May the Spirit of the Season Visit You and Yours

By “the Spirit of the Season” I, of course, mean loot. I hope you get loot this year. That’s what I’m saying.

“But wait a minute,” you say very ungrammatically. Unlike the way I talk. Or write, even. “The “Spirit of the Season” is peace and love and the Baby Jesus and stuff like that.” Good thought for you but wrong. Thanks for playing, though. Loot is what the season is all about. Even the Baby Jesus scored some loot. Gold, frankincense and myrrh, the original not-quite-well-thought-out Christmas presents. I guess they didn’t have itchy sweaters then. (“It’s real wool you say? That would explain the smell. Hand knitted by a blind Peruvian craftsman? That would explain the color choices. No, no, I love it. Really. I got you McDonald’s gift certificates. Hope you like 'em.”) This probably gave rise to the age old lie: It’s the thought that counts.

You’d think being Wise Men, old Balthazar, Gaspar and Fritz (Bible trivia: Not his real name, but the name he liked to go by. It was stitched on his bowling shirt.) would have done better in the gift department. They were guys though. They should have let their wives pick out the gifts. Then Baby Jesus would have gotten a binky and some nappies and a fuzzy purple elephant that squeaked when you squeezed it. Much better gifts for a baby that was sleeping in a stable. If they brought their wives along with them, they (the wives) probably would have run off that damned drummer boy, much to Mary’s relief. She had to kick an ox and some sheep out of the way to drop her kid in a barn (“Hey Jesus! Close that door, will ya? What were you born in a barn?” “Yes mother, as it happens I was born in a barn.”) all because Joe couldn’t call ahead for reservations, and here was this punk kid pah rum pum pum pum-ing all over the place. He was lucky not to get a load of myrrh right up the patootie.

Still, you see that? Gifts. The basis of the whole she-bang. That’s why Christmas is when it is. Really. There was this perfectly good holiday just lying around and bang, zoom it gets co-opted to Christmas. “Hey, look,” old timey Pagans would say. (But then you’d be hip deep in Pagans then. They didn’t have a good religion yet to Pag against.) “The Sun didn’t poof out on us! Have a gift!” “Wow,” said early Christians. “I wanna get in on the loot. From now on Saturnalia is Christmas and I get loot too.” Thus unfolds the majesty that is History. Nicely wrapped with a pretty bow. The stick on kind that you can peel off the gifts and stick in your hair to be extra festive.

The whole month is a festive gift-giving extravaganza. Which is nice. Loot out the wazoo. With cookies.

Not only is there the Main Event, Christmas itself, but also Christmas Eve, which exists solely as the Night Before Christmas. It’s Christmas overflow. If you want to be all traditional, Christmas can ooze out to twelve days (like the song: Santa Clause is Coming to Town). Plus Christmas Eve, that’s thirteen days. But wait! There’s more! As an extra added bonus, I’ll throw in St. Nicholas Day. At no extra charge to you.

St. Nicholas might look like Santa Claus, and some people might feel he’s a legitamate replacement for Santa Claus, but the cold, hard truth is: He ain’t Santa Claus. He’s different. Once again, organized religion grabs a perfectly nice Pagan tradition and claims it as its own. Like a junkyard dog busting in and peeing all over something you wouldn’t want a junkyard dog to pee all over. St. Nick already has a gig. He’s the Patron Saint of Theives. Go ahead, look it up. Which is kinda odd in itself. The Patron Saint of Thieves, indeeed. God Himself said, and I quote: “Don’t steal stuff.” (Which got prettied up when the Bible came out.) And then some Pope, working as God’s mouthpiece said “Thieves, you guys that go and steal stuff, you’re all going to Hell, but here’s St. Nicholas, he’s your Patron Saint and he’ll watch out for you.” Go figure.

Nick’s just moonlighting when he tries to muscle in on Santa’s turf. I guess he’s just covering his ass in case of staff cuts. They got St. Christopher and St. George already. Sometimes you have to look to the future. He could take a lateral shift and become the Patron Saint of Day Trading, but even saints have standards.

There are so many conflicting, confusing traditions around Christmas. Some of the songs are confusing too. “Good King Wencelsenselslaus” takes place on “the Feast of Steven”, but it’s a Christmas song. Waffles aren’t particularly Christmassy, but “Were We Go A-Waffling”. Maybe we just can’t make up our minds about whether to get the scarf or the pretty pin. And there are “Twelve Days of Christmas” (starting Christmas Day and going through Epiphany, when the Wise Guys finally made their apperance at the stable with their bad gifts). Do you only get one partrige inna pear tree, or do you get one every day? So you’d have twelve partriges and forty golden rings by the end? And do you have to supply your own pear tree, or is it bundled in with the gift? (And in a non-Christmas song, you know the farmer that had a dog? And Bingo was his name-o? Is “Bingo” the name of the farmer, or the farmer’s dog? Discuss, and show your work on a separate piece of paper.)

