Before you engross yourself in this month's entry, I want to make you aware of two things. The first is that, in the wake of my lengthy tirade against the Catholic Church last month, I endeavoured to limit this entry to a modest 800 words. Excluding the complimentary italicised paragraph I furnish my entries with, I think I did quite well, and intend to persevere with this goal in the coming months. The second is that, seeing as it is almost Christmas AND we are about to enter the second decade of the 21st century (a truly momentous occasion), I have provided a second, light-hearted piece, to take your weary minds off the subject of exams/financial difficulties/crippling loneliness (delete as appropriate). Anywhat, without further ado...
I find myself surprised, if not a little frightened, by the clarity with which I recall writing my last December entry. It may have been almost twelve months ago, but it retains a firm grip on my oft sieve-like recollection. I had written it a few days after Christmas, and had relocated to my own room to avoid as best as possible the testosterone laced roar of the new Colin McRae X-Box 360 rally game. Suffice it to say that mere load-bearing walls provided less than ample soundproofing, and I had to resort to further measures, namely listening to the Hold Steady at volumes which would have shattered the vertebrae of a lesser man. Writing that particular entry, I was in the midst of the festive period, with a substantial number of pub visits behind me, and the much anticipated Comrie New Year celebrations approaching. This year, I write to you from Edinburgh, a few weeks prior to the big day, on the commercialisation of Christmas . . .
Personally, I love Christmas, and I would marry New Year’s Eve, and consummate our union in the most lurid fashion, if such perversions were legally or physically possible. I understand the widespread condemnation of Christmas as having been whored out to corporations, or hijacked by supermarkets and television networks for the purpose of vast profits. One would struggle, perhaps, to argue that the traditional values of the holiday have not been eclipsed by materialism and commercial gluttony. Every year, the well-meaning piety of little old ladies from quaint country parishes rails ineffectually against the unstoppable money-machine that is capitalist holiday mirth and revelry as facades of yuletide humility crack under the weight of heathen materialism. I know all this and I agree that it is the contemporary reality, but acknowledgement of this does not place me in the “we-must-uphold-the-traditional-principles-of-Christmas” lobby. I, personally, don’t mind the commercialisation of Christmas, at least not as it is defined by those who denounce it.
The basis for the contempt shown by many towards Christmas in the twenty-first century is that the celebration of love, charity, peace and global brotherhood, which Christmas propagates, is dying. The multi-national corporations, those fiscal vampires, have Christmas held firmly in their vice-like jaws, and every year their razor-edged canines increase the pressure on the jugular of human generosity and kindness. I’m not certain this is true. I am certain that these corporations monopolise on the holiday season, heaving great tides of cash into advertising and the development of jazzy new gadgets, but I’m not sure this has destroyed Christmas. I like to think we, the public, are rather more intelligent than to allow our concepts of love and giving to decay under the attrition of Coca-Cola adverts. And I think I’m correct in that assumption.
So, what, exactly, is wrong with buying a loved one an iPod for Christmas? Why shouldn’t you buy your dad a Rolex? What moral incentive could you have for deciding that you probably shouldn’t buy your ten year old son a bike, or your teenage daughter a designer handbag? I’m being appallingly sexist here, of course; ten year old boys can also like handbags . . . I saw it on Channel 4 . . .
Some people would, genuinely, have you feel guilty for going shopping and buying lots of expensive gifts for your friends and family. Having quickly Googled the subject to discover what the internet-using world thinks, I discovered that an American journalist by the name of David Lawrence Dewey, believes that those who enjoy such gift-buying experiences have “somehow lost what Christmas is truly about.” This was in response to the views of a certain twenty-four year old Becky, from Florida. Becky writes: “I really love going shopping through the malls. With so many things that you can choose from, I sometimes have a hard time deciding what to buy. I just love Christmas because of the gift buying.” The image in your own head most likely echoes the image in my own. Becky is probably unnaturally slim, has been spoiled from the moment of her conception, has artificially blonde hair of blinding hue, and could quite possibly construct a revolutionary and ironic piece of sky-scraping architecture literally using her vast horde of credit cards. Such is the stereotypical, materialistic American woman. It would be quite understandable, even predictable, if you, being British, thought this woman rather a tasteless hussy. Indeed, the only representative from our fair isle of Albion, is forty-two year old Rochelle. Her views resound thusly: "Christmas used to be a very special time in England, however, the American corporate commercialization of Christmas hit England about five years ago, how sad that we have relinquished our spirit of tradition to the way of commercialization.” A Daily Mail reader if ever there was one.
