- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 0
-
Sparkle (0)
I'll never forget the first time I heard George Constanza nervously
ramble to his boss about his father Frank's personal holiday, Festivus,
a special observation set aside to protest all the mind-numbing,
ridicules bullshit that surrounds Hanukkah and Christmas
and every other sacred day recognized by the masses. It's not that I
mind the days themselves, just the opposite really. What I do mind,
though, is the way the entire population goes apeshit crazy as the day
approaches. A man was killed this year at an early bird special, for
Christsake.
Now, I know Frank Constanza is technically a fictional
character, but Festivus is pure genius. And, as a matter of fact, it
was actually inspired by a Seinfeld writer Dan O'Keefe's father's spin
on the celebration of, well, not freakin' celebrating.
I'm sure all
you Christmas lovers are going berserk as you read this. Well, hold on,
friends, it's gonna get bumpier. My beef with Christmas has nothing to
do with the holiday itself, in its rawest form, that is. But, really,
the nuts-and-bolts of Christmas really wouldn't make much of a holiday,
would it? Since the Bible gives no real guidelines outside of birthing
in a pile of hay and then receiving some shit called frankincense and
Mir from three wise men, which could be anyone I guess, we really don't
know how God wants us to commemorate the birth of His son. Should we
stuff a pinata and cheer Jesus on as he puffs out his candles, all
3,000 of 'em? I'm not sure what we are suppose to do, but I'm certain
God's plan isn't for us to staple enough fucking Christmas lights to
our house to single-handily melt the polar ice caps and make the old
spinster woman
go certifiably insane from all the blinking light reminders that she
and her 7 cats are all alone at Christmas. I'm no Biblical scholar, but
I gather from the whole feeding a crowd with a loaf of bread and three
fish thing that Jesus dug conservation. I'm just not sure he'd want us
to mark his birthday by packing three fucking landfills with useless
Christmas paper that briefly covered a bunch of gifts we don't really
need.
Not to mention that, Jesus seemed to shun both the prideful
lust of worldly possessions and really all violence. Well, putting a
bunch of genetically related people who can't freakin' stand each other
and only manage to restrain from socking each other in the eye with a
turkey drumstick because it would break poor ole Grammy's heart in the
same room to trade notes over who's pulling down the biggest paycheck
according the size of their wastefully wrapped gifts under the tree
just makes perfect sense. As soon as the ribbons are untied and punches
are flying, I'm sure Jesus is happy as a bride on her wedding
day. Honestly, I don't know why we just don't start a new Christmas
tradition of gouging out each other's eyes rather than turning the
other cheek. That's the only thing missing.
In light of my obvious
Bah Humbug spirit, Festivus clearly resonated with me. Festivus is
packed full with much more reasonable customs and my favorite of them
all is the "Airing of the Grievances." Just in case you somehow missed
Frank Constanza's explanation of this practice to Cosmo Kramer, which
would be like overlooking Hailey's Comet flying into Earth, this is the
time-honored tradition of basically telling everyone that's
disappointed you or pissed you off throughout the year just how they
did so. Just imagine how the escalated depression and violence of the
holiday season would decrease if we all embraced this rather than
Christmas caroling.
So, in honor of Festivus, I want to share with you a small excerpt from my Grievances:
Mollie,
Not
only are those horseshit knock-off Lego's that you gave Ridge for his
birthday constantly sprinkled around my house like Mardi Gras confetti
without the beer and flying chi chis, but when I stumbled haphazardly
to the bathroom in the middle of the night, my unsuspecting foot struck
one of those bastards and the skin on the bottom of my foot was cut. I
woke up the next morning with a bleeding and aching foot and was forced
to wear two mismatched Crocs to work at the Hog Trough the next morning
because every other shoe hurt too freakin' badly to wear. On the
account of that, several people continue to make fun
