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The rapidly impending New Year brings with it many things to look forward to. For instance, Twilight Zone marathons, and bowl games I could not possibly care less about. But it also is a time to reflect on this year, which turned out to be a pretty good one at Scratchbomb HQ.

It didn't start out well. We had another death in the family, the latest and hopefully last in a string of them that's hit my extended family in the last five years. I was not enjoying my job very much, and then I was not enjoying it all because my entire department was eliminated. The novel I've been working on for years remained on flatline.

In general, I was in the same creative and personal funk I'd been in for years, one that made me feel like not only did I have no time to work on anything meaningful, but that I never would have any time. I had this self-pitying, self-fulfilling dread that the deck was stacked against me and nothing was ever going to get better. It wasn't fun.

And then, out of nowhere, things got fun.

Most importantly, I got an amazing amount of support and help from tons of friends--online and off--during my unemployed period. Amazingly (considering the economy), I found a new gig in less than a month, one much better than my previous job for a multitude of reasons. I was honestly inspired by how many people helped me--from people who sent along my resume to folks who offered a "that sucks, dude," it was a total George Bailey moment.

With the knowledge that I had so many people behind me, I made the biggest, most life-changing decision of my life: I would not be negative, at least about myself. I would pour myself into work and not get bogged down in the self-defeating mire of Who cares? Who am I doing this for?

The amazing thing was how easy it was to give up being negative. It's my default setting, something I just lapse into when I have no other reaction. Getting rid of this was like taking off a heavy winter coat drenched with snow once you come inside. I feel 50 pounds lighter, in my head.

So I poured myself into my writing, and the results speak for themselves. This year, readership on this site EXPLODED, killing, I mean, reaching hundreds of thousands of folks. I started to do some regular Mets-centric writing over at Amazin Avenue, and that has been extremely fun and rewarding--as will the Amazin Avenue Annual, which should be available in your local book shoppe by Opening Day.

Speaking of books and baseballing, I'm pulling together something based on the two exhaustive look-backs I did on Mets seasons: The 1999 Project and In the Year 2000. Based on reactions to these efforts, I think there's a book to be written/sold about them, and I would like to do that writing. (Someone else can do the selling.)

I've also ramped up work on the novel again and should have a shoppable draft ready in a few months. And I wrote a pilot for a thoroughly hypothetical sitcom, which will definitely change television once someone decides to actually make it. (Well, it'll be funnier than Outsourced, anyway.)

Will all of these things bear fruit? Will any of them? I'm not even concerned about that right now. I'm doing the work, rather than wondering and wallowing in the wasteful space of Should I bother? It's my belief that notice and success will follow, and the early returns on this belief are good. So while I'm apparently one of the very few people sorry to see 2010 go, I'm looking forward to more awesomeness in 2011.

Everyone who read Scratchbomb this year, commented on it, linked to it, recommended it on Facebook, tweeted about it--I can not thank you enough. You bought low on Scratchbomb, and I hope someday you all get to say you were on board when nobody was here and you can complain about all the newbies that ruined the site.

Onward and upward!

This year, I'd like to once again present a Holiday Horror and/or Holiday Triumph for each day in December leading up to Christmas. But I've gained a larger readership since last Yuletide, and that means increased bandwidth and more overtime for the guys down in the archival warehouse. (Frank, Tony, Carmine, Joey, and Fran do good job, they really do.)

So reluctantly, I've had to take on some outside sponsors to make this year's Holiday Horrors/Triumphs possible. But I want all of you know that I'd never take on a sponsor that might compromise or bring shame to this site. In that spirit, I present my first holiday sponsor, Taser Grandma, America's oldest and most lovable taser salesperson, who you can follow on Twitter here.

