Christmas Corrupts: An Exposé

So I was thinking about nothing the other day, and I realized that it would be more productive to think of something. I came up with this post.

Christmas time is frequently thought of as (if you celebrate Christmas) a joyous time of year, filled with family, gifts, songs, decorations, and (less often) actual religion. If you don't celebrate it, it's just freaking annoying. But I celebrate Christmas and I've always loved this time of year. However, during this particular brainstorm of mine that sprung from boredom (don't they always?), I realized that there sure are a whole lot of downsides (not including the religious ones) to this holiday and everything that comes with it. Here's my list of things that Christmas has corrupted:

1. The Name "Rudolph" Has Completely Died Out

Right, so this is really a shame. No more are parents naming their young sons (or daughters, to each his own) Rudolph for fear that they will get beaten up on the playground for being "Santa's little b*tch". Wait, 8-year-olds don't really use that word, do they? OK, maybe they'll just have to sit through other 8-year-olds singing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" year round, and that's just unpleasant for everybody. Heaven for bid they should catch a cold and their nose actually does get red. Oh the humanity! Anyways, the distinguished and somewhat decent name, Rudolph, has been reduced to a song, a stop-motion animated children's movie, various greeting cards, and millions upon millions of seasonal kindergarten craft projects. A darn shame.


Rudolph Valentino. Ruined forever by a reindeer...

2. Real Home Invasions Ignored By Children

Say a little munchkin on Christmas eve has just fallen asleep with sugar-plums dancing in their head and the whole shebang. Say the parents are also completely asleep with credit-card balances dancing in their heads. Say this young family's house doesn't have an alarm system. Tisk tisk. Say an evil gang of burglars (named Grinchy, Salty, and Scope) breaks a window and tumbles their fat behinds in through the window making a modest racket. Say the parents are heavy sleepers and don't hear a thing. Say the little tot wakes up, hears the noise of obvious human motion downstairs, but falls back a sleep with a huge grin on their face because "Santa's coming tonight" (and he is somehow theoretically exempt from breaking-and-entering or trespassing). So now, Grinchy, Salty, and Scope are the new owners of a MacBook, digital camera, cappucino maker, several sweaters, and a plethora of Justin Beiber themed merchandise, all neatly packaged in red and green.


Pictured: a practiced criminal.

3. Mall Santas

I have been thinking about this for a while now and for the life of me I can't see anything redeemable about mall Santas. Honestly, I can't even think of one thing that could possibly justify their existence. They basically exist so that parents can dress up their offspring in ridiculously shiny or velvety outfits and stuff them kicking and screaming onto the lap of an old guy in a red suit for a single photo that they can pass around at their family Christmas party and say "look how darn cute this is" while everyone rolls their eyes. Now that isn't even a pro, but here are the cons:
- Those mall Santas get minumum wage and have to sit in a hot Santa suit dealing with snotty children all day for the good part of two or three straight weeks. Plus, some are probably pedophiles, in which case, they probably like their job...
- The kids involved in this horrendous practice in culture don't enjoy it either. They are either too young to even know what's happening and go through the entire ordeal screaming as if their world was caving in on them, or they are old enough to know that it isn't the real Santa because there is one at every single mall they go to (plus countless different ones on TV) so they have lost all interest in these imposters.
- Those photos are grossly overpriced.
Let's face it, the world would be better (not even happier or more harmonious, just better) if they didn't exist.


Pure evil.

4. Reindeer Are Seen As Silly, Prancing Sled-Animals

This whole Christmas thing has de-butch-ified Reindeer to the point where nobody can take them seriously anymore. If you tell any children, foreigners, or idiots that reindeer are real animals, they'll look at you in shock and say "wait, so those antlered things that fly Santa around are real?!" I just feel sorry for all of those hardcore reindeer herds that live in the arctic if they ever hear about their stigma, they'll just never live it down. They aren't dangerous or anything but they certainly don't wear bells all the time and have silly names like "Prancer", "Cupid", or "Blitzen". I just have to say that Santa's reindeer must all be either females or castrated males because male reindeer lose their antlers in the winter. So reindeer in the Santa context have had their manhood taken away both literally and hypothetically.


