I recently had a conversation with my girlfriend and her mother about Christmas. They were on the typical side of “Christmas is amazing, woohoo” etc. I, on the other hand, was on the rarer side opposing Christmas and everything it stands for.
Well, what it stands for these days anyway. Few people seem to remember that Christmas is, historically, a celebration of the birth of Christ. Wait, not historically, what’s the word… mythologically, that’s it! It was made up in medieval times to celebrate the (incorrectly dated) birth of a man made up a thousand years before. But that isn’t what Christmas stands for anymore, not in the slightest. Christmas now stands for three things that make me hate it so.
1) Commercialisation. Don’t get me started on this, it’s a well-rehearsed speech from many, if not all, anti-Christmas folk like me. Constant adverts screaming “BUY OUR STUFF, IT’S CHRISTMAS!”; television executives agreeing “We want good ratings, let’s make a Christmas special out of EVERYTHING!”; children writing down lists and lists of everything they could possibly want and nothing they could possibly need, selfishly disregarding anybody else. The examples are endless, it’s a time where everyone can be at their greediest and nobody else bats an eyelid. How ironic that this is called the time of “giving”. Obviously there is a lot of giving involved, people passing presents on to each other and getting an ego boost and sense of self-satisfaction from it. But let’s not forget that the process of buying these gifts, Christmas shopping, is almost universally abhorred. People hate Christmas shopping, thus they hate buying gifts for people. Ergo, they hate giving. It’s the one commercial thing about Christmas that isn’t selfish or greedy and, what do you know, everyone hates it.
2) Falsehood. Everyone pretends to be happy because we’re told this whole ‘holiday’ is a happy time. Everyone takes time off from being horrible to each other over in order to be nice instead. Take Christmas 1914; after weeks of ripping each other apart by machine guns and shells, the English and German forces had a ceasefire on Christmas Day to play a football match. And then the very next day they went back to slaughtering each other. Yeah, what a wonderful time of year. People always act all nice and happy with each other during this period, calling it “Christmas spirit”, then when Christmas is over and they start being awful to each other again, they complain about how they wish it was Christmas. Heads up, guys. Perhaps if you took the time out from all the suing, mugging, stealing, firing, attacking, shouting, slandering, bitching and moaning, you’d realise that Christmas is celebrated because everyone is nice to each other. So if you stop being such tools and instead treat everyone like human beings 365 days a year, you’d realise it wasn’t such a special occasion.
3) Excuses. Seriously, this is what annoys me the most about Christmas; everyone uses it as an excuse to do things. “Hey, I’m going to go out with my friends tonight because it’s Christmas”; “Let’s get the whole family together because it’s Christmas”; “I think we should go and do something fun because it’s Christmas”. Stop it now. You don’t need an excuse to enjoy your lives, for God’s sake. If you want to go out with your friends, do it. If you really wanted to spend time with your family, you wouldn’t only do it once a year; you’d do it as often as you could. If you fancy doing something fun that’s readily available all year round, then do it, don’t put it off until the busiest time of year just because you feel it’s your obligation to have a miserable life for 11 months just for a few moments of enjoyment all squeezed into December. Just get out there and enjoy your life, you don’t need a stale, twee, medieval festival to govern how you act. So stop all this saccharine “we must all be together because it’s Christmas!” nonsense and just get out there and do things when you want to do them. What’s your excuse? “Oh, I can’t, I have work all week!” What, the work you spend all year doing just so you can throw all your money away on Christmas at the end of it? “I’m too busy, what with the kids and the housework and everything.” Children are children all year. In fact, they’re even worse during Christmas. And housework ALWAYS needs doing, especially if you have to cook and clean up for a load of family members you invited round for Christmas dinner because you just couldn’t be bothered seeing them at any other time of year.
So there, that’s why I hate Christmas. People always say religion is stale and we should just get rid of it and move on, but once someone mentions Christmas, people turn into idiots and start romanticising about this terrible time of year. It’s not even in a good month, it’s in the backside of the calendar. Constantly cold, always raining but never snowing, ice covering the pavements and roads, making walking and driving very hazardous experiences, it’s a horrible time of year. Things would be better if December didn’t even exist. That way we wouldn’t have to endure New Year’s Eve either, another excuse-ridden, greetings-card-manufactured celebration. Why need an excuse to have a party? Just have one already. So the number of the year has gone up by one? Big deal. The number of the day goes up everyday, but you don’t see people going “OH MY GOD IT’S NEW JUNE DAY, LET’S HAVE A PARTY!” They just say, “Oh, it’s the first of June. Whoop-de-doo.”