So what I’m saying is: Christmas is for everybody. Give the Baby Jesus a cookie and have done with him. Stick with the basics. A pretty tree (which is a Pagan symbol anyway, no need to call it a Hannuka Bush) and loot. The real Spirit of Christmas.

Bob bless us, one and all.

Thanks for clearing that up, Rue!! It explains a lot. Here, have a cookie!


The Twelve Days AFTER Christmas

Mornin’ Rue! I had a bit of trouble finding your thread this morning. So I had to wait on my coffee, because it has become mine own personal rule to drink my coffee on Monday while reading your thread. I think it was screech-owl’s post which finally got it past my Monday morning fog. Anyway, I would drink tea while reading this, but I’m afraid you’ve become a bit obsessed with teas lately, so I didn’t want to set you off on that.

You have captured the spirit of the season perfectly here. Sadly I have become much more a giver than a givee lately. The kids get, Mrs. ShibbOleth gets (if she’s been naughty, not nice), the cousins get, yadda, yadda, yadda. So to make up for it, and since I know Mrs. S. only gives me the most functional and boring gifts, I make it a point to give to myself. And not just for Christmas. I like to keep the spirit of the season all year round, giving myself whatever I fancy throughout. Some call it selfish, I prefer to think of it as efficient.

Oh, and everyone don’t forget that St. Nicholastag is this Thursday. I might just have time to run out and get myself that DVD player/surround sound system I have had my eye on.

Rue, you make me smile.


I hung up the Christmas lights in our office this morning, and started organizing our office Secret Santa (politically correctly referred to as the Holiday Secret Gift Exchange. Gag.). Why, you ask? To get everyone in the proper Christmas spirit - so they’ll remember to buy me stuff *. :smiley:

[sub]* I’m actually kidding, but it fits with the thread.[/sub]

Yes, Kimmy, you do have a beautiful smile. I’d caper like a monkey to see it, too. But don’t let it go to your head. I’ve been know to caper for no good reason.

Hi Shibb. I hope your coffee wasn’t too late today. Have you ever thought that your “efficiency” is the cause of your derth of giftee-ism? Just a thought. But “mad props to you” (is that what all the cool kids are saying nowadays?) on your maintaining the Holiday Spirit throughout the year. You make the World a better place. (A DVD player would make the part of the World immediately around your TV a better place, too. Sometimes we have to give til it hurts to make the World a better place.)

screech and Snickers, it’s always good to hear from my Florida ladies. You two could be like a club or something. I get a song and a cookie, and I am one happy pup.

I always thought the spirit of the season was hot buttered rum. Ok and champagne for New Year’s. Personally, though, gimme an ice cold beer anytime. Oh, and cookies. Cookies and beer, yum! Hey it’s almost lunch time!

Heh. I knew there was a reason I liked being a kid. Loot loot loot. Hey, Mom! Dad! It’s almost Christmas time! Got your Visas? Oh, here, guys, I got you presents, too! Here, Dad, I gotcha a brand spanking new…mug!! And Mom, look! It’s a brand new ring! See how the little plastic crystal looks just like a real diamond?
And now that that’s done with…ahem…I believe that I asked for some DVDs?:smiley:

-Jester, enjoying adolesence for once in his life.
(Word to your mother, Rue)

Now just hold your horses. (No horses? Find something else to hold. Look around, there must be something. Use your intiative, man.) You’re selling the boy Nicholas a bit short. Patron St of thieves, forsooth. You thought that was all? Hell no. The Church invested a lot of prayer and intercession getting these guys made saints, they don’t want to waste them. Considering everything else he’s saint of, covering Christmas should be a mere bagatelle. (All bagatelles are mere. It must get pretty degrading after a while. We need some significant bagatelles, goddammit.) Nick’s portfolio covers:

So if you’re a poor but scholarly unmarried female traveller who recently lost a law suit unjustly and is travelling by boat from Lorraine to Portsmouth - which I admit is tricky, Lorraine being landlocked - and you get robbed by a parish clerk from Russia…Who you gonna call?
St Nicholas!

Find your name-saint here: Patron Saints Index

And a merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good knight.

Oh, and St Steven’s day is the 26th of December, which explains why Wency had all the spare food kicking around.

amrussell, are you implying I should start doing research on these little posts of mine? Socks and underwear for you this year, bub. The itchy kind too.

