Christmas. Sigh.

It's coming down to the wire. The bustle has quickened, the songs are more cloying and desperate, the grim looks on shopkeepers' faces have become nearly as sunken and sallow as they ever will. Though this is always the time when I begin my Christmas shopping, I am still surprised, every year, by how awful and depressing it is. Especially in Union Square. Adventuring to the frenzied, Marrakeshian bazaar of the Christmas village they've got up there is almost as stultifyingly bleak as stopping into the large pulsating cave that is the Virgin Megastore across the street. But adventure to both I did, and came up basically empty handed. I didn't quite realize there was such a market for whimsical knick-knacks and carpety pashminas, but apparently there is. I fled that scene pretty quickly, not daring to look behind me as I scurried down 14th street towards the F.

I did find a gift for my roommate, and figured I ought to buy wrapping paper so I can give it to her tonight or tomorrow in style. The Rite Aid on 5th avenue in Park Slope is basically Children of Men but with, you know, children. After searching in vain for red ribbon to match the green paper I was buying, I finally found a barren stretch of shelving. Ghostly markers describing ribbons and bows were all that was left, the last of the actual products having been scavenged long ago. As usual, I got in the completely wrong line at the check-out, one that seemed short and fast moving, but of course proved to be anything but. The woman two people ahead of me was haggling with the checkout girl and the manager about a receipt that had not printed correctly. She needed solid proof of purchase and the manager's scrawled initials just would not stand! What if there was a problem with the precious item? What would she do then?! But alas nothing could be done to salvage the receipt, so she huffily returned the ever-valuable High School Musical action figures.

Up to CVS on 9th street for ribbon. Success at last. But, this stuff is expensive. It was $5 for a little spool of green, red, and gold ribbon. I don't know where they make ribbon, but those little kids who work their fingers down to tiny, gnarled nubs to get it cut and on the spools are hopefully going home to mansions. But this is an expensive time of year, so I grinned and bore it. As I was leaving the store, a little boy was shoving some sort of Pokemon toy in his mother's face, begging her to buy it for him. She flatly refused and he kept complaining until she finally relented and said "Santa will probably buy it for you." To which the boy replied, "Santa doesn't buy it, he makes it." Well, son, it's actually little elves working their fingers down to tiny, gnarled nubs.

Though, presented with the choice of braving the Sturm und Drang of the shopping experience or making the toys myself, I think I'd take the nubs.

Fit To Be Yuletide

Rose and I decorated our living room last night for the holidays, little Santa hats on plants and picture frames, white lights around the doors. For a bit I felt very seasonal and cheery. But then that was gone this morning when I trudged down Fourth Avenue toward the subway, blasted by arctic winds, ruing the day someone decided to invent winter. In general I’d say that I’ve lost a bit of the “Christmas spirit” as the years have gone by. It’s probably just a fact of getting older and having more worries and anxieties gnawing away at my happiness. I just don’t have the time to stop and get swept up in this wonderful season. This is kind of a bummer. But! On the internet this morning there arose such a clatter that it could only mean one thing! Christmas, with all its goodwill towards men, love, and celebration, had come early this year. Yes, my small heart grew three sizes when I read the following sentiment:

GEEZ... BLACKS AND HISPANIC'S F*CKING LIKE RABBIT'S... WHERE'S THE SURPRISE...??

THE KIDS ARE JUST DOING THEIR BEST TO EMULATE THEIR PARENTS AND INCREASE THE NUMBER OF SINGLE PARENT HOUSEHOLDS...

Um, yeah. It came from commenter FshHnt 21 on an AOL.com story entitled First Rise in U.S. Teen Births Since '91. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I do read AOL often. Why I started, I’m not quite sure. But it’s comments like that that keep me coming back. Friends and coworkers have always been baffled when they see me trawling the site, looking for the most hideous thing possible. Generally I can only stomach about 15 minutes of it. I guess I just think that there’s some inherent value in exposing yourself to the worst kinds of argument and ideology. Know your enemy!, I suppose. So if you are ever in the mood to get nice ‘n angry, go to AOL and read the comments. They usually manage to turn an article about a loaf of bread into a debate on why gay people need to rape children to live.

Merry Christmas!