So stop acting like Christmas is some magical time of year; happiness can’t be forced, family can’t be avoided, reindeer can’t fly, and, above all, Santa Claus doesn’t exist. And neither did Jesus. So grow up already.
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
Don't make a fuss when I die... oh, you weren't going to anyway, ok!
Before I start, I'd like to take a few moments to comment on the recent death of Michael Jackson; Stop clogging up all the newspapers. These last two weeks, I haven't been able to open my eyes without seeing headlines and tributes and all manner of mentions towards MJ's demise. Now I'm not a cold-hearted man, I'm not going to say I'm glad he's dead, regardless of all the things he may have done in his life that weren't exactly above board. I am, however, a man who knows about how far people can push things until they exceed the limit; the MJ cashcow should've dried up days ago, yet still we're being subjected to conspiracy theories, Facebook fan pages, 10-page pullouts and, of course, the obligatory but rapidly tiresome jokes. Too many bandwagons spoil the journey, and there must be a whole lot of bandwagons in this case, what with the millions of people that seem to be jumping onto them.
Farrah Fawcett didn't have this much attention drawn to her death. Billy Mays and Molly Sugden practically went unheeded when they bit the dust, save for the odd quarter-page newspaper tribute and occasional pub quiz question, so why should Michael Jackson get so much attention? He was clearly a gifted singer and dancer, and it's no secret that his music is loved and praised all over the world, but people could argue that Farrah Fawcett and Molly Sugden did the same thing with television, or Billy Mays contributed the same amount to the world of shouting at people to buy gimmicky products. But as these others are brushed off as yesterday's news, MJ is still pilfering the headlines of every newspaper and magazine from here to the horizon. Why? Because he was a freak, that's why.
If Michael Jackson was simply a talented musician, people would have mourned him for a day and then carried on with the rest of their own lives, but because he was so widely renowned for being insane, his legacy continues in the form of constant news stories. I admit that his father is to blame by thrusting him into the limelight at such a young age, and I agree with other people that suggest the whole business of inviting children to Neverland for sleepovers was his attempt to live out the childhood he never had, but the point remains that, because of all this, people knew he was mentally challenged. What kind of healthy person would call their child Blanket and proceed to dangle them over a balcony? None, normal people don't do that, which is why normal people don't get news coverage, even upon their death.
We're a nation of people that love a good freak show. Why else would Big Brother still be going after all these years? It certainly isn't for the intelligent conversation that goes on inside the house; it's because British people think "Hey, this year's lot are a bunch of weirdos, I hope they do something hilariously stupid like kill each other!" Reality TV is a horrible concoction, but nobody can deny that it brings in the freaks and viewers alike. Millions of people watched the X-Factor final last year, but that's because they actually cared who won. Millions more people watched the first auditions because that's when they show all the lunatics that were allowed through the two previous, untelevised auditions because of the entertainment value. I've an idea for a new slogan the British Tourist Board can use to describe our culture - Britons Love Cretins.
It isn't just freaky people we love either, it's freak weather. Sudden rainstorms, heatwaves, cold snaps, floods, miniscule earthquakes, once they arrive on the scene, the press is sure to follow. One of the Entertainment headlines on the BBC main page is "Potter stars drenched at premier", which was also a story in some of the celebrity spreads in the national papers today. The gist of the story, as you can imagine, was that something utterly drole happened, but it's "news" because it happened to famous people AND involved freak weather. Double the entertainment value, clearly.
The story, in full might I add, is that it rained at the premier of the new Harry Potter film. Some of the stars got wet, while Emma Watson stayed in her limo until someone brought her an umbrella. She was even judged as a spoil-sport for such an action! Imagine, wanting to stay dry rather than walk out in the rain! What a bitch!
I am, of course, being sarcastic, and I hope the editors of said papers were too when they said this story was a good idea, because it isn't. So what if the Harry Potter stars got wet in the rain yesterday? I got wet in the rain yesterday as well, but you don't see a full-page spread in my local paper about that. But that's because I'm not a celebrity. We all seem to have this fascination with celebrities as being in the upper echelons of humanity, and we admire and fawn over their lives even though they're quite similar to our own, save for their job (if they have one) and how much money they have. Just because they have £50 in their wallet instead of £5 doesn't mean the fish and chips they're eating is any more interesting than the fish and chips everyone else is eating, so it's time to put a stop to this nonsense and start talking about actual news, rather than made up news.
And speaking of actual news, I heard something about Michael Jackson the other day.....
Until next time, my z-list celebrities, ta raa!