Conflicting views, then, from both sides of the Atlantic puddle, but I must say I find myself more affected by the simple, naive delight of Becky than the gaseous shroud of ignorant national pride oozing from the nauseatingly sentimental Rochelle. Becky may be materialistic, but she appreciates the fun of Christmas. Rochelle seems to think we live in “A Christmas Carol”. The joy, the satisfaction, of purchasing for someone, something you know they will enjoy, what is wrong with that? Who am I; who is Mr. Dewey, or Rochelle, to criticise her? To reject her enjoyment of the season based on some presumption of a selfish incentive, that is pompous, self-serving and not in the least generous and loving.
Consider, gentle reader, the concept that Christmas is a time for fun. It may be a season of love, kindness, and giving, of family, friends and loved ones, but that makes it a celebration, above all, of life, and what is life without fun? What is life without unnecessary furnishings of pleasure? Superfluous spending once a year does not necessarily equate to mindless, corrupted consumerism. Did not the man himself, in honour of whom mankind established this celebration, say “Judge not, lest ye be judged”? This Christmas, then, do not criticise the man who gorges his ample form on turkey, wine and chocolate, and who falls asleep during the queen’s speech. Spare the hardworking mother of two your disdain as she sets about trying to locate a Nintendo Wii for her thrilled children to unwrap on Christmas morning. Withhold your scorn for myself and my friends, who will, doubtless, venture into the warmth of a pub rather than a Help the Aged fundraiser. We are, none of us, bad people. We merely desire a short period once every twelve months when we can enjoy ourselves with friends and family, and when we students can receive much-needed financial cushioning in the form of cheques from obscure relatives.
I shall conclude by wishing one, all, and some, an appropriately merry Christmas.
Jamie
I find myself surprised, if not a little frightened, by the clarity with which I recall writing my last December entry. It may have been almost twelve months ago, but it retains a firm grip on my oft sieve-like recollection. I had written it a few days after Christmas, and had relocated to my own room to avoid as best as possible the testosterone laced roar of the new Colin McRae X-Box 360 rally game. Suffice it to say that mere load-bearing walls provided less than ample soundproofing, and I had to resort to further measures, namely listening to the Hold Steady at volumes which would have shattered the vertebrae of a lesser man. Writing that particular entry, I was in the midst of the festive period, with a substantial number of pub visits behind me, and the much anticipated Comrie New Year celebrations approaching. This year, I write to you from Edinburgh, a few weeks prior to the big day, on the commercialisation of Christmas . . .
Personally, I love Christmas, and I would marry New Year’s Eve, and consummate our union in the most lurid fashion, if such perversions were legally or physically possible. I understand the widespread condemnation of Christmas as having been whored out to corporations, or hijacked by supermarkets and television networks for the purpose of vast profits. One would struggle, perhaps, to argue that the traditional values of the holiday have not been eclipsed by materialism and commercial gluttony. Every year, the well-meaning piety of little old ladies from quaint country parishes rails ineffectually against the unstoppable money-machine that is capitalist holiday mirth and revelry as facades of yuletide humility crack under the weight of heathen materialism. I know all this and I agree that it is the contemporary reality, but acknowledgement of this does not place me in the “we-must-uphold-the-traditional-principles-of-Christmas” lobby. I, personally, don’t mind the commercialisation of Christmas, at least not as it is defined by those who denounce it.
