Merry Christmas

You are not allowed to say that in many places any longer or you end up in H.R.  "Happy Holidays" is the accepted phrase now.  I don't even see "Xmas" any longer.  But here at the Carnival, we can do anything we like.  Selah.

When I was a kid, it was all different, of course.

"Do you believe in Santa Claus?"

"Naw.  I saw my presents under my parent's bed.  I know they buy them."

"Yea, me neither.  It's impossible that one guy can fly around to everybody's house.  Still. . . ."

We held onto that "still" as long as possible, and on Christmas Eve, I could barely sleep, waking in the silent night to listen for something like the clop of hooves or the jingling of bells, and truly for many years I could hear them far off in the distance like a far away bell atop a buoy on a foggy night, something just barely heard but something hoped for.  It felt as if there was a Santa out there--somewhere.

I think most kids order their Christmas presents online now.

Some of my favorite Christmases were framed by Playboy magazine.  I know this sounds a sleazy confession, but when I was in high school, living in my redneck town, it provided an atmosphere of sophistication I hadn't anywhere else.  I can still remember the Christmas editions which seem to be what inspired the look of "Mad Men."  I only bring it up because when I made the greeting for today's image, it reminded me.  If I'd put a Santa's cap on her, I could have captioned it the way Playboy might have: "Wouldn't it be more fun if Santa were a woman?" Or something more clever.  Write your own Playboy caption.

I can't complain about the lack of Christmas, though, since I have skipped it altogether, really, and it brings me no sadness or pain.  It is truly something of a relief.  I finally left the house yesterday and went to the gym for a brief time, then came home and showered for the first time in a few days and then went to the studio to put some things away.  There was a bottle of Absolut vodka on the table and some orange juice in the fridge, so I made myself a screw driver and went back to the loading dock to look out and see if anybody else was around.  The artist behind me was there, so I knocked on his door and we talked long enough for me to finish my drink and he his beer, and after wishing one another a fun Christmas, I went to the boulevard to see the usual gang of friends.

We are only a gang on Christmas Eve any more.  During the year, I only see them if I run into them somewhere, but there was a time we ran into one another daily when we were all mad and hopeful, and the world and everything in it seemed to be ours.  They have gotten more conservative with time, though, and their tales are not so interesting unless they are speaking about the past.  I have to watch what I say to them as the madness in my life is something they find shocking now.  I haven't "grown up" much, I guess.

And as the sun set, I went to my mother's house for Christmas Eve.  There were no decorations for the first time ever, no tree nor lights, not even cards that I could see.  We sat around and chatted and made plans for Christmas dinner, and by mid-evening, I headed home.

I meant to do many things.  I meant to make e-cards and send clever and touching e-mails, and I meant to take time and write something better than this, but I hadn't eaten all day except for a morning bowl of steel cut oats, and so I heated up some leftovers and poured some wine and sat down in front of the television as I ate.  A movie was just beginning called "The Big Empty" which I had somehow never heard of, and I could tell right off it was something I wanted to watch.  And so. . . dinner finished and a couple of cocktails later. . . I woke up. . . and it was moving toward midnight.   I don't know how the movie ended.

I think, really, it was quite as wonderful a Christmas Eve as I could have asked for this year.  I feel like a cheap version of Philip Marlowe or Sam Spade, a loner alone, living noir.

Or so I'll say.

But for all of you sitting around today with family and friends, telling jokes and listening to sports on the television in the background. . . I wish you a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday or a Crazy Kwanzaa or even a Friendly Festivus.  May all your days be blessed.