Ridiculous vs. not ridiculous.

5. A Sub-Par Genre of Entertainment

Anytime an actor has found that they are no longer A-list (and quite possibly no longer B or C-list) they are really restricted to Lifetime or Hallmark movies, narrating documentaries, or (you guessed it) Christmas movies. The Christmas movie market has become one of those genres that gets put somewhere between slasher flicks and porn. Producing such gems as Eve's Christmas and Single Santa Seeks Mrs. Claus, these are the films that actors make just before they finally do "Dancing With The Stars". I, of course, am not referring to the big-budget Christmas movies that Hollywood spits out once a year (like Polar Express or The Grinch) but you know the movies of which I speak (type) of. Frankly, if this genre didn't exist, these sub-par actors would never be seen or heard of again, which is where we want them. Yes, Steve Guttenberg, I'm talking to you. The same goes for the music industry. Haven't released an album in a while and you're afraid you'll drop off the face of the map completely? Release a Christmas album! You'll remain in people's periferals (although slightly irritatingly) until you can release that virtuoso album that has been 10 years in the works. Good luck with that.


Just go away.

Isn't Christmas magical?

Poof.

Snow Means Christmas Is Coming, Right?

Right, so... don't be mad but... I couldn't do what I said I would do in my last post...
I have a good excuse though! I never actually got any phonecalls for anybody in the last ten days. That sounds really sad actually. Rephrase that. I never got any telemarketer-type phonecalls in the last ten days. So, therefore, I couldn't use any of them. I was going to wait a bit longer to see if I could use them, but I have stuff I want to talk about, so I didn't want to wait any longer.

In order to satisfy your curiosity and somehow redeem my record of keeping my promises (which, so far, is probably about 0 for 90), I will transcribe a conversation as it might have occurred using my imagination. Enjoy.

*phone rings*
Me: Hellooo?
Them: Good afternoon, may we speak with [my Dad's name]?
Me: He's actually not here. He's trying to win a bet with himself to prove that he can go for a week without using a telephone. He'd like me to mention that he will take communication in the form of Morse code or, if you so desire, binary.
Them: OK...
Me: Oh, wait one second... OK, he says he can also take singing telegrams, banners flown behind biplanes, or two coffee cans connected with a string.
Them: Right... Should we call back around this time next week?
Me: Technically, the bet ends next Wednesday around 8:15 pm. I should warn you though, if he loses the bet, the punishment is another week without a phone.
Them: What about e-mail?
Me: Hold on... Yeah, he says that's OK. However...
*they hang up*

Sounds about right.

So on November 16, 2010, Calgary got it's very first major snowfall of the season. That's quite possibly the latest that winter has settled into this city and it certainly throws off the biological calendar. I almost don't feel Canadian anymore... OK, that's a lie. I love being Canadian. Oh, except for that internet geo-blocking thing. That kinda sucks.

We've now crossed the halfway point of November and we're venturing into that time of the year that is frequently known as "that time of the year". That's right; it's Christmas season. Two nights ago, I cracked open my "My Music" folder on my PC and whipped out my Christmas music! Some say it's too early, and I agree. There are just a few songs that I really enjoy and since there is only a small window of time at the end of the year in which I can enjoy them, I figured I could jump the gun a bit. Just don't tell anyone. I'll share one per post with you until Christmas. Here's the first:

Sting - "Soul Cake"



I will also take this chance to announce a new project that is (to use industry lingo) "in development". I am currently working on an adaptation of the book "How to be an Alien" by George Mikes into a web series; each chapter being an episode or (to use random internet lingo) a webisode. It's a fairly famous book, I suggest you look it up. I bought my copy (a 1974 edition) for like... a dollar at the U of C library. Best impulse buy ever.

Alright. On with your life.

