Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
And so it begins. Every year come the day after Thanksgiving, the local classickal station begins firing up its rotation of
Christmas “holiday” musick.
They start mildly enough, slipping the odd carol or tune in just before the top or bottom of the hour nooz blurb from Nihilist Propaganda Radio, but in short order the mix becomes more and more “seasonally” oriented. By Christmas Eve itself, the theme has taken over completely. Of course by then, when, you know, Christmas actually starts, one is utterly sick of the stuff.
Along those lines, Ol’ Robbo likes to play a masochistic little game with himself this time of year, seeing just how long he can go on listening to endless repetitions of “Deck the Halls” and “The Holly and The Ivy” plus pure abominations like “If Bach Had Written ‘Jingle Bells'” before he starts frantically clawing through his drawer for a screwdriver with which to puncture his own eardrums.
I usually hold out until about a week before Christmas itself. At that point, unable to stand any more “I Wonder As I Wander” and “The Dreidel Song”, I start listening exclusively to CDs until it’s all over.
Which it is, with the suddenness of the Last Trump. Come December 26, again, the second day of the actual twelve day celebration, not a single note of “holiday” musick will you hear on the station.
Which in a way is a relief, but is infuriating because of why it’s such a relief.
Speaking of which, this year I am going to try more than ever to use the word “X-mas” whenever I am discussing the warped, secularized, bowdlerized, hyper-consumerist “holiday” that most people “celebrate” these days and reserve the word “Christmas” for its proper place. I’m sure lots of folks won’t understand me but I don’t care.