Farrah Fawcett didn't have this much attention drawn to her death. Billy Mays and Molly Sugden practically went unheeded when they bit the dust, save for the odd quarter-page newspaper tribute and occasional pub quiz question, so why should Michael Jackson get so much attention? He was clearly a gifted singer and dancer, and it's no secret that his music is loved and praised all over the world, but people could argue that Farrah Fawcett and Molly Sugden did the same thing with television, or Billy Mays contributed the same amount to the world of shouting at people to buy gimmicky products. But as these others are brushed off as yesterday's news, MJ is still pilfering the headlines of every newspaper and magazine from here to the horizon. Why? Because he was a freak, that's why.
If Michael Jackson was simply a talented musician, people would have mourned him for a day and then carried on with the rest of their own lives, but because he was so widely renowned for being insane, his legacy continues in the form of constant news stories. I admit that his father is to blame by thrusting him into the limelight at such a young age, and I agree with other people that suggest the whole business of inviting children to Neverland for sleepovers was his attempt to live out the childhood he never had, but the point remains that, because of all this, people knew he was mentally challenged. What kind of healthy person would call their child Blanket and proceed to dangle them over a balcony? None, normal people don't do that, which is why normal people don't get news coverage, even upon their death.
We're a nation of people that love a good freak show. Why else would Big Brother still be going after all these years? It certainly isn't for the intelligent conversation that goes on inside the house; it's because British people think "Hey, this year's lot are a bunch of weirdos, I hope they do something hilariously stupid like kill each other!" Reality TV is a horrible concoction, but nobody can deny that it brings in the freaks and viewers alike. Millions of people watched the X-Factor final last year, but that's because they actually cared who won. Millions more people watched the first auditions because that's when they show all the lunatics that were allowed through the two previous, untelevised auditions because of the entertainment value. I've an idea for a new slogan the British Tourist Board can use to describe our culture - Britons Love Cretins.
It isn't just freaky people we love either, it's freak weather. Sudden rainstorms, heatwaves, cold snaps, floods, miniscule earthquakes, once they arrive on the scene, the press is sure to follow. One of the Entertainment headlines on the BBC main page is "Potter stars drenched at premier", which was also a story in some of the celebrity spreads in the national papers today. The gist of the story, as you can imagine, was that something utterly drole happened, but it's "news" because it happened to famous people AND involved freak weather. Double the entertainment value, clearly.
The story, in full might I add, is that it rained at the premier of the new Harry Potter film. Some of the stars got wet, while Emma Watson stayed in her limo until someone brought her an umbrella. She was even judged as a spoil-sport for such an action! Imagine, wanting to stay dry rather than walk out in the rain! What a bitch!
I am, of course, being sarcastic, and I hope the editors of said papers were too when they said this story was a good idea, because it isn't. So what if the Harry Potter stars got wet in the rain yesterday? I got wet in the rain yesterday as well, but you don't see a full-page spread in my local paper about that. But that's because I'm not a celebrity. We all seem to have this fascination with celebrities as being in the upper echelons of humanity, and we admire and fawn over their lives even though they're quite similar to our own, save for their job (if they have one) and how much money they have. Just because they have £50 in their wallet instead of £5 doesn't mean the fish and chips they're eating is any more interesting than the fish and chips everyone else is eating, so it's time to put a stop to this nonsense and start talking about actual news, rather than made up news.
And speaking of actual news, I heard something about Michael Jackson the other day.....
Until next time, my z-list celebrities, ta raa!
Tuesday, 16 June 2009
In reverie: the lull between eras
I'm not in the best mood right now, it has to be said. I'm not entirely sure why, maybe it's the mixture of music, boredom, inactivity and reminiscence. These past few days I've been feeling very trapped, as though I've unlocked a new door into life but haven't the strength to open it, and even when I do manage to lock my fist around the knob and turn it, my feet are set in place and I can't move forwards. A part of me blames my dire financial situation, the rest just stares about, forlorn and confused.
Finishing University seems to have taken its toll, finally; those that have long finished University always describe it as "the greatest experience you'll ever have", which doesn't bode well considering it's just come to an end for me. Does this mean my life's going to go downhill from here? Was University my one last flourish of true freedom before my education ends and my real (and apparently lesser) life begins? No, not in the slightest; I have many wonderful things to experience that far outweigh the simplistic frivolities University offers, that seem to reach no further than drinking, throwing up, forgetting everything and making as many mistakes in a single night as possible.