SEASON'S GREETINS TO ONE AND ALL! TASER GRANDMA HERE, REMINDIN YOU THAT TASERS MAKE GREAT STOCKIN STUFFERS! BUT MAKE SURE THE STOCKINS ARE RUBBER OR SOME OTHER INSULATED MATERIAL. OTHERWISE YOU MIGHT GET BOUT 9000 VOLTS OF HOLIDAY CHEER!

WHEN I THINK OF THIS TIME O' YEAR, I REMEMBER GOIN OUT WITH TASER GRAMPA TO PICKS US UP THE OL' FAMILY CHRISTMAS TREE. WE'D HIKE OUT INTO THE WOODS, JUST ME, HIM, AND THE YOUNG'UNS, AND WE WOULDN'T COME HOME UNTIL WE FOUND JUST THE RIGHT ONE! BUT WE WOULDN'T CHOP IT DOWN, NO SIREE. WE'D TASE IT DOWN! TOOK A BIT LONGER THAN AN AXE, BUT BY GUM, IT WAS WORTH IT, EVEN IF THE SHOCKMEISTER 3000 SINGED OFF ALLA THE DAD-GUM PINE NEEDLES.

THEN THE KIDDIES WOULD SET OUT SOME MILK AND COOKIES FOR SANTY CLAUS, PLUS HIS VERY OWN RED AND GREEN ZAPS-A-POPPIN 750. IT'S A GOOD WEAPON FOR THE OLDER FELLER; EASY TO USE BUT STILL GOTTA LOTTA KICK. I KNOW SANTA GETS INTO SOME ROUGH NEIGHBORHOODS AND A BODY CAN'T BE TOO CAREFUL. WOULDN'T WANT ALL THE GOOD BOYS N' GIRLS TO BE DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE HE WASN'T SUFFICIENTLY ARMIN HIMSELF FOR ALL THE DANGERS OF THE MODERN URBAN LANDSCAPE, DAG NABBIT!

BUT MY FAVORITE PART OF CHRISTMAS CAME WHEN ALL MY YOUNG'UNS HAD LITTLE SHAVERS OF THEIR OWN, AND I GOTS TO SPOIL EM ALL EVERY YEAR. LORD, IT BROUGHT MY HEART SUCH JOY TO SEE THEIR FACES LIGHT UP WHEN THEY OPENED UP THEIR PRESENTS. AND IT BROUGHT ME EVEN MORE JOY TO SEE EM LIGHT UP EACH OTHER FACES WITH THOSE PRESENTS, THE LIL' SIZZLER. PERFECT SIZE FOR LITTLE HANDS AND JUST ENOUGH KICK TO KEEP DOWN THE MONKEYSHINES!

TASER GRANDMA WISHES YOU AND YOUR'N ALL THE BEST THIS HOLIDAY SEASON! MAY THE COMIN YEAR BRING US ALL PEACE AND GOOD WILL. AND IF IT DON'T, MAY IT BRING US ALL OUR VERY OWN FLESHWRANGLER 5000, CUZ THAT BABY CAN GELD A PRIZE STALLION AT 800 YARDS! IF SOMEONE CUTS IN FRONT OF YOU AT THE OL FIVE AND DIME, THAT'LL LEARN EM!

Last year, I declared a truce with St. Patrick's Day. So you won't be reading any new screeds against the holiday on this site. No, instead, you will read recycled screeds.

I wrote a post several years ago on a now-defunct sports site about the Venn intersection of this holiday, Gaelic football, and my paternal grandfather. A year later, I expanded said post for this site, because that old site was completely dismantled by its owners. (You can still find Geocities pages about Mother Theresa eating someone's balls from 12 years ago, but this sports site I labored on for 2+ years has vanished. Go figure.)

I like this post a lot (if I'm allowed to like stuff I wrote), and if you're newish to this site, you may not have seen it before. So I present to you now "The Calvinball of the Emerald Isle. (Original post here.)

• Groundhog Day was developed by Punxsutawney, PA in a desperate attempt to employ its notoriously shiftless rodent population.

