Christmas Schishmas

Working at a large department store during the holiday season started souring me on Christmas. At least the modern American way of celebrating Christmas which is to say to buy an inordinate amount of shit. I would arrive at work when it was still dark and drive home in twilight. Several times a day, my fellow employees and I would empty out dressing rooms exploding with clothes and try to wrangle tables overflowing with piles of sweaters we had so carefully folded only a few hours before. I suffered through an unreasonable number of rude shoppers who complained about the long lines and argued with me over whether or not their "10% off FINE *FUCKING* JEWELRY" coupon should also apply to their velour track suit with snowflake appliqués. One lady I remember distinctly because she glared at me with her beady eyes as she slapped her sweater down on the counter and snarled, "Well she better like it," before shoving her credit card in my face.

Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, bitch.

It's been ten years since I endured one of my worst employment experiences, but every year my sourness grows. The stores and advertisements are chocked full of crap that are supposed to make for good gifting. There are the unnecessary gadgets (novelty booze dispensers, shaving cream warmers, a creepy robotic horse from Target) and gifts sets (everything from picture frames to skin care to scarves) that will inevitably be gathering dust in a few months time and are destined for a trip to the trash or the yard sale table by summer. Then there are the perishable gifts like mixer sets that make cough-syrupy cocktails or the fancy bottles full of pickled, brightly colored vegetables (Who eats those?) that are soon banished to some far away corner of the pantry.

The Christmas shopping experience itself can vary from mildly exhausting to maddening. Living in the RVA, one has to only drive west down Broad Street until you hit the Ninth Level of Hell, otherwise known as Short Pump to see how unpleasant our rampant commercialism has become. The traffic alone on this corridor, beginning at Innsbrook, is enough to give me a mild nervous breakdown.

Don't misconstrue; I love Christmas, especially Christmas music, and love my son's growing excitement for the season. Which is why for the past few years I've been trying to slowly move myself and my family into celebrating Christmas in a more simplified, less consumption-based manner. It's not something I can do overnight, and I certainly don't want to give up on gift-giving all together. I just want to celebrate in a more mindful manner.

I seriously doubt Christ came into this world so we could get RC cars, and iPods, and FINE *FUCKING* JEWELRY.

Anyway, I've been doing some reading (Hundred Dollar Holiday, I highly recommend.) and surfing (I love the Mennonites; I think I should switch teams.) on the subject of a simplified Christmas and want to share some of what I've learned in a couple of posts over the next week. I'll be focusing on three ways to pare down on the Christmas insanity:

1. Buy local
2. Buy handmade
3. Get crafty

If you, my devoted readers, have artist or shop owner friends you'd like to promote or just know some great gift giving alternatives, send me info (URL, address, etc.) and I'll add it to a sidebar for the season. Also, got any crafty ideas or recipes to share, I'd love those as well.

Come, join my band of merry, if slightly sour, mischief makers and shake this season up a little.

Don't go to the mall. I dare you.