Pip pip.

Tele-Communications

So, I like to mess with people. Particularly strangers because I can embarrass myself to enormous lengths and not have to worry about ever seeing them again. I have tried in the past to mess with people via the internet and share it with you, but that didn't turn out as I had hoped. Those losers didn't reply to me.

*Sets aside bitterness*

I've decided to pursue a more direct form of confrontation. Not confrontation, per say, but abnormally hooliganistic communication. I've decided to give the following responses to telemarketers and others when they call for either of my parents. Those people are just doing their jobs, so I'm not going to get all angry at them or whatever, but I'd like to brighten their day (or at least oddly amuse them) while they go about their universally irritating occupation. I have written each of these responses myself, and will be in response to the presumed introductory question: "Hello, is [insert my parents' full names here] there?"

1. I'm sorry, he's on a hot air balloon trip collecting samples of altostratus clouds.

2. I'm afraid she's not here. She's away at a finely crafted tupperware and plastic utensil convention.

3. He's actually not here. He's trying to win a bet with himself to prove that he can go for a week without using a telephone. He'd like me to mention that he will take communication in the form of Morse code or, if you so desire, binary.

4. He's not available at the moment. He's spending the next five days deciding whether or not he wants to continue using your company for [insert the service they provide]. It's not looking good, I'm afraid. My condolences.

5. Sorry, but she's taking lobster trapping lessons in Maine.

OK, that's good enough. I intend on using each and every one of these before my next blog post so I can give you an accurate play-by-play as to their reaction. I'm not expecting it to be all that eventful, but who knows. The pronouns are interchangeable in the examples by-the-way. I'm not sure who they'll call for. If they call for me, that will make those replies so much funnier. Not explicably funnier, but more inside-jokey.

Alrighty people, I look forward to updating you.

Tschüss.

C.R.A.Z.Y.

A conversation with my mom while watching Annie (1982):

Mom: I love Yul Brynner.
Me: That's not Yul Brynner.
Mom: I thought this was Annie.
Me: This is Annie, but that's not Yul Brynner. It's Albert Finney.
Mom: I'm thinking of another version then. This is the best version. No wait. The best version is the one with Carol Burnett.
Me: This is the one with Carol Burnett.
Mom: Oh.

It was a good conversation. My immediate thoughts were "Dear God, there have been way too many versions of Annie made for both stage and screen", and then I realized I didn't really know all the versions of Annie, so I had no place to criticize her confusion. However, she had been watching the movie for over an hour. She should have realized that this was the version with Carol Burnett. Oh, and Yul Brynner was never in any version of Annie. Thought I'd clear that up.

Good news. The good people over at the SAIT security office have recovered my USB Flash Drive for me, complete with door key thing and candle charms. My faith in life has been restored. Or rather, the SAIT security team has become worthy of my faith. Now all of you can breathe. All is right with the universe.

So I went to Edmonton this weekend.
Edmonton is like the less successful older brother of Calgary. It's jealous and bitter over the utter awesomeness and sheer over-the-moon successfulness of Calgary and it just sits up there in the north wallowing in self-pity, wondering if it'll ever achieve the same greatness. Which it won't because it doesn't have the ambition or determination of it's southerly younger sibling.
Too bad Edmonton, we had such high hopes for you, but we Calgarians are too busy being cooler than you that we don't really have the time or energy to care.

Oh, and go support Canadian entertainment by renting, buying, or legally downloading C.R.A.Z.Y. It's a beyond amazing French Canadian movie. If you are too lazy to read subtitles, I suggest you get off your high-horse and absorb some Canadian arts gosh-darnit! Even if it is French...




























And if Marc-Andre Grondin isn't adorable in this movie, then I don't know what adorable is. Who knows, maybe I don't.






















Good night ladies and gentlemen. I'm going to bed, but feel free to keep the party going. Please finish the wine, as my fridge is packed full of Diet Coke, english muffins, seedless grapes, and poppers.

Night.