The holiday season is upon us again, like a shuffling jingle-belled zombie or a flatulent cloying distant relation who comes over for a Halloween party, spreads his crap all around so that you can't avoid seeing it, plays music too loud and somehow manages to stay until sometime after New Year's Day, fucking talking during your favorite television programs.
This year, I am a homeowner again for the first time since early 2007, and it makes a difference. An acceptable time for a civilized society to put up its OUTDOOR Xmas decor is just after whatever major holiday preceeds it, and that would be Thanksgiving for most people. (Indoors, I apply the same rule I do to everything in private life: it's private, and I am therefore neither authorized or required to give 2/5 of a shit.) A society in decline however - like ours - is filled with people who decorate - largely for the supposed or assumed benefit of others - coupled with an insanely short attention span that makes them leap from one "special" occasion to the next in a vain attempt to capture what they have come to think of as joy, but what is actually only distraction.
Enter Racistrix and Cypher Fucknut, who live on my cul-de-sac. She's the one who warned me about the "coloreds" at the end of the street like it was 1956 as we were unpacking my bookcases, and he doesn't speak and makes no impression. That's their house up there at the top. First off, they started putting their shit up the night of my mom's birthday, which was the 8th. Of November. When I said good-bye to her that night, that mutant scrotum of ornaments was out there already. On the ninth, they attempted to wave cheerfully to me as they were up on ladders stapling crap to their house. I would point out that this was 2 days in advance of Veteran's Day, and that they actually had to take down the American flag they normally fly to put up the current poinsettia-splattered standard. Could've waited until the 12th, at least, to start, but noooo - gotta get a big jump on fucking up the front of the house so we can go inside and make everyone else fucking look at it.
By the 14th, I was already having "car out of control, destroys their lawn" fantasies as I'd pull into our little dead end to go home. Now, fifteen fucking days later, it's like Home Depot's holiday aisle took a giant, steaming dump on their lawn. I would invite you to regard the details, as they certainly haven't: You will perhaps immediately notice that the Baby Jesus is being born at the North Pole, where there not only was no room at the inn, apparently there wasn't space for a manger, either. Then we have dwarf Santa waving to Santa, some Karen Carpenter candy canes, a creepy hippo in a hat and some drunken swans or ducks or something. The sole good thing about this "scene" is that it's quiet. Nothing makes noise. I hope they know better, but I'm taking nothing for granted.
Look, here's the thing; I like some of the outdoor Xmas stuff, I do. I also like chocolate milk. Sometimes it's very refreshing and delicious. I don't, however, want five glasses of it in a row, and I don't want to drink it like it's water every goddamn day for what I'm sure will eventually turn out to be two fucking months. These people with the deflated Santas and disassembled snowmen like little CSI: North Pole crime scenes on their lawns over Thanksgiving weekend? Yes, fine. Good. Reasonable. We're on your time, so to speak. But this shit above is excessive and ugly and demented and bent.
Might be the only Xmas rant this year, but I wouldn't count on it or anything. It's a tradition & I can do excess as well as anybody.