I'm boycotting Christmas. No carols, no festive films, no cards, no nothing. This requires less effort than one might think, but more than it should, since the first indication I had that Christmas was coming was from a commerical that aired on Halloween night — announcing a furniture store's holiday sale. The airwaves have since been inundated. Save for my three daily half-hour shows, my TV's stayed off. I even quit watching news. I'm determined.
But why? you ask. Christmas is the most joyful, festive time of the year!
To which I respond, Bah.
I cite all the old arguments — those of craven materialism, meaningless tradition for tradition's sake, pious sentiment disguised as goodwill — and add to them my own strong distaste for forced joviality. It creeps me out when some unnamed They tell the masses that, because of the time of year, we should be happy, generous, and amply fed. Failure to be all three, consistently, through the end of December, brands you a killjoy, or worse. It's my prerogative to be miserable, stingy, and peckish whether the halls are decked or not. Besides, shouldn't we strive for peace on Earth year-round?
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