The other night two late-teen boys rang the doorbell. I looked through the peephole, “Fuck. Damnit.” I opened the door. They were dressed like elves: bells, green, red, pointed ears and shoes, the whole bit. One had a bucket of candy-canes, the other held a small jar with a few bills and some change.
As soon as they saw me they started singing “Jingle Bells” not entirely in harmony with one another. I stopped them before they could finish the first line, “Whoa, hold up there, kiddos. What’re ya sellin’?”
“Nothing, just singing for tips,” one said, the other extended a candy cane to me, which I waved off.
“Okay, wait right here,” I went and grabbed some change, about a dollar fifty. I returned, and dropped the change in the jar, “I’ll pay you to not sing, how about that?” They were a little shocked, clearly.
“Uh, okay,” one said as they walked off.
“Ugh” I said after I closed the door, “Christmas music.”
Now, if they had shown up dressed as Wookies I might have been more inclined to watch and listen. But, they didn’t, so, humbug!
I am, admittedly, a regular Scrooge, if you haven’t already condemned me as such by now. So, I guess my sentence is that I have to spread at least a modicum of holiday spirit. Here it is. Take it or leave it.
However, here is a far, far more suiting xmas carol compliments of my dream girl, Fiona, as she sings “Trumps Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire.”
She sang this at a the We Rock with Standing Rock concert that was a benefit to raise money for the people of the Standing Rock Sioux encampment in North Dakota.
One can only hope that there are enough of us that are thoughtfully enraged, mobilized, capable, active to resist the government. Until then, I’ll leave the optimism to the optimists, and joy to the joyful.