with all these prescription drugs and silicone breast implants and crap. Diet ginger ale is the real threat to the well-being of the American people.

Caffeine Free Diet Coke and Pepsi both taste like Moxie with an infusion of bath water (I’m actually making this one up, I haven’t tasted it, but I imagine that’s one of the uckiest (yes, uckiest, I didn’t want to use “yuckiest,” I think it would have been trite. And I am indeed using a parenthetical inside of a parenthetical. I digressed from my digression, what can I say? I do what I want. You just don’t mess with genius. Watch and learn ladies!)-tasting concoctions I could imagine). Nonetheless, I often end up drinking one of them, as they are carbonated, wet, and widely available.

So why did Chris go off on this wild tangent about soda? Well, Chris wanted to write about Double Big Gulps at 7/11, but he tends to take a while to get the hell around to his point. So anyways, Chris walked into 7/11 the other day, and was feeling rather parched.

Realizing that there were no good 20oz. sodas in the coolers (12oz. is a waste of money, dude, that was so not an option. Paying $1 for something that’s gonna cut his lip and give him a cold sore is like getting raped up the anus. No thanks.), he decided to wander on over to the soda fountain unit. Chris thought, “whoa, what are these paint buckets doing by the soda foun—oh, they’re Big Gulps!” Chris, deciding that the Big Gulp (22oz.) was insufficient, and that the Super Big Gulp (36oz.) was for pussies and the queers, wisely selected the Double Big Gulp (44oz. Hell yes). I mean, the Mega Gulp (64oz.) is just insane, who the hell could drink that much beverage?!? It was 9:12 at night, and Chris didn’t want to be up the whole night, so he wisely (Chris is quite wise) chose Caffeine Free Diet Coke. Upon filling the container and fitting it with the appropriate cover and straw, Chris proceeded to the checkout, whereupon he paid $1.25 for his prize.

$1.25 for this glorious tankard of liquid refreshment? Chris felt pretty sure he was the smartest, most innovative person in the history of the world. Da Vinci, Einstein, and Hawking ain’t got nutin on Chris, son. If he could get value like this out of every business transaction, no one could stand in his way. Not even Donald Trump and his laughable excuse for a hairpiece and a get-rich-quick book. Screw Donald Trump. Chris thinks Donald Trump is probably a retard, but he respects him because he can make good real estate deals. As far as Chris is concerned, that’s all that really matters—real estate deals.

So anyways, Chris was walking around Downtown Crossing, talking to his Mother on the celly, sporting his Double Big Gulp, and feeling quite at ease. Chris has it down: talk, sip, talk talk, sip, talk talk talk sip, talk, sip, talk talk, sip, ect. Surely no one could out-cool Chris “the cool” at this very moment. After a relatively brief interval, Chris finished the drink, and was unfazed by the fact that he had just ingested 44oz. of liquid and that the human stomach is only 32oz. big. Screw science. Chris never lets Science get in his way. Science blows. What has Science ever done for Chris, anyways? Chris called Science, and Science was all like, “oh, I tried to call you back, but I was in a bad cell, my phone dropped the call. Let’s do lunch or something!” Bullshit, Science. Bullshit. Chris knows better, you whore.

So about an hour later, Chris was pretty sure he was going into labor. Wow, I mean, Caffeine Free Diet Coke does some weird black magic crap when it gets all up inside you and stuff. Chris thought, “Whoa man, I’m pretty sure that this weird crap I feel like right now means that that skinny Japanese dude eating all those hot dogs is a real sport. Not like a sport like NASCAR, but like a sport like baseball. Wait, no, it’s like Rugby. Ruggggggggby.”

Chris peed blood every 20 minutes for the next three days and died in a pool of his own vomit. He was 19 years old. 7/11 used Chris’ $1.25 to buy three Diet Sunkists at wholesale price from Cadbury-Schweppes Inc. Damn you, 7/11. Damn you to Big Gulp hell.