The basis for the contempt shown by many towards Christmas in the twenty-first century is that the celebration of love, charity, peace and global brotherhood, which Christmas propagates, is dying. The multi-national corporations, those fiscal vampires, have Christmas held firmly in their vice-like jaws, and every year their razor-edged canines increase the pressure on the jugular of human generosity and kindness. I’m not certain this is true. I am certain that these corporations monopolise on the holiday season, heaving great tides of cash into advertising and the development of jazzy new gadgets, but I’m not sure this has destroyed Christmas. I like to think we, the public, are rather more intelligent than to allow our concepts of love and giving to decay under the attrition of Coca-Cola adverts. And I think I’m correct in that assumption.
So, what, exactly, is wrong with buying a loved one an iPod for Christmas? Why shouldn’t you buy your dad a Rolex? What moral incentive could you have for deciding that you probably shouldn’t buy your ten year old son a bike, or your teenage daughter a designer handbag? I’m being appallingly sexist here, of course; ten year old boys can also like handbags . . . I saw it on Channel 4 . . .
Some people would, genuinely, have you feel guilty for going shopping and buying lots of expensive gifts for your friends and family. Having quickly Googled the subject to discover what the internet-using world thinks, I discovered that an American journalist by the name of David Lawrence Dewey, believes that those who enjoy such gift-buying experiences have “somehow lost what Christmas is truly about.” This was in response to the views of a certain twenty-four year old Becky, from Florida. Becky writes: “I really love going shopping through the malls. With so many things that you can choose from, I sometimes have a hard time deciding what to buy. I just love Christmas because of the gift buying.” The image in your own head most likely echoes the image in my own. Becky is probably unnaturally slim, has been spoiled from the moment of her conception, has artificially blonde hair of blinding hue, and could quite possibly construct a revolutionary and ironic piece of sky-scraping architecture literally using her vast horde of credit cards. Such is the stereotypical, materialistic American woman. It would be quite understandable, even predictable, if you, being British, thought this woman rather a tasteless hussy. Indeed, the only representative from our fair isle of Albion, is forty-two year old Rochelle. Her views resound thusly: "Christmas used to be a very special time in England, however, the American corporate commercialization of Christmas hit England about five years ago, how sad that we have relinquished our spirit of tradition to the way of commercialization.” A Daily Mail reader if ever there was one.
Conflicting views, then, from both sides of the Atlantic puddle, but I must say I find myself more affected by the simple, naive delight of Becky than the gaseous shroud of ignorant national pride oozing from the nauseatingly sentimental Rochelle. Becky may be materialistic, but she appreciates the fun of Christmas. Rochelle seems to think we live in “A Christmas Carol”. The joy, the satisfaction, of purchasing for someone, something you know they will enjoy, what is wrong with that? Who am I; who is Mr. Dewey, or Rochelle, to criticise her? To reject her enjoyment of the season based on some presumption of a selfish incentive, that is pompous, self-serving and not in the least generous and loving.
Consider, gentle reader, the concept that Christmas is a time for fun. It may be a season of love, kindness, and giving, of family, friends and loved ones, but that makes it a celebration, above all, of life, and what is life without fun? What is life without unnecessary furnishings of pleasure? Superfluous spending once a year does not necessarily equate to mindless, corrupted consumerism. Did not the man himself, in honour of whom mankind established this celebration, say “Judge not, lest ye be judged”? This Christmas, then, do not criticise the man who gorges his ample form on turkey, wine and chocolate, and who falls asleep during the queen’s speech. Spare the hardworking mother of two your disdain as she sets about trying to locate a Nintendo Wii for her thrilled children to unwrap on Christmas morning. Withhold your scorn for myself and my friends, who will, doubtless, venture into the warmth of a pub rather than a Help the Aged fundraiser. We are, none of us, bad people. We merely desire a short period once every twelve months when we can enjoy ourselves with friends and family, and when we students can receive much-needed financial cushioning in the form of cheques from obscure relatives.
I shall conclude by wishing one, all, and some, an appropriately merry Christmas.
Jamie
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