Occupy Hall-give-mas-kah!

Let’s beat the whole crazy season into submission by turning October, November and December into one long Euro-style holiday for the 99 percent!

Looks like lunch to me. Image courtesy therichest.com

Looks like lunch to me.
Image courtesy therichest.com

Regular visitors to this yeasty, entirely overheated corner of the blogosphere by now will have noted my less than sunny views on the holiday season. Each year, Halloween ushers in the annual frenzy with a vodka and Twizzler orgy that more often than not ends with me climbing to the roof to burn Martha in effigy, inadvertently blowing up the portable bar or otherwise frightening the children. Soon after, Thanksgiving red-lines my culinary stress meter and pushes my frazzled psyche to the limits of sanity, so that by the time Christmas rolls around, I’ve been on a liquid diet so long I can no longer tell the difference between a Bloody Mary and a large gazpacho, and even if I could I wouldn’t care, as long as there’s enough Stoli for my soup. Then like clockwork, on January 2nd it’s back to Betty Ford.

endcapJust as predictably, it seems to me, every year the holiday decorations go up a little earlier, the carols start a bit sooner, and the event horizon on my liver transplant slides ever closer. I know I am not wrong about this — the holiday creep, I mean.

And so it was with real horror that I encountered something very like this in the local bookstore. On October 30th. Owing to the unseasonably balmy weather, I was wearing sandals as I passed the festive display of holiday titles, which gave the experience a kind of surreal, even menacing quality.

Imagine if you will an average housewife on an average day. She enters the bookstore on a harmless birthday present-buying errand only to encounter a bewildering array of Christmas paraphernalia — in the month of October. Has she lost three months due to dissipated excess, is she merely a victim of overeager marketing, or are more sinister forces at work? Perhaps she has entered . . . the Holiday Zone.

Sends a shiver up your spine, does it not?

Trees still green? Temps in the 60s? Says Christmas in New York to me!

Trees still green? Temps in the 60s? Says Christmas in New York to me!

Well, it did mine. So as soon as my purchase was complete, I hightailed it toward home, only to encounter this in my neighborhood. Was it any wonder that, shaken and disoriented, I staggered into the local watering hole, which became a kind of sink hole, and eventually a black hole? At evening’s end, Mr. Slattern was somewhat less than pleased at being called to collect me, though he got over it eventually. Thank heaven the man is handy with a stomach pump.

Anyhow, now that my head has cleared and I’ve taken the pledge — again — my recent experiences have got me thinking, and I have come up with a heck of an idea. Let’s beat the whole crazy season into submission by turning October, November and December into one long Euro-style holiday for the 99 percent! Over the three months, we’ll all work about one day out of every five, as our Continental cousins appear to, while the one percent (retailers, marketing companies, advertisers) continue to clock-in as usual in a frantic effort to flog the decorations, specialty foods and gifts we can’t be bothered to shop for because we’re too busy lolling on the beach, sipping espresso in cafes and binge-viewing all five seasons of Fringe in one weekend.

Then instead of discrete holidays, we can just decorate for one. No more changing from jack o’lanterns to turkeys to Christmas trees or menorahs. Just throw it all up at once in October, and take it all down in January. Or never. What difference does it make? Think of all the time you’ll save. On October first you can festoon your Christmas tree with tiny pumpkins, dress your dancing Santa up as Dracula and fill your cornucopia with fake severed fingers. Spin your pentagram dreidel, stuff the Thanksgiving bird with leftover Charlestown Chews and Red Vines, bob for drumsticks, go caroling in your Pilgrim get-up. The possibilities are endless. See?

We are so done.

We are so done.

About WSW

Writer, wife, mother. Toiler in the bottomless, black, soul-sucking coal mine of domestic life. Thank God for the portable bar.

Posted on November 5, 2013, in Commentary, Holiday fare and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 19 Comments.

  1. I only have to decorate once? I’m in.
    By the way, don’t count on me as a liver donor. I was told by a Chinese acupuncturist, who apparently got his medical license when he was 16 do to excessive intelligence and lax international child labor laws, that my liver is substandard and sluggish. I blame it on the steady flow of martini olives I ate out of my father’s gin as a small child.

  2. I’m good with this. Where’s the sign-up sheet?

  3. I don’t know where you got the idea we only work one day a week this side of the Big Pond, Slattern, But I do know what you mean about the enforced Yuletide jollity, as my post from September will show. http://nobodysreadingme.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/how-to-suffer-from-mission-creep/

  4. I think, when I left Seattle, or while in Boise, or Taipei or Tucson or wherever I just flew in from – the Costco had X’mas wrapping paper and the big ornament baubles. And today, the Argentinian President declared an early X’mas. Starbucks in China has already started using their holiday paper cups. I say we should do this worldwide.

  5. Screw ’em. The decorations freaks are making up for their own insecurities. Drink up ,enjoy, party on.

  6. Small correction: should be ‘discrete’, not ‘discreet’. Just trying to help 🙂

    • You know, Jim, I could claim I was referring to my habit of wearing sunglasses, avoiding the press, and keeping my public appearances on the QT during holiday season, but you and I both know that would be a big fat lie. I stand corrected, and gratefully so.

  7. Makes perfect sense to me, especially since that’s about how long it takes me to take down decorations anyway…

  8. Oh, I love this more than I hate George Thorogood. And I love your severed-hand turkey.

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