And now, a Christmas post.

I found quite an old book that my Grandfather sent me all the way from Pakistan several years ago. You'll call it a "Christmas miracle," once you find out what it's called.

"Politically Correct Holiday Stories: for an Enlightened Yuletide Season," by James Finn Garner.

From Pakistan!

Some great things have been said by it, according to the back of the book. (I know they say you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover and all, but then they go and place reviews right at the back of it.)

"Now everyone can read the real story of Rudolph's leadership and our struggle for fair working conditions!"
- Blitzen, Reindeer Union Local 691
"After all these years of hearing about Father Christmas, Garner throws an unflattering spotlight on the whole holiday patriarchy. Bravo!"
- Mother Christmas

James Finn Garner has done a wonderful job of liberating some of the popular Christmas fables, of cultural insensitivities such as sexism, ageism, religious imperialism, as well as other politically incorrect shenanigans, that we have grown out of. (Just like we love to claim on every given occasion, amongst others.)

And as everyone probably knows, (or didn't know yet,) I'm such a huge fan boy when it comes to "Political Correctness." A society as enlightened and sensitive as ours to each other's butts and their hurts, deserves and needs nothing less! But before I go off on a whim, let me stop myself and just present you with an excerpt from the book itself.

"'Twas the Night Before Solstice."

'Twas the night before solstice and all through the co-op
Not a creature was messing the calm status quo up. 

The children were nested all snug in their beds,
Dreaming of lentils and warm whole-grain breads. 

We'd welcomed the winter that day after school
by dancing and drumming and burning the Yule, 

A more meaningful gesture to honor the planet
Than buying more trinkets for Mom or Aunt Janet, 

Or choosing a tree just to murder it and stump it
And dress it all up like a seasonal strumpet. 

My lifemate and I, having turned down the heat,
Slipped under the covers for a well-deserved sleep, 

When from out on the lawn there came such a roar
I fell from my futon and rolled to the floor. 

I crawled to the window and pulled back the latch,
And muttered, "Aw, where is that Neighborhood Watch?" 

I saw there below through the murk of the night
A sleigh and eight reindeer of nonstandard height. 

At the reins of that sleigh sat a mean-hearted knave
Who treated each deer like his persunal slave. 

I'd seen him before in some ads for car loans,
Plus fast food and soft drinks and cellular phones. 

He must have cashed in from his mercantile chores,
Since self-satisfaction just oozed from his pores. 

He called each by name, as if he were right
To treat them like humans, entrenching his might: 

"Now Donder, now Blitzen," and such other aliases,
Showing his true Eurocentrical biases. 

With a snap of his fingers, away they all flew,
Like lumberjacks served up a plate of tofu. 

Up to the rooftop they carried the sleigh
(The holes in the shingles are there to this day). 

Out bounded the man, who went straight to the flue.
I knew in an instant just what I should do. 

After donning my slippers, downstairs did I dash
To see this trespasser emerge from the ash. 

His clothes were all covered with soot, but of course,
From our wood-fueled alternative energy source. 

Through this grim I distinguished the make of his duds--
He was dressed in all fur, fairly dripping with blood. 

"We're a cruelty-free house!" I proclaimed with such heat
He was startled and tripped on the logs at his feet. 

He stood back up dazed, but with mirth in his eyes.
It was then that I noticed his unhealthy size. 

He was almost as wide as when standing erect,
A lover of fatty fried foods, I suspect. 

But that wasn't all to make sane persuns choke:
In his teeth sat a pipe that was belching out smoke! 

I could scarcely believe what invaded our house.
This carcinogenic and overweight louse 

Was so red in the face from his energy spent,
I expected a heart attack right there and then. 

Behind him he toted a red velvet bag
Full to exploding with sinister swag. 

He asked, "Where is your tree?" with a face somewhat long.
I said, "Out in the yard, which is where it belongs." 

"But where will I put all the presents I've brought?"
I looked at him squarely and said, "Take the lot 

"To some frivolous people who think that they need
To succumb to the sickness of commerce and greed, 

"Whose only joy comes from the act of consuming,
Thus sending the stock of the retailers booming." 

He blinked and said, "Ho, ho, ho! But you're kidding."
I gave him a stare that was stern and forbidding. 

"Surely children need something with which to have fun?
It's like childhood's over before it's begun." 

He looked in my eyes for some sign of assent,
But I strengthened my will and refused to relent. 

"They have plenty of fun," I cut to the gist,
"And your mindless distractions have never been missed. 

"They take CPR so that they can save lives,
And go door-to-door for the used clothing drives. 

"They recycle, renew, reuse--and reveal
For saving the planet a laudable zeal. 

"When they padlock themselves to a fence to protest
Against nuclear power, we think they're the best." 

He said, "But they're children--lo, when do they play?"
I countered, "Is that why you've driven your sleigh, 

"To bring joy to the hearts of each child and tot?
All right, open your bag; let's see what you've got." 

He sheepishly did as I'd asked and behold!
A Malibu Barbie in a skirt made of gold. 

"You think that my girls will like playing with this,
An icon of sexist, consumerist kitsch? 

"With it's unnatural figure and airheaded grin,
This trollop makes every girl yearn to be thin, 

"And take up fad diets and binging and purging
Instead of respecting her own body's urging 

"To welcome the shape that her body has found
And rejoice to be lanky, short, skinny or round." 

