Sunday, December 25, 2016
Happy Holidays!
It’s hard to think of something new to say about the holidays. I mean, at this point in our history it’s been pretty well established that The Holidays are Magical, whether they’re causing Macaulay Culkin’s family to suddenly regret their adorably negligent parenting or bringing Peter home to make Folger’s with his little sister, when in real life he would probably be on a skiing trip with that Tridelt he banged after the “Border Patrol” themed frat mixer. But at the same time, we all know that The Holidays are Dysfunctional, because we’ve all seen that Hallmark Movie where Lacey Chabert or AnnaLynne McCord or Shenae Grimes-Beech (none of these are made up names, I assure you) ruins Christmas dinner by bringing a fake fiancé or focusing too much on work at the holiday hat shop or putting on blackface. And let’s not forget recent favorite The Holidays are Ruined; pundits have been quick to let us know of the secret Communist plot to essentially travel back in time and punch Baby Jesus in his holy little gonads by convincing Walgreen’s cashiers to say “be well” instead of “All hail the one true Christ!” when you’ve finished purchasing your case of Dr. Scholl’s Foot Powder. Let’s face it: the holidays have been analyzed more than that blurry paparazzi photo of Jon Hamm that may or may not show the outline of his penis.
So, though it’s been said many times, many ways: Merry Christmas to you. And also Happy Holidays, because let’s face it, only seventy percent of this country is Christian, and easily half of those are kind of phoning it in, anyway.
It’s hard to think of something new to say about the holidays. I mean, at this point in our history it’s been pretty well established that The Holidays are Magical, whether they’re causing Macaulay Culkin’s family to suddenly regret their adorably negligent parenting or bringing Peter home to make Folger’s with his little sister, when in real life he would probably be on a skiing trip with that Tridelt he banged after the “Border Patrol” themed frat mixer. But at the same time, we all know that The Holidays are Dysfunctional, because we’ve all seen that Hallmark Movie where Lacey Chabert or AnnaLynne McCord or Shenae Grimes-Beech (none of these are made up names, I assure you) ruins Christmas dinner by bringing a fake fiancé or focusing too much on work at the holiday hat shop or putting on blackface. And let’s not forget recent favorite The Holidays are Ruined; pundits have been quick to let us know of the secret Communist plot to essentially travel back in time and punch Baby Jesus in his holy little gonads by convincing Walgreen’s cashiers to say “be well” instead of “All hail the one true Christ!” when you’ve finished purchasing your case of Dr. Scholl’s Foot Powder. Let’s face it: the holidays have been analyzed more than that blurry paparazzi photo of Jon Hamm that may or may not show the outline of his penis.
Nor are there many fresh takes
to be found on the year that was 2016, which at this point has already been analyzed
in everything from Dog Fancy to Butt Magazine. Certainly I have to
mention Donald Trump, largely because I’m afraid he might deport me if I don’t,
but I can’t add anything to the already plentiful national discourse, unless I
happen to uncover new evidence that he earfucked the rotting corpse of Mother
Teresa. I suppose I should also say something about the Olympics, unless I want
the terrorists and Ryan Lochte’s hairstylist to win. And no doubt holiday card
inserts are where you turn for nuanced analysis of the geopolitical fallout
from Brexit, which only sounds like the name of the Pokemon you catch right
before you get run over by a falafel truck. What can, I say, though? I’m just
not a policy guy. I’m more of a binge watching Webster while eating an entire bag of Doritos Taco Explosion kind
of guy.
I am, however, uniquely
qualified to tell you about my own 2016, which combined the thrilling plot
contours of a Sandra Brown novel with the complex characterizations of an
episode of Access Hollywood. Ian and
I moved to a townhouse in Old Town, Chicago’s home for mildly homophobic sketch
comedy and gluten-free everything. Aubrey went straight to the top of her class
at doggy day care, though to be fair the class seems to consist of ignoring
other dogs and constantly scanning the perimeter for any possible means of
escape. Our nephew Jack starting walking and talking, leading his parents to
immediately wonder why they ever wanted him to do either of those things. And I
went to Vienna with my law students, proving that travel is better when shared
with millennials who have limited life skills and think that you are deeply
lame. It was a great year, even if I was once again shut out of the People’s
Choice Awards. Stupid people.
And, in the end, I suppose it
doesn’t really matter if I come up with an innovative angle on the holidays,
because their reliable sameness is part of what we enjoy about them. We like
knowing that, for just one short part of the year, families will try to fight a
little less (for fear of being denied Bratz dolls and HurryCanes, but still), television
networks will re-air beautiful holiday specials created decades ago by people
who took astonishing amounts of psychedelic drugs, and even Wal-Mart will close
for approximately 2.5 hours. In a way, the holidays are just like NCIS: they may or may not be good, but
at least we know they’ll always be there.
So, though it’s been said many times, many ways: Merry Christmas to you. And also Happy Holidays, because let’s face it, only seventy percent of this country is Christian, and easily half of those are kind of phoning it in, anyway.