• The holiday dates back to a dark time in American history, when only groundhogs were allowed to study meteorology.

• If the groundhog sees emerges from its hole, expect an early spring. If he sees his shadow and goes back into his hole, there will be six more weeks of winter. If he scratches his nose, we skip the rest of winter, spring, and summer and head straight into autumn. And if he eats a small, juicy carrot, pray for your mortal soul, for the end is nigh.

• Did you know the ancient Egyptians revered the groundhog as a god? You shouldn't have known that, because it's not true.

• In 1943, Punxsutawney Phil became involved in an elaborate OSS-sponsored plot to assassinate Hitler. The plan never came to fruition, however, because the spy agency couldn't figure out how to get the Fuhrer to visit Pennsylvania.
  

• The officiants at Groundhog Day dress in turn-of-the-century garb not for ceremonial purposes, but as part of an elaborate fetishistic ritual whose details you are better off not knowing.

• February 2 is also the day when Bill Murray reminds everyone who approaches him that if they ask him about nothing but Groundhog Day, they'll get a roundhouse kick to the throat.

Republicans blast health care reform when it fails to prevent millions of Americans from dying of a mysterious ailment called "natural causes"!

Our preconceived notions of self are challenged when scientists discover we only use 10 percent of our feet!

Glenn Beck will debate the wisdom of hoarding gold in a live debate against the corpse of William Jennings Bryan!

A surge in patriotism forces IHOP to change its name to The Domestic-Only House of Pancakes!

Lady Gaga declares herself the 51st state, and Congress proves powerless to stop her!

The Ford Sojourn debuts, a brand new car that can 100 miles on a single tank of gas, but only in reverse!

Jay Leno wins back his audience with a nightly classic car wreck! Millions tune in to see if the talk show host will be seriously injured!

Iran definitively proves it has no ambitions to make nuclear weapons when Mahmoud Ahmedinejad "pinkie swears" so to UN inspectors!

A hot new restaurant will make a big splash with an all-ramen menu!

In effort to keep World Series ratings from dipping even further, commissioner Bud Selig orders the Yankees to play themselves in The Fall Classic!

Urban fashion trendsetters start wearing spats, "just to fuck with everybody"!

At some point, every person in America will think to themselves, "Wait, wasn't Tiger Woods in trouble for something a while back?"!

2009 here. Remember me? Doesn't ring a bell? I'll give you a hint: I'm the year you've been bad mouthing for the last month. Yeah, that one.

I heard what you guys said about me. What a horrible year. Can't wait for this year to be over. Next year's gotta be better than this one. You people think I'm deaf? Or do you just hate me so much you don't give a shit whether I hear you or not? Insensitive assholes.

You didn't have a shitty year, okay? Shitty things happened to you during the year. That's not my fault. A year is just a timeline on which events occur. If somebody runs a red light and hits your car, do you blame the street? I don't think so.

It's not my job to make sure your life runs smoothly. How about taking responsibility for your own actions instead of a buncha squares on the calendar? Believe me, if I had the power to make people's lives harder, you woulda had a lot rougher time this year during me.

And did anyone ever thank me for continuing the march of time and keeping it from coming to a grinding halt? No, of course not. Assholes.

At my wrap party, I told 2010, "Everybody loves you now, but just wait until December. People were once cursing 2008 and begging me to begin, you know." He just nodded and turned away to chat up some chick. Stupid punk. Think he knows everything. He'll learn the hard way. They always do.

This time next year, when you're cursing out 2010 and wishing for the good old days of me, you know where I'll be? On a beach somewhere, laughing my ass off. Good luck this year, you pricks. You're gonna need it.

BEST FILM: Monster in Law Completely changed the landscape of cinema. Destined to be endlessly copied and rehashed a la Citizen Kane, but I doubt we'll see anyone come close to its artistry in our lifetimes.

