Tis the Season to be Grinchy

There are people who love Christmas and people who hate it. I do not love Christmas. I will not be decking any halls or jingling a single bell. I detest all the forced frivolity and fake holiday good cheer, and – come to think of it – I also detest voluntary frivolity and genuine holiday good cheer. Mostly, I like peace and quiet, and there’s very little of that associated with Christmas.

My all-time favorite Christmas special is Dr. Seuss’s “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” The animated one, not the live action one, which I consider to be an abomination. But, honestly, I only like the first part of the program, up until the Grinch’s heart grows and is filled with the joy of Christmas. I find everything after that far too depressing. (Seriously? An enlarged heart? That can’t be good.)

Here he was, pleasantly content in his evil Grinchiness, then he caves and succumbs to societal pressure to be all festive and celebratory. Yeah, he saves his dog, Max, but then the two of them should’ve gone on and completed their mission to dump all the Whos’ stuff off the top of the mountain and retreated to their lovely lair to eat a reindeer or something.

Sure, I wish the Grinch would be nicer to Max, such as not tying antlers on his head and making him tip over. But he did saw down the antler so Max could pull the sleigh. I’m sure he’s normally pretty nice to Max, and was just having a bit of a meltdown that day because of those stupid Whoville people singing at him and disturbing his Grinchy solitude.

I mean, that’d do it for me. I can’t stand walking into any retail establishment between Halloween and New Year’s, because I am constantly assaulted with happy-sappy holiday tunes. It makes me wish I had some sort of electronics-disrupting device, so that no in-store sound systems would function when I was in the building. (Note to self: Research existence of such a device.)

I figure there are a limited number of reasons that people get all wrapped up in the whole holiday thing.

1. They are devout Christians who feel compelled to celebrate the birth of their savior by chopping down perfectly good trees and wrapping junk in shiny paper. (I’m not, and I don’t.)

2. They are Jewish, and feel compelled to celebrate Hanukkah and the miraculous “one day’s worth of oil burning for a whole lot more than just one day” event. (Again: I’m not, and I don’t. And I'm really not clear on the details in the first place.)

3. They are African-American and feel ethnically obligated to celebrate Kwanzaa, which is a really cool family-based tradition that got started when somebody decided we didn’t have enough shit going on in December already. (I’m not, I don’t, and couldn’t they have picked some other month when there’s not quite so much going on, like March or August?)

4. They are huge Seinfeld fans, and have adopted the custom of Festivus, because they can’t stand the fact that the show is no longer in production. (Not, haven’t, and couldn’t care less.)

5. They have small children, and take enormous delight in gazing upon their shining little faces as they are introduced to greed and mass-consumerism. (Don’t, but been there, done that, and have totally moved on. Maybe the Boy can take some of the crap everybody bought him over the years, sell it on eBay, and pay off his student loans.)

6. They have huge extended families and rejoice in the opportunity to have lots of big, loud, crowded, food-intensive, stupid-gift-giving, getting-drunk-and-barfing-up-eggnog gatherings. (I don’t, and never in a million years even if I did. Because I would be the one who did that last thing. And somebody would have pictures of the event.)

7. They have ridiculous amounts of money and need an excuse to blow it all on Chia Pets and Salad Shooters. (Ha. Actually, I kind of want a Chia Pet. But not for Christmas.)

Since I fit into none of these categories, I could just skip the whole month of December. I have a little 18-inch pre-decorated tree that at some point I will probably put on top of the book case, and that’s it. Oh, and I have a stuffed Grinch and Max, and if I can think of someplace to put them where the dogs can’t get them (because they think Grinch and Max are woobies and need to be unstuffed), I will probably get them out, too. Assuming I can find them.

I stopped sending Christmas cards about five years ago. Tom still breaks down and gets a small box of them to send to his family, because they’re that kind of family and it is expected, but my people more or less share my lack of interest in the holiday and don’t care if I send them a stupid card that they’ll just throw away.

By the way – cards that you send me? I totally throw them away, after I determine that they do not contain money. If they contain pictures of your children, I will glance at the picture, discover that it does not feature dogs, then toss it in a drawer. (If it does have dogs, it goes on the fridge.) In six months, I will come across the picture and wonder precisely whose children those might be. Then I throw it away.

Being sort of Pagan-ish in my worldview, you’d think I could at least get into celebrating Solstice on December 21. But I’m not a group person, so gathering with other Pagans (probably outdoors, in the cold) holds little appeal. Plus, because it’s celebrating the turning of the season, when the days finally will begin getting longer, that means it takes place on the shortest, darkest, bleakest day of the celestial year. A good day to stay home in bed, if you ask me.

So, please, spare me the “Merry Christmases” and “Happy New Years” and whatnot. It does not inspire me to get in the spirit of the season (whatever the hell that means), and does not fill me with goodwill toward my fellow man. Seriously. It just pisses me off. Don’t assume that simply because you’re all jolly and “ho-ho-ho” that everyone else is. Just keep it to yourself, unless you’re sure you’re among your own kind.

As for me, I’ll be sitting on the Sofur, Grinchily waiting for January – and my birthday, which is January 6, otherwise known as Epiphany, which is more than a little ironic.