Jester, it’s one thing to call me names, but to drag my poor mother into the fray… You should just be ashamed of yourself. Baby.

Oh, wait… you meant that in the good, hip-kid way. Right? Well, you better have. (So I take back the “baby”.)

swampbear, the cookies and beer? Do you dunk 'em? Just checking.

Rue DeDay I tried dunking my cookies in beer but the little hole in the can just ain’t big enough. Damn cookies were crumbling all over the place. Now I just take a big ol bite of cookie then take a swig of beer and let the cookie dissolve in my mouth. Course it’s easier to dunk cookies if I pour the beer into a mug. If I use a mug then that means I have to eventually wash it, which I don’t want to do because that would mean I’d have to go to the store and buy some kind of dish soap stuff and a dish cloth and a dish towel. Hell, that’d cost about as much as a six pack which comes with those convenient pop top thingies that allow me to drink right outta the can. So the bite of cookie, swig of beer, let cookie dissolve in mouth thing really works best for me.:smiley:

If I may offer a suggestion? Take a can opener and remove the lid of your beer. This may be a trifle difficult if you drink from a bottle. But if you’re still drinking from a bottle then perhaps you should stick to milk. Anyway, if you can get the top off of your beer, and the cookie isn’t too large, then you should be able to dunk. Oreos would be perfect for this, just the right size.

FWIW, my son likes to dunk just about everything he eats. Peperoni into OJ? No problem! Pizza in milk? Done that. I fear he may grow up like the swampbear. I only pray he shall wash his own dishes some day. With real dish soap, not old soap slivers from the shower.

I can’t think of a better time to reveal that, as a child, every year on the feast day St. Nicholas, my mother placed in my stocking – and in the stockings of my brothers – hung, of course by the chimney with care … a can of Reddi-Whip whipped cream.

Yes, we children cried for and received our own personal can of 100 percent whipped cream to squort into our mouths at any time of the day or night. Whip cream to gorge on: that was my family tradition.

When I married, my mom took my husband aside and informed him of his new responsibilities.

Ah the joy of December 6! :smiley: Reddi Whip, hurray!

ShibbOleth thanks for the suggestion about using the shower to wash the beer mug. Excellent idea! I just put the mug in the shower when I shower. I mean, I use hot water and soap to shower then I rinse myself off real good. The mug would get enough soap and water to make it clean, right? Oh, and BTW Chips Ahoy are the only proper cookies for beer dunking. Oreos are for dunking in Pepsi. I still like my bite cookie, swig of beer, dissolve cookie method the best though.

Ellen Whipped cream…mmmmm. New routine! Bite cookie, squirt whipped cream, swig beer, dissolve whipped cream and cookie in mouth. This is gonna be the best Christmas ever!

swampbear, I just have to ask - do you eat cold spaghetti-o’s out of the can while standing over the sink? And are you, perchance, a bachelor? No reason - it just kinda occurred to me.


Shibb, I don’t get it. You express distaste at swampbear’s eating habits, and then recommend this:

In my opinion, attempting to dunk cookies into a three hundred pound vicious man-eating mammal is a much more hazardous practice than putting them in an alcoholic beverage. Honestly. What would Smokey the Bear think?

“Remember, kids, only YOU can prevent bear-dunking.”

FairyChatMom, cold spaghetti-o’s? spaghetti-o’s are the most satan inspired food ever! If I’m gonna eat out of a can over the sink it’s Dinty Moore’s Beef Stew or nothing! Actually if you do it just right you don’t even need to use a spoon. Sure some of the gravy might dribble into the sink but I can turn on the water and wash that right down the drain. No spoon to wash and just throw the can away.

Actually I have a very loving partner of 14 years now. He has tried to civilize me but now he’s just glad I shower regularly and will put on clothes when we have guests over. BTW I can cook, clean, do laundry, iron and a boatload of other domestic type stuff but I’d much rather spend my time coming up with creative ways to get out of actually doing any of them.

I didn’t express distaste at his eating habits. I only said I fear that my son will grow up to be like him, by which I meant I was afraid he grow up with a fear of soap. It’s probably too late. And you’re probably too young to know what “bear” means, anyway. [sub]sorry, it’s Rue’s thread so I have to pick on your age at least once[/sub]

Aww now ShibbOleth it’s not the soap I am afraid of, it’s the fact that I might actually have to use it to clean something. There is a difference. :smiley:

So it’s just an aversion to work and not an aversion to cleanliness, for example clean would be okay if the clean fairy came by and did it for you?