Honorable mention: The Wicker Man Ultimately, I felt the honor of best film of the decade should be gifted to a completely original work, not a remake. However, what Neil LaBute and Nicolas Cage were able to do with the obscure cult classic almost defies words.
BEST TV SHOWS: According to Jim One of the few programs to span most of this decade, ATJ became like part of the family for all of us. It was there for all our highs and lows, our triumphs and tragedies. And like all great performers, it went out on top. Thanks again, for all the laughs and tears.

Honorable mention: The Jeff Dunham Show and Frank TV Both gone far too soon. Perhaps one day the public's Philistine tastes will catch up with the pure genius of these men and their visions for the variety programs of the new millenium. Until then, I'll just eagerly await their release on DVD, so I can savor each magic moment over and over again.

BEST ALBUM: Scott Weiland, "Happy" in Galoshes It reminds one of when Syd Barrett left Pink Floyd and poured his tortured soul into The Madcap Laughs. Finally given a chance to spread his wings and give full vent to his muse, Weiland truly delivered with tunes such as "Missing Cleveland", "Killing Me Sweetly", and his tour de force cover of David Bowie's "Fame". Pick up the two-disc deluxe edition to hear such rarities as "Sometimes Chicken Soup (Dig My Way to China to Find You)"--you shan't be disappointed.

Honorable mention: Insane Clown Posse, The Wraith: Shangri-La ICP found a way to step up their game again, with a mind-blowing 180 into spiritually influenced music. Much like Bob Dylan's "born again" albums, this did not please some of the band's hardcore fans. But those who stuck with it were given a rare treat indeed.

BEST NOVEL: Michael Crichton, State of Fear Millions of learned, trained scientists say that global warming is real. It took one brave millionaire novelist to prove that they were, in fact, lying to us all to further their own careers! Sadly, Mr. Crichton is in a better place now, free from evil academics, but hopefully we will one day be able to read fragments from his unfinished book exposing the Round Earth Conspiracy.

Honorable mention: Dan Brown I simply can't pick a single book of his. He wields words as the master sculptor wields his chisel. Who else could pen such immortal lines as "Physicist Leonardo Vetra smelled burning flesh, and he knew it was his own."
BEST NON-FICTION/SELF-HELP BOOK: 50 Cent and Robert Greene, The 50th Law I didn't think it would be possible for 50 Cent to top his line of urban novels, but then he teamed up with The 48 Laws of Power author Robert Greene for this life-changing tome. Only such a dynamic team could not only think up of two whole new laws for success, but also deliver them in the inimitable 50 Cent style.

Honorable mention: Glenn Beck, The Christmas Sweater Technically, this is a novel, or even a multimedia extravaganza. But it's so much more than that. It's a guide for your life, a tale that must be told not just at Christmas, but all year round!

BEST WEBSITE: Drudge Report Fair, balanced, and sleekly designed, The Drudge Report is still the best place to hear all the latest poop. It first started dropping bombs during the Clinton years and it hasn't changed since. And don't you ever change, Matt!

Honorable mention: TMZ.com I hate all celebrities and believe they should be hounded until they either fly into violent rages or commit suicide. Kudos to Harvey Levin for making this dream a reality.

As the year draws to a close, Scratchbomb pays tribute to all the icons who did not pass away in the past 12 months.

In defiance of medical science, the laws of physics, and the sensibilities of all those with ascetically healthy lifestyles, Keith Richards remains among the living.
Despite an ad campaign that seemed to indicate the contrary, Jesse James is not a dead man.
I could have sworn Margaret Thatcher died, like, three years ago. Turns out she's still alive. Sorry, Maggie!
Dick Cheney is included here, though his case is kind of a gray area, as he belongs to the ranks of the bloodthirsty undead.
Known to millions as the "fast talker" from dozens of commercials over the last 25 years, John Moschitta is not entertaining angels with the rapid-fire speech techniques that delighted millions, as he is still with us.
Rip Taylor: Still throwing confetti, still not dead. Way to go, Rip!
Also still alive: Rip Torn. All in all, a good year for Rips!
Can you imagine if Michael Jackson and Madonna had died in the same year? That'd be BANANAS! They didn't, though.
The existence of a just and loving god continued to be challenged by the fact that Jim Belushi is still alive and his brother John is still dead.
As of press time, no one has beaten Tucker Max to death.
Honorable mention: 6.8 billion other humans, give or take.

