It’s Christmastime in the City
I am susceptible to advertising. It’s true. Not that many of us like to admit that about ourselves, but I am ready to break free from this shroud of silence that surrounds our consummerist vulnerability and admit freely that commercials rule my life.
For example:
I fantasize about the iPhone. Probably for about 3 – 7 out of every 24 hours, I am thinking about the iPhone.
I can, to this day, sing the entire McDonalds song (that was really just the entire menu) that came on a floppy record taped to an ad in the Sunday paper in, like, 1983.
I am a fervent, zealous believer in Vitamin Water, which is pretty much liquid television with added sugar.
And so on.
The holiday season is like one long running commercial that lasts from October until January. The messaging is clear: if you care about your loved ones, the world, baby jesus, poor children, cancer, or terrorism, you will buy things. If you don’t care about any of those things, and prove your social apathy by not torpedoing yourself into suffocating and irreperable credit card debt, then you will be exposed as a fraud and added to a list that the House Committee of Unamerican Activities is keeping, and be blackballed from jobs and parties and things. And, no one will buy you any presents, which will make you very sad, and you’ll end up standing on a bridge on a cold night waiting for Clarence the angel to come and talk you down. But, since you didn’t buy the special collectors’ edition of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” with the deleted scenes and diretor’s commentary, Clarence didn’t get his royalties, so he’s not coming. You’re on your own. Merry Christmas. Go ahead and jump.
I know that everyone who’s anyone has already written their anti-consumerist holiday blog, and I’m sorry that mine is so late. The truth is that I haven’t had time to write it because I’ve been standing in line at Crate and Barrel for the last seven weeks. Oh, yes, I am PARTICIPATING in this consummerist ritual. (And hopefully, someone out there is reading this and becoming inspired to participate RIGHT NOW, and buying me an iPhone.)
It’s my duty to buy. And I can whine and compain and grumble the whole time, but at the end of the day, I’m still down a few thou and can rest assured that I haven’t missed out.
I remember a big hooplah last year about the War on Christmas. As a Jew, I can assure you firsthand that the War on Christmas is run by the Jews. We rail against Santa references in our public schools, tear our hair out at the nativity scenes that pop up in our neighbors’ yards, and make quiet furtive jokes about the wise men and what they are REALLY doing with their myrhh behind the backs of all you Xmasonians. I’ll tell you why Christmas drives us so crazy: It’s because we are insanely, insatiabley jealous.
The rest of the year, it’s not such a problem. I don’t feel like I need jesus in my heart, I never wonder what he would do when I find myself at any moral crossroads, and I certainly am not wishing for all of that penance and prayer stuff. You won’t find me egging the easter bunny or giving anyone a hassle about Flag Day (which I have always conceptualized as a Christian holiday). No, we Jews only care about Christmas. Because dammit, I want to wake up in the morning and find an oversized sock stuffed with chocolate hanging over my fireplace! I want to hear those sleigh bells ringaling, and learn lessons about diversity from the reindeer story. As a Jew, I can tell you, there is no Joy to my World. The Lord has not come, and thus, we get no candy canes, no sleigh bells, no egg nog, no lights, no elves, no tree. We get greasy latkes and chocoalte coins, and maybe a little bit of gambling and some gifts. Big whoop. I mean, compared to the other Jewish holidays, Chanukah is actually kind of high-ranking on the fun scale; there’s no real religious stuff, no fasting, no services, you play with fire, you get presents. This is all good stuff. But it is so grossly overshadowed by the mirth and love of Christmas that you’ll hear reports in December of Jews defecting left and right. The Leibowitzes are suddenly spotted at midnight mass. The Steinbergers feebly try to rationalize their “Hanukah Bush” to the rest of the congregation. The Rosenstein kids all come to school wearing red hats with white poms at the end. Irving Berlin was, like, THE White Christmas guy, and he was also a well-known member of the tribe. But don’t feel bad, Irving. It happens to the best of us.
We can’t help it. It’s just so much fun, all this Christmasness. We love love love it. And, since I love commercials anyway, this is a time of year when I can truly feel like my reckless spending is actually a way of participating in a single unifying community of vapid holiday spirit. It’s like hands across America, only more moving. More powerful.
Kind of like “I’d like to buy the world a Coke.”
Happy Holidays. Don’t drink and drive. Buy iPhone.
The end.
Tags: Capitalism, Christmas, iPhone, Jewish