I've got marriage to look forward to; having children; doing at least one of my two dream jobs. I think my problem extends to the fact that, though I may have finished, the vast majority of my friends haven't and, as such, they can continue to enjoy their lack of responsibility and keep appreciating the simple things whilst I have to, contradictory of my personality though it is, grow up. I mean, my girfriend, the girl I intend to eventually marry and spend the rest of my life with, has only just started University. Tonight she was out all night with her friends, getting ridiculously drunk and having an all-round good time, whereas I was sat in my Dad's quiet living room, in the quiet village, having a nice quiet beer and a marginally quiet chat about all sorts of things. Was I jealous? Very. Was I angry? A little, yes, though not at her; more, I was angry at how I don't get to do that anymore.
For me, the next few months of my life will be spent working somewhere like Tesco, patiently labouring, waiting for the long months to pass until I get to begin teacher training, or touring the country with my acoustic, or possibly even travelling to all the places in the world I said I'd visit as a student and never did. I'm not ready to grow up yet, not by a long shot, I've still got so many things I want to do. But, even though I'm still very young, it feels like I have no time to do any of these things now. The ending of an era has a strange way of making one feel like all the opportunities that said era had to offer, even though they're still available now, have been lost; I now feel like I have no choice but to move on, put aside all the dreams I had in the "to not be touched" box in my memory, along with all things I should've said to some people, activities I meant to partake in but never got round to and ideas I wanted to test while I still had the chance.
No doubt I'll feel better in the morning, I always do. But I think for the next few weeks I'll continue to be lodged in this odd frame of mind, as I spend my time trying to find (and then perform) a job and unpacking the last three years of my life into my tiny bedroom back home, because for the next few weeks, or even months, I don't think I'll have anything to really look forward to, because this is the quiet lull in chapter transitions when nothing really happens; this is the part of the novel where the character has experienced one major event in their life and is getting back to normal before the next one suddenly hits him/her.
It's depressing to say goodbye to such an amazing experience as University, but only because there's such a long wait until the next amazing experience comes along. And until it does, no doubt I'll be living my life very quietly, patiently labouring until it arrives.
Finishing University seems to have taken its toll, finally; those that have long finished University always describe it as "the greatest experience you'll ever have", which doesn't bode well considering it's just come to an end for me. Does this mean my life's going to go downhill from here? Was University my one last flourish of true freedom before my education ends and my real (and apparently lesser) life begins? No, not in the slightest; I have many wonderful things to experience that far outweigh the simplistic frivolities University offers, that seem to reach no further than drinking, throwing up, forgetting everything and making as many mistakes in a single night as possible.
I've got marriage to look forward to; having children; doing at least one of my two dream jobs. I think my problem extends to the fact that, though I may have finished, the vast majority of my friends haven't and, as such, they can continue to enjoy their lack of responsibility and keep appreciating the simple things whilst I have to, contradictory of my personality though it is, grow up. I mean, my girfriend, the girl I intend to eventually marry and spend the rest of my life with, has only just started University. Tonight she was out all night with her friends, getting ridiculously drunk and having an all-round good time, whereas I was sat in my Dad's quiet living room, in the quiet village, having a nice quiet beer and a marginally quiet chat about all sorts of things. Was I jealous? Very. Was I angry? A little, yes, though not at her; more, I was angry at how I don't get to do that anymore.
For me, the next few months of my life will be spent working somewhere like Tesco, patiently labouring, waiting for the long months to pass until I get to begin teacher training, or touring the country with my acoustic, or possibly even travelling to all the places in the world I said I'd visit as a student and never did. I'm not ready to grow up yet, not by a long shot, I've still got so many things I want to do. But, even though I'm still very young, it feels like I have no time to do any of these things now. The ending of an era has a strange way of making one feel like all the opportunities that said era had to offer, even though they're still available now, have been lost; I now feel like I have no choice but to move on, put aside all the dreams I had in the "to not be touched" box in my memory, along with all things I should've said to some people, activities I meant to partake in but never got round to and ideas I wanted to test while I still had the chance.
No doubt I'll feel better in the morning, I always do. But I think for the next few weeks I'll continue to be lodged in this odd frame of mind, as I spend my time trying to find (and then perform) a job and unpacking the last three years of my life into my tiny bedroom back home, because for the next few weeks, or even months, I don't think I'll have anything to really look forward to, because this is the quiet lull in chapter transitions when nothing really happens; this is the part of the novel where the character has experienced one major event in their life and is getting back to normal before the next one suddenly hits him/her.
It's depressing to say goodbye to such an amazing experience as University, but only because there's such a long wait until the next amazing experience comes along. And until it does, no doubt I'll be living my life very quietly, patiently labouring until it arrives.
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