Why do I celebrate Christmas?

I have a feeling most people don't think about this. I celebrate Christmas because I celebrate Christmas. What's to wonder about? But I think about it a lot because I took a roundabout route away from and back to Christmas.

For my first few years on Earth, my immediate family did the whole Christmas thing. I looked forward to trimming the tree and putting up the decorations like any kid did. My favorite part was pulling down a heavy pile of Christmas records to throw on my clunky portable turntable. (The Sesame Street Christmas album was my favorite, although I don't think it had the cover seen here.)

Then, around age 7 or 8, my mom became a Jehovah's Witness and we all followed suit (as I've alluded to on the site a few times). As you probably know, Witnesses don't do holidays, because most holidays have weird pagan origins, which Witnesses perceive as being Satanic (no, really). So all of a sudden, no presents, no tree, no "I Hate Christmas". Nothing.

However, my extended family (which remained varying degrees of Catholic) always had Christmas at my grandparents' house, which was literally next door to me. So my mom and brothers and I all got dressed up nice and went to their house and drank egg nog and ate too much...in other words did all the things people do at Christmas. Except for the whole exchanging gifts thing.

I should note that this is not standard operating procedure for Witnesses. Most Witnesses wouldn't come within a ten foot pole of any holiday, unless if was to preach about how it was secretly demonic. But my extended family is very big and very tight, and my mom couldn't bear the thought of us not seeing each other when we were so close. Even if it meant endangering our survival of the impending Apocalypse.*

* Witnesses don't really believe in Heaven and Hell, in the sense that they're places you go when you die, but they do believe the end of the world is coming very soon, and if you don't get on the right side post-haste you're gonna be shit outta luck when God's whip comes down.

I was chatting with some folks online earlier this week, and when I revealed this biographical tidbit, all reactions were in the ballpark of "yeesh", "yikes", and "so sad". But I didn't see it that way at the time, and I really don't see it that way now. In retrospect, yes, it was very weird. But I don't feel traumatized by the experience. If anything, I feel it enhanced my love of the holiday.

Maybe it's because we didn't have much money (or any money) when I was growing up, and I didn't expect presents anyway. Maybe it's because I was lucky enough to have a large family that likes getting together and doesn't explode into arguments every five minutes. Whatever the reason, because an odd set of personal circumstances, I got to experience the good things about Christmas (family, togetherness, good times) without the bad stuff (disappointment).

I was never disappointed I didn't get a certain toy because I knew I'd get nothing. I didn't expect anything out of Christmas except playing with my cousins and staying up way too late and laughing at old family photos. And I got to have that every year.

It's very difficult for me to not worry and not think about Everything. Even when I was a kid, I found it hard to be happy (as I wrote about here). But at Christmas with my family, I was happy.

By the time I went to college, my mom had abandoned Witnessery, and so had I. Christmas was a-ok again. None of us reverted back to Catholicism. We just entered that vague, irreligious sphere where most people live. But I had to ask myself, if I'm not a devout Christian, then why do I celebrate Christmas? Why am I honoring the birth of someone I don't really believe in?

My best answer is, Christmas is an alibi. It allows us to get together and think of one another and, hopefully, be happy for a little while. Absent any expectation of gift-getting (or the pressure of gift-giving), that's what it was for me as a kid. Absent any real religious belief, that's what it is for most people.

