Merry Fucking Christmas!

Happy Holidays is the more politically correct way to well-wish your fellows, I'm sure, but seriously, fuck that.

Two out of three Abrahamic faiths acknowledge this season, and two out of three ain't bad. Merry Christmas, and happy Hannukkah. And there's Pancha Ganapati for the Hindus, which, really, is pretty close. Buddhists got nothing special going on, to my knowledge, but with all this peace and love they must be feeling the mettā more than usual. And the Muslims who have the comparatively good fortune to be living in a Judeo-Christian nation get time off work, so that ain't all bad. You boys keep petitioning to make Eid a national holiday and return the favor -- and do share some of those lovely noms y'all make, yeah?<!--more-->

It's a time to reflect on the past and prepare for new beginnings. The sillyness of Saturnalia became the majesty of Sol Invictus in the Roman world, though it fortunately carried on the tradition of gift-giving which we still enjoy today. This trend of brotherhood and let's-all-get-along continued, with Christians playfully adjusting the supposed date of Baby Jee's birth to December 25 to coincide with the Roman feasts, and the Norse King Håkon declaring the 25th to be the official day of the Yule celebration a millennium later.

This intermarriage of different traditions around a common theme is represented most curiously by Santa, who was originally a rarely-mentioned side-note to the Catholic holiday season, though the dude, in his original form of St. Nicholas, was much more significant to the colonists from my country, who celebrate Sinterklaas very seriously on December 5. With the Dutch and to a lesser degree German children getting presents early in the month and the English and French kids getting theirs at the end, there was naturally constant rivalry in the many mixed-blood townships, and again, we see traditions mingling for the betterment of festivities.

De Sint, as the Ducth called him, shrugged off the mitre and the bishop's robes he'd worn since his days on the Turkish island of Myra. He said good-bye to his white dapple horse Amerigo, as he embraced his new role in America -- but then a curious thing happened.

From the depths of ancient lore, Germanic Pagan imagery billowed forth and infused the holy man with a power and vigor and magic the stately old Sint had never possessed. Santa became the modern reincarnation of Odin, with his furs and boots and belt and frosty hide-out. Sadly for Amerigo, there was no place for a horse at this new jolly fat man's side, otherwise he would have seriously considered sprouting four extra legs and becoming the new Sleipnir. Alas.

Nor was there room for the rest of Odin's bestiary, his crows and wolves had to stay behind, though he would gradually be given reindeer by the various poets and storytellers who enlivened this melting pot of a man. An anonymous contributor to the Sentinel of Troy in 1823 (Clement Clark Moore, but don't tell anyone, it's secret) gave them names, and in no time flat everyone knew that Santa Had Always Had Eight Reindeer And These Had Always Been Their Names, Pinky Swear.

We complain about commercialism these days, and really, we're justified in doing so. Where Washington Irving first portrayed Santa Clause as a pipe-smoking Dutch sailor (best not to ask) before he became an Odin impersonator, the image we all have burned into our retinas of the jolly ol' droog in red clothes with white trim all comes from political cartoonist Thomas Nast, but that was just one of many colorful interpretations until the Coca-Cola Company pumped so much of the red-and-white imagery into the world in the '30s that no challenger could remain. Hell, remember that Hindu thing, Pancha Ganapati, I mentioned earlier? Also popularized by Coca-Cola in the '70s.

This world.

I tell you.

But let's not scoff at the gaudy lights and the tacky plastic decorations. It's a new millennium, and this is our reality. No longer is the German town of Lauscha the principle exporter of glass baubles, no longer do we recognize that the lights in the tree are a safety-aware recreation of the burning Yule log, and that's all fine.

The method isn't what we should focus on, it's the message. And guys, fucking hell, it's an awesome one, and I really do mean that. Peace and love ain't just for hippies, y'know.

So think of something nice, do something kind, call someone you haven't heard from in forever. Think about the grudges you hold and see if you can't forgive some of them. Think about the shit you've gotten away with over the last year, and consider maybe apologizing for some of them, even unasked. Seriously, this is an important opportunity, since you can do sappy stuff like that at Christmas and not be called a pussy like you usually would.

Peace and love to all you guys and girls. Feliz navidad, prettige feestdagen, joyeux noel, frohe Weinachte, and merry fucking Christmas, bitches.

- Alex F. Vance

PS: I leave you with a gem by Vahnfox, that Mexican scoundrel!