Deep in his satchel he searched for a toy.
Saying, "This is a hit with most little boys." 

And what did he put in my trembling hand
But a gun from the BrainBlasters Power Command! 

"It's a 'hit,' to be sure," I sneered in his face,
"And a plague to infect the whole human race! 

"How 'bout grenades or some working bazookas
To turn all of our kids into half-wit palookas?" 

I seized on his bag, just to see for myself
The filth being spread by this odious elf. 

An Easy-Bake Oven--ah, goddess, what perfidy!
To hoodwink young girls into household captivity! 

Plus an archery play set with shafts that fly out,
The very thing needed to put your eye out. 

And toy metal tractors, steam shovels, and cranes
For tearing down woodlands and scarring the plains, 

Plus "games" like Monopoly, Pay Day, Tycoon,
As if lessons in greed can't start up too soon. 

And even more weapons from BrainBlasters Co.,
Like cannons and nunchucks and ray guns that glow. 

That's all I could find in his red velvet sack--
Perverseness and mayhem to set us all back. 

(But I did find one book that caused me to ponder--
Some fine bedtime tales by a fellow named Garner.) 

"We need none of this," I announced in a huff,
"No 'business-as-usual' holiday stuff. 

"We sow in our offspring more virtue than this.
Your 'toys' offer some things they never will miss." 

The big man's expression was a trifle bereaved
As he shouldered his pack and got ready to leave. 

"I pity the kids who grow up around here,
Who're never permitted to be of good cheer, 

"Who aren't allowed leisure for leisure's own sake,
But must fret every minute--it makes my heart break!" 

"Enough histrionics! Don't pity our kids
If they don't do as Macy's or Toys 'R' Us bids. 

"They live by their principles first and foremost
And know what's important," to him did I boast. 

"Pray could I meet them?" "Oh no, they're not here.
They're up on the roof, liberating your deer!" 

Then Santa Claus sputtered and pointed his finger
But, mad as he was, he had no time to linger.

He flew up the chimney like smoke from a fire,
And up on the roof I heard voices get higher. 

I ran outside the co-op to see him react
To my children's responsible, kindhearted act. 

He chased them away, and disheartened, dismayed,
He rehitched his reindeer (who'd docilely stayed). 

I watched with delight as he scooted off then.
He'd be too embarrassed to come back again. 

But with parting disdain, do you know what he said,
When this overweight huckster took off in his sled? 

This reindeer enslaver, this exploiter of elves?
"Happy Christmas to all, but get over yourselves!"

           - James Finn Garner.

I hope you enjoyed it. I personally loved it. Go get the book, it's filled with some other very hilarious renditions of classic Christmas time stories.

I didn't even celebrate it or anything. (Not like I don't partake in consumerism throughout the rest of the year, anyway, though. Does that count?) I just found the book and thought it was a good time to read it again. Then I did, found it funny, and thought I'd share the laughs.

If you celebrated, I hope you had a very merry Christmas. For those who didn't or don't, I hope you had a wonderful day as well.

Cheerios.

Love, and stuff.

I want to lay on the grass on a warm summer day, and gaze up at the sky to actually see stars. To see a sky filled with stars, in fact. Someplace not littered by artificial lighting like most of the planet is now. The only light around us, star light and moon light. 

I wouldn't mind being alone, but I'd prefer company. Not a large group of people, just a few? Or maybe a large group, but off in a distance. I'd like to step away for a minute, and be by myself. Or by "ourselves." You and I. You could watch me walk away and follow after a minute too.

Star gaze, as cliche as that sounds. The only light around us, moon light and star light. The only sound, the sound of wind blowing through the leaves of grass, and our ears and hair. Yours preferably flowing like the sheets and drapes that angels use to cover their windows from angel sun light.

One would think of the sound of waves crashing in the background too, but only a restless body of water makes much sound. I'd much rather prefer a quiet body of water, but then one would ask what the point is. As long as there is wind, and the stars, and beautiful silence, we should be good.

And what do we do with all this? Perhaps we could lay there and take in all the serenity. Or we could stare inside each other's eyes, feel the fluttering sensation in our chests, in unison and harmony with the tiniest of movement of our pupils. I say ours, because surely, they'd be darting back and forth in perfect harmony and unison too. Yours could lead and mine would faithfully follow.

There's a violin playing inside our chests, or so it seems. There's a giddy feeling somewhere around the area where the heart is supposed to be. This is one of those rare moments of isolation and loneliness that have a notion of romanticism stringed along.

By ourselves, but not alone.

Things may never stay the same, there may never be a moment that comes close to the one we're living right now. But it doesn't matter. The beauty of it lies in the fact that things like the past and future tense don't exist right now. They're one of the farthest things from our minds. All this beauty would be lost if our minds were unfaithful enough and dare committed such treason, to let our thoughts wander to the past or the future. The past would be sad and the future would make us worrisome. And so it doesn't happen. If it did, perhaps this wouldn't be as beautiful. But it is, and therefore, nothing could make it not be. It's the kind of logic that doesn't need to make sense, it's one of those things that just is. It's both beautiful and simple like that.

And nothing else compares. And no matter what else may clutter my head and let whatever experience shape me in whatever way. Nothing else will ever compare to that.