Christmas has always been an alibi. December 25 used to be a pagan holiday honoring The Inconquerable Sun (or Sol Invictus, depicted to your left) a holiday that always involved plenty of merriment--possibly because even before it was a day to honor the sun, it was a day to honor Bacchus, the god of wine.

Then the pagans became Christians, but they didn't want to lose their bitchin' holiday. So the priests said, Fine, we'll call it Jesus' birthday. Just go to church in the morning and everything's cool.

I hesitate to call it a lie. How about a seasonally appropriate word: a humbug. In the P.T. Barnum sense, a humbug is a flashy hoax that captivates everyone, even people who know it's not real. It doesn't matter that it's not real, because it gives you pleasure.

Or call it the Jebediah Springfield Principal: If a story inspires us to do good, does it matter if it's not true?

That may make me sound hypocritical, since I recently denounced Santa as a lie. The difference to me is, Santa is a lie that, one day, I'll have to tell my daughter is a lie. As for Christmas itself, I can keep on pretending for as long as I want. And the pretending hurts no one. I can let myself be caught up in the wonder and spectacle and the love of it all, and not think about the fact that I don't believe in The Reason for The Season.

If you're one of those people who can't stand their family, I hope Christmas is an excuse to get together with friends and other loved ones. And if you don't do Christmas at all, I hope you have an excuse that's just as wonderful.

If you're a Christian and you celebrate Christmas religiously, presumably you do so either not knowing or not caring about the holiday's weird pagan origins, or the fact that Jesus was probably not born on December 25. Even if it's really not Jesus' real birthday, for you it's an excuse to celebrate the fact that he was born.

If Christmas is nothing more than an alibi for us all to be Christmas-y, that's enough for me.

That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
A Colbert Christmas: Colbert/Costello Duet
www.colbertnation.com

WASHINGTON--Making good on a campaign promise, President Obama formally requested 50,000 more troops from Congress to "finally finish the War on Christmas."

"As you all know, I ran on the audacity of hope and the tyranny of joy," the president said during a fireside press conference, as he threw dolls and toy trains on the flames. "These ideals lead me to fear and despise the holiday you call Christmas. I believe that together, we can destroy this cheerful, heart-warming season once and for all."

Troops will be deployed to combat entrenched pockets of resistance, concentrating on regions controlled by the Candy Cane Commandos and the Sugar Plum Guerillas. General Petraeus said these forces should be no match for American firepower, "since most of their weapons are made of marzipan. But I must also emphasize that they are powered by an innate sense of childlike wonder and love, which can be dangerous."

This new troop surge will be the first in the ongoing battle against Christmas since President Clinton requested 25,000 troops in 1995. Shortly after speaking to Congress, he was approached by an adorable, doe-eyed girl, and rescinded his request when his heart grew three sizes that day.

I spent a good chunk of my youth as a Jehovah's Witness. I don't talk or write about very often, because I don't get into personal stuff on the site, at least not anymore (mocking sportswriters leaves me little time for navel gazing). I honestly don't think about it too often, until I have to tell someone that I didn't "do" certain things as a kid, and explain why. Only in those moments does it occur to me, "Oh yeah, that was really weird, wasn't it?" Like I'm remembering that one year I was really into INXS.

But this time of year, it's nearly impossible to not think of my more pious youth. Because Witnesses really do believe in ghosts and demons and pure, Satanic evil in a way that few other people do outside of the Black Metal community. I wrote all about this in a Halloween post from way back in 2006, which you can peep after the jump. Original post here.

I hope pain don't hurt for you this holiday season.

I couldn't let the holiday season pass us by without sharing with you my new favoritest Christmas song: "A Quick One (Pete Townsend's Christmas)" by Wild Billy Childish and the Musicians of the British Empire.



I look forward to this song being using in Wes Anderson's upcoming film, The Royal Tennenbaums 2: The New Batch.

