Well, another Holiday Season is in the books. Wilting pine trees are sitting upside-down in gutters, bizarre "practical" gifts have been exchanged for things we really wanted in the first place but were too embarrassed to ask for or purchase for ourselves, thrice-gnawed turkey carcasses have been finally given up on and heaved guiltily into the garbage and the last of the Lords a’ Leaping have been rounded up after their holiday furloughs and returned whence they came to serve out the remainders of their sentences. All the seasonal traditions have pretty much run their course but there is just time for one more….
Uncle Damon’s 2009 Christmas Card À-Go-Go!
Yes, yes…I know what you’re going to say. You are about to point out, rather snidely, if I may say, that it is technically no longer Christmas, nor indeed is it 2009, to which I retort, with what is under the circumstances justifiable spikiness, with the traditional refrain of “No shit, Sherlock”, a phrase which I have been trying, hitherto unsuccessfully, to reintroduce into everyday conversation, along with “Odd’s bodkins!” and perhaps “Whoa…far out, man”.
Well, if you must know, I have been meaning to complete this missive for some time but was having a bit of bother deciding what format it was going to take.
Having proclaimed in the 2008 Card in what, in retrospect, seems like a rash bit of drunken overconfidence that I would retire my threadbare but always reliable boxing metaphor as well as the services of traditional CCAGG mainstays like Mongo Santamaria and Vincent “The Chin” Gigante, I found myself rather stuck for material.
In short, my rum-fuelled hubris had painted me into a metaphorical corner, as rum-fuelled hubris is wont to do. As opposed to tequila-fuelled hubris, which generally sees you surreptitiously trying to locate your trousers in the middle of the night in a strange apartment and wondering if the trains are still running from wherever the Hell you are.
I figured that to make up for the tardiness of delivery and to commemorate the end of a momentous decade, I needed to produce something special. Like a Christmas story. Yes, a heartwarming tale of holiday spirit which would eventually become a classic, passed on from generation to generation and hopefully be made into a television special featuring plasticky, stop-motion characters whose mouths don't quite move in exact synchronisation with the words but you don't mind too much because that just seems to add to its whimsical charm.
It was all coming to me in a rush of tipsy inspiration. It would be an uplifting tale of a swarthy child who, despite living in abject penury and wearing one of those flat caps that swarthy children living in abject penury in heartwarming holiday tales seem to be so fond of, learns the true meaning of Christmas. And it would go something like this:
Once upon a time, in the sleepy village of San Bartolomeo, lived a young boy named Pepe.
Pepe was a happy child, despite living in abject penury and being undeniably swarthy in a world where, to be frank, that’s still a distinct disadvantage, and spent many a contented afternoon playing in the dusty San Bartolomeo streets with his various swarthy little friends and his younger sister Condenada, who would smile wanly and cough periodically in a foreboding manner that made you think that it was bound to have some relevance later on in the story.
The people of San Bartolomeo were poor but proud. None prouder, and certainly none poorer, than Pepe's family. His father had, um...some job that really sucked. Possibly, you know...something that involved heat and…toil. And maybe digging. Perhaps some kind of unappetising vegetable or...tuber. Or some kind of, you know...mineral...resource. Plus, there’s like…a donkey or something, who talks or maybe doesn’t talk but gazes at everybody sagely with a kind of mute bonhomie but is too old to carry the tubers…or minerals to the…market…and there’s…there’s also…
Awwww, the hell with it. I can't be asked. Maybe if I'd done this part when the Holiday Spirit™ was squarely upon me and my eyes glistened in the votive candlelight and my lower lip was all aquiver with Yuletide sentiment but now, I just can’t fucking bother. Sorry.
Anyway, it is, as they say, the thought that counts and the point of this abortive tale of inspirational holiday whoopty-do is my way of saying that I hope that every one of you had a groovy Season, be you an adherent of one of the “recognized” faiths who observe some kind of spiritual festival at this time of year or just someone who likes drinking wine, getting presents and not doing any work.
I sincerely hope that every one of you has an absolutely awesome year, which in turn kicks off an awesome decade because to be blunt, we’re all getting a bit long in the tooth to still be going through dodgy ones all the time. I hope that all your holiday wishes come true and your holiday resolutions stick. And I hope, in accordance with my own resolution, to spend more quality time with every one of you this year since, let’s face it, it’s pretty much a Christmas/Hannukah/Eid/Festivus/Kwanzaa/Diwali/Satanic Lesbian Winter Squash Festival Miracle that I’m even still standing in 2010, when smart money had me kicking the proverbial bucket somewhere in the mid 90s.
Thank you for your attention, and your patience, Chillun and Happy More-or-Less-New Year.
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4 comments:
I'm aglow, I mean a-go-go, having read the annual(+) missive. All for re-introducing the old lingo but what exactly does "Odd Bodkin's" mean and how does one apply it in conversation. Should u choose to continue at some point the Xmas tale can you change little coughy-sisters name to CondeNaste? Here's to raising a glass in 2010 Mr Mills, Jxo
Where's Mongo?
Wow... Wow Damon.. I do hope that in time after the next festive occasion you can once again become rum induced and complete the story.. As I was reading I was thinking to myself.. wow my interesting friends have turned into some even more interesting adults.. or something like that.. That being said, I would like to point out that the decade is far from over.. do not let these ignorant media slaves impose their poor counting skills anymore.. we all start at 1 when we count to 10 unless we are severely imbibed..and 2001 was clearly the beginning of the millennium & the decade, 2010 will end it when it ends..(the decade that is).. doubt I will be here for the end of the millennium but It's an interesting thought..Simply put there was no year 0, although wikipedia counts the first decade of the 0's starting at 1 to 9 with no year 0.. send them some bread to eat with their wine..If these people were at a cricket match we would all score centuries without reaching three figures.. Aw you've spurred me t0 write.. I was just in for a small great-to-hear-from-you-bro-take-care-now comment.. so take care and have a happy New Year..Peace..
A spell of quiet sorrowfulness always befell the donkey when Condenada coughed. We later realized that he had always known what we did not...
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