Well, folks, the Christmas
season is here!
Now that we've all
tolerated those fake made-up, commercialized holidays like Halloween and
Thanksgiving, we can get to the real holiday we all look
forward to: Christmas.
Confession time: This is actually the first year I have listened
to Christmas music before Thanksgiving. Usually this is
my sentiment about the holidays, but I just couldn't resist the crooning of
Michael Bublé and the cheeriness of "Rockin' Around the Christmas
Tree." My sincerest apologies.
There are plenty of things
about the Christmas season to look forward to. First, there's the fabulous
launch of Black Friday.
Just a note on naming things after colors: I've
noticed that if it's named after a color, it's usually a disease. Black lung,
Black Death, Black Plague, yellow fever, scarlet fever, jaundice, red measles,
pink eye. Black Friday...conveys my sentiments exactly.
Here in America, we’ve
decided it would be a good idea to make this madness last two days and put our
laziness to work; I give you “Cyber Monday”! Next, you've got the longest
marathon of tacky original movies ever (Thanks, ABC's "25 Days of
Christmas"!) And then there are all the chaotic, traffic-filled
shopping malls you love. Don't forget the joy of choosing a Christmas
tree (if you haven't copped out and bought a fake one yet) and
the entire festivity that is decking
the halls. You get to again realize that you suck at cutting pretty
paper and using Scotch tape properly. You’re blessed with the symphony of
ringing doorbells as boy scouts and other small children walk miles to sell you
popcorn and
chocolates and giftwrap and other useless crap. And this year, on top of all of
that, you have the joy of worrying about the end of 13pik in the Maya Long
Count calendar!
Don’t worry, guys.
My archaeology TA is Mayan and she promised me that the world wouldn’t end.
Am I forgetting anything?
Ah, yes! The wonderful
privilege of having your photograph taken with the one and only Santa Claus!
You see, though he is only
one man, Santa has somehow found a way to be in every mall, town hall, and
children’s store simultaneously. I don’t know about you, but I’m impressed.
Such a skill would be priceless. I’m not entirely sure where
in the parenting handbook it says to place your child on the lap of a complete
stranger impersonating a 4th c Greek saint, but my parents followed
the handbook.
I remember it being quite
an ordeal. Mom would buy matching formal outfits for you and your sister.
Matchy-matchy all the way! After at least 30 minutes of hair-doing and
tights-straightening, Mom said you looked “so cute!” You turn to your sister
and give her the let’s-get-this-over-with look.
Pile into the car! You’ve
done this since you were born. But you can’t really remember. You were only,
like, a baby then. And now you’re four, so it’s really different, you know?
Mom tries to explain what’s
going to happen in her best Christmas cheer voice. You were too little to
understand just how strange the entire concept was, so you just went along with
it. Something about a picture, smiling, not pulling your sister’s hair this
year, and Santa.
SANTA.
There was something in it for you: the wish. When it was your turn, you
could tell Santa just what you hoped he’d bring you on Christmas morning. The
pressure is on. What to say? You’d been making that wish list since last
Christmas, and now you had to pick just one thing that you wanted the most?!
Well, you had some time to think about it. You brought your list with you and
mom can read it to you while you wait in line behind all those other suckers
who think they’re the best kids there. Santa
knows, guys. You’re all getting coal.
Your turn. Alright:
picture? Check. Smiling? Check. Not pulling sister’s hair this year? Eh…Ok
fine. Santa?
Yes! This is your moment,
kiddo. You’ve waited since last year. Don’t
freeze up. You’ve gotta say…uh… oh! That’s right!
“Mister Santa, can I please have a pink puppy?”
Phew. Alright, that went pretty well.
And there you have it!
Evidence of your successful endeavor is later placed in a frame and set on the
mantel for all of the weird relatives to marvel at on Christmas morning.
We're Santa's favorites |
But now that I’m all grown
up, I don’t get to tell Santa what I want anymore. I don’t take wear
matchy-matchy outfits with Camille and have funny pictures taken with a
stranger in a pretend beard and a red suit.
I’m a serious university
student now. And university scholars don’t have pictures with Santa, they have
meetings with the Dean, like I had on Monday.
It turns out that the Dean
is quite like Santa in some ways. And meetings with the Dean, essentially
elevator pitches, are kind of like taking a picture with Santa.
It’s quite an ordeal. Mom helps
you choose a formal outfit. Preppy all the way! After at least 30 minutes of
hair-doing and tights-straightening, Mom says you look “so cute!” You turn to
your roommate and give her the let’s-get-this-over-with look.
Run across campus! You’ve
done this since you were in middle school. It’s just a teacher conference of
sorts. But you can’t really remember. You were only, like, a baby then. And now
you’re nineteen, so it’s really different, you know?
The office assistant tries
to explain what’s going to happen in her best collegiate cheer voice. You were
too little to understand the entire concept, so you just went along with it.
Something about forms you had to fill out, smiling, not pulling any funny
business, and the Dean.
THE DEAN.
There was something in it for you: the wish. When it was your turn, you
could tell the Dean just what you hoped she’d approve for you – a custom major
called Cosmopolitanism. The pressure is on. What to say? You’d been working on
this idea since last year, and now you had just one meeting to express the
entire premise of the major you wanted most?! Well, you had some time to think
about it. You brought your list with you and you can read it to you while you
wait in line behind all those other suckers who think they’re the smartest kids
there. The Dean knows, guys. Your majors aren’t as cool as mine.
Your turn. Alright: forms?
Check. Smiling? Check. Not pulling any funny business? Eh…Ok fine.
The Dean? Yes!
This is your moment, kiddo.
You’ve waited since last year. Don’t
freeze up. You’ve gotta say…uh… oh! That’s right!
“Dean Bergquist, I would like to create my own major called
Cosmopolitanism. I have all of the paperwork right here and I’d love to chat
about proposing it as a departmental major.”
Phew. Alright, that went pretty well.
And there you have it! A
beautiful, signed and approved form; evidence of your (hopefully) successful
endeavor will later be placed in a frame and set on the mantel for all of the
weird relatives to marvel at on Christmas morning.
Psych! I totally took a
picture with Santa this year. Merry start of the Christmas season!
That's little, enthusiastic me in the bottom right! |
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