I was stuck at a light this morning at the corner of Flushing and Bedford, right behind a minivan of generic American make. The minivan's rear windshield was emblazoned with two stickers, right at the top of the glass, centered horizontally. They were both of roughly equal size and, based on their positioning, given roughly equal prominence by their owner.

To the left: Jesus Christ wearing a crown of thorns, rendered in silver and black

To the right: Faded Mickey Mouse, one of his arms partially torn.

He's probably too nice to say it, but I think Jesus would be a little upset by that. And on his birthday, too!

He might also be a little upset by the windows I saw earlier, near the intersection of Flushing and Knickerbocker. The first floor apartment had two windows with messages written in that snowy tinsley stuff whose name I can't recall.

Left window: MERRY XMAS!

Right window: HAIL SATAN!

In case you hadn't heard, the economy's in the toilet. As such, this year's holiday ads have taken quite a different tack than usual. Rather than pressure you to SPEND SPEND SPEND, most commercials emphasize the relative affordability of their product/service/store. Companies realize that many Americans are one paycheck away from wearing barrels with suspenders.

Even Lexus seems to understand this, which is amazing, since they could always be counted on to construct the most hateful Christmas ads every year. After all, any wealthy man can piss away money, but it takes a special kind of clueless plutocrat to spend an extra 30 grand on a Toyota because it has an L on the hood.

This year, their ads still feature The Red Bow. But rather than show entitled jerks surprising their spouses, they've decided to tap into The Childhood Wonder of Christmas. Their commercials show little kids, filmed in grainy old home movies style, explaining how nothing could ever top their best Christmas gift: Atari, Big Wheel, etc. And then it cuts to the kid, grown up, seeing his brand new Lexus in the driveway, his face lit up with a childlike glow.

Manipulative? Yeah. Exploitative? Definitely. Still, infinitely less douche-tastic than their usual holiday ads.

Plus, it features some classic toys that many viewers remember treasuring as children. They're toys that lots of kids, regardless of background, spent thousands of hours with in their formative years.

In other words, these commercials do a much better job of tapping into universal holiday experiences. Few of us will wake up to a new car in the driveway on Christmas morning, but most of us know what it's like to get one of these toys under the tree.

Of course, Lexus does tip their elitist hand in one of their commercials. Unfortunately, it's the only one that features a girl/woman as gift recipient, which gives it an uncomfortably misogynistic feel. What is the little girl's treasured childhood Christmas gift--a Barbie doll? An Easy-Bake Oven? A Light Brite? Nope, it's a pony.

A lot of us get stressed out during the holidays, especially when we're shopping for our families. That stress causes us to do non-Christmas-y things like act rude or discourteous to complete strangers while at the store. Or worse.

You decided that you would maintain the holiday spirit the only way you know how: by going to Toys R Us high as a kite. That takes no small amount of courage. No, wait, courage isn't the word I'm looking for. What is it? Oh yes: immaturity. Still, bravo!

I also applaud you for making sure no one could mistake you for a sober person. Nope, when you packed that bowl before leaving the house, you wanted strangers to spot your glazed, heavy-lidded Stoner Stare from 50 yards away. You also, apparently, wanted the air around you to have the acrid stench of Willie Nelson's rec room carpet.

I should probably congratulate you just for remembering that it's Christmas. You look like the kind of guy who forgets to to do things because they're just too "heavy". Like showing up for work on time, or paying the rent.

And I don't envy what you'll tell your kids when they open their gifts and they ask you about that funny smell. Will say that reek is Santa's Magic Christmas Dust? Or will you go smoke up again because you can't handle your children giving you a big plastic hassle?

Happy Holidays, Stoned Man. I hope Santa Claus brings you that 12-foot dragon-covered bong you want. And if you're really lucky, maybe he'll leave behind some handy stocking stuffers. Like dignity, and self-respect.

Three years ago, I used this space to rail against "The Little Drummer Boy." It still ranks as my all-time most hated Christmas song, because it is an enormous steaming log of bullshit drenched in sticky-sweet sentimental syrup. It's a holiday song for the same kind of people who believe in angels: they want something quasi-religious that doesn't ask you to actually believe in anything (except kindly, poor drum-playing shepherds).

