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The Reel Deal and Other Bad Jokes
Monday, December 27, 2004
 
"There's children throwing snowballs / instead of throwing heads / they're busy building toys / and absolutely no one's dead!"
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The last quote was from "The Great Escape."
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No one really ever asks me questions. If there's anything you want to know about me, what I do, how I feel about whatever, favorite movies--wait, there's a top ten post coming for that--or anything else, ask me via comment, e-mail or IM and I will put an answer in the FAQ as well as tell you on the spot. Unless I don't.
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This is a little late, but I was over at Jack's reading about his nostalgia for the days of long past, lost in the mists of time, a forgotten era--yes, when Jack was a child. Hard to imagine I know. This got me thinking about why I still enjoy Christmas to a large degree, even though I've grown out of believing in Santa and I'm rather annoyed by the commercialism surrounding the holiday.

I've definitely gotten over Santa Claus. It happened when I was about four or five, I just had this suspicion...number one, this whole Santa Claus thing sounded like this thing I was learning about in school, a "metaphor," or a "story," also called a "lie," and number two, I knew my parents had the presents, 'cause I was a nosy little bastard and I'd seen them. There was a little room I wasn't allowed to go into at a certain time of year, especially after I went in to check it out (told you I was a nosy little bastard). One year I was followin' my dad around and he let me watch him wrap up a present for my mother, a pair of very nice scissors. That sentencce was not well-constructed, but if you're any kind of idiot you should be able to tell that the present was a pair of scissors, for my mother, who is not a pair of scissors. Anyway...

The night before Christmas, I was just so full of the knowlege I was privy to that, to be frank, it overflowed. I pointed at the present and extrapolated to my mother about it. "Hey Mom, guess what? That's your present. I'm not going to tell you what it is, but, on Christmas, you'r going to open your present, and, and, and--OUT POPS THE SCISSORS!"

Thus was born our family's version of "he spilled the beans."

"And...out pops the scissors."

But back to Santa Claus. Obviously the jolly fat man didn't exist, but I wanted to be in on the whole thing. So I simply transferred it to my dad, who had the beard and seemed to be the supplier of presents. The phrase "Shouldn't Santa and Mrs. Cluas be getting up to the workshop (attic) to wrap some presents?" gets pretty common around our house in the weeks preceding Christmas. Not that I say it. Not anymore, I mean.

So that's why I never really had a problem with the holiday due to loss of belief--I knew the facts of the matter in the first place.

Christmas still means something to me. It means being together with friends and family, celebrating the fact that we made it another year by showering each other with gifts. I gotta admit that I am fond of all the loot.
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