Two years ago, I took "Do They Know It's Christmas?" to task for being misguided, self-congratulatory, and ultimately mean spirited. "Thank god it's them instead of you"?! Go fuck yourselves, British do-gooders.

Last year, I was too busy changing diapers to get too upset about Xmas music. This year, I don't have any specific song to lambaste (although if you're in that kinda mood, I recommend Patton Oswalt's takedown of "Christmas Shoes"). [New site update 12.21.08: There used to be a video of this on YouTube, but it has sadly passed into the Intertubes Graveyard.] But there is a genre of Christmas songs I despise, one whose ranks have been swelling in recent years. If I could somehow give these songs to life, I would, just so I could give each of them a debilitating case of food poisoning.

I'm talking about the rocking and/or soulful Christmas song. I suppose there is no reason why a Christmas song can't rock or have soul, although scientists have yet to confirm his hypothesis.

I don't have a problem with the commercialization of Christmas. Or at least I think it's pointless to rail against it. Christmas is a holiday whose main purpose is to buy presents for other people. In other words, commercialization is built right in. You might as well hop in the ocean and complain about how wet it is. "What the hell--this ocean is full of water!" You know when Christmas wasn't commercialized? Never. Don't like it? Deal with it, Linus Van Pelt.

What I do find gross at this time of year is commercials that equate Spending A Lot Of Money with A Demonstration Of Love. There have been many offenders in this category over the years, but my least favorites have to be the Lexus Christmas ads. These spots return every December, a lot like the old Norelco ad. But rather than show Santa tooling around in an Electric Shaver/Sled, these ads want you to drop 80 grand on a luxury sedan.

The commercials vary slightly every year, but they follow a basic formula: One family member--almost always a father/husband--uses a clever means to reveal his purchase of a Lexus to its lucky recipient. Sometimes, children are involved. Sometimes, carolers are put to work. Whatever ruse is employed, it's twee and precious and ends with the revelation of a brand new Lexus in the driveway, topped with an enormous red bow.

As with many ads that infuriate me, I don't understand what audience this commercial is pitching to. If you're rich enough to swing a Lexus, you buy one, end of story. The Rich don't need a holiday as an excuse to treat themselves to a brand new automobile. And they don't need to be enticed with the oily aromas of Dealer Incentives and Year End Rebates.

If you're waiting around for an Annual Sales Drive or Factory Surplus to buy a Lexus, guess what? You can't afford one. Putting these commercials on the air, at this time of year, is just a slap in the face to every Working Schmuck laboring under a mountain of debt and expectations.

Paul Schrader (director/screenwriter, mastermind behind Taxi Driver and buncha other awesome movies) grew up in an extremely strict Calvinist household, one in which any form of idleness was an expressway to damnation. He wrote about going to see a film in a theatre, sweating, panicked, absolutely convinced that this simple act would send him to hell. But he was so transfixed by the experience--obviously realizing that this was his calling--that he couldn't tear himself out of his seat.

I still get that doomed but defiant feeling whenever Halloween comes around, at once resisting its trappings and wanting to dive head first into it. Growing up, my mother was a Jehovah's Witness. As I'm sure you know, they celebrate very few holidays for various reasons. In the case of Halloween, the reason is: They think it's evil.

Ironically, I bet very few people who "celebrate" Halloween truly believe in demons and witches and whatnot. Witnesses do. This is odd, because they don't believe in Hell, and they don't have same idea of the Soul that you find in most Christian sects (it's due to their unique interpretation of the Bible, which would take way too much time to get into). But they do believe in Satan, that he has minions at his beck and call, and that he could sic his cronies on you if you took him too lightly. "Taking him too lightly" includes dressing up as a sexy nurse, somehow.