The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It's time for a confession. One I've kept to myself for a long time, but I just can't find a reason to suppress any longer.

I completely love Christmas music. And uh-oh, what do you know -

"Well sure," someone said to me when I told this to them, "it's after Thanksgiving now, it's okay to listen to it."

But that's not what I mean. I love Christmas music. All the time. From New Years Day to New Years Eve. I love just about every kind of Christmas music. I love the old stuff, I love the new stuff, I love Christmas raps and Christmas song parodies. I love the songs about Jesus and the season, and the stuff about Santa and reindeer. About the only songs concerning Christmas or its indices I don't enjoy are "The Christmas Shoes," (maybe the most unnecessary song ever written) and anything wherein Santa is at the beach because that's soooo zany.

A sand snowman? Too wacky for me, Caillat.

No, I can listen to Christmas music with almost the same enthusiasm as I would Guns n' Roses, or Journey, or anything by the Muppets.

This is the greatest thing ever.

Maybe if there was good Hanukkah music out there I could include some of that, but whoever is in charge of our media conspiracy decided that our most popular songs about the holiday would just be lists of famous Jews..

This one keeps getting left out for some reason.

So all I wanted to do today was talk about some of my favorite Christmas songs, and share what you'll hopefully find to be some pretty good renditions of them.. Be warned that this post is going to be pretty video and link-intensive, but I'm sure we'll all have a good time at the end. So grab some hot cocoa, warm yourself by the fire, and, as I know we need it now more than most years, let's all share some holiday cheer.

Christmas: Heavy on Santa, Light on Church

Whenever people complain about how Christmas is too secular, too commercial, too consumerist, and that the country is going to hell in a hand basket because too many American families are missing the point of Christmas entirely, I think they’re talking about my family.  Actually, I know they are talking about my family, because my family isn’t even the kind of family who pretends they’re going to go to church and then something something blah blah blah they couldn’t go this year because of whatever reason.  We were never going to go, and if we were, what church would we attend?

My family is decidedly secular.  Christmas, for us, has always been much more about gathering ‘round the fireplace and Santa and snowmen than little baby Jesus.  And so when people rail against all the Americans who’ve lost their way, I guess they’re talking about us.

But I don’t think we have lost our way.  (I guess technically, we never had it.) Christmas today in America is mainly about family, and togetherness, and yes, giving.  (Getting is, of course, a byproduct of the giving, but that’s the fine print.)  My family celebrates all of those things.  I can’t wait to come home to my parents’ house for some home cooked meals, some Christmas Vacation, and (hopefully) seeing the faces of my loved ones light up when they open that just-right present for which I scoured the mall or amazon or etsy for days. 

We, as people, need tradition. It makes us feel good to get together and do the same ritual every year that we’ve done since we were kids, that our parents and their parents did before us in only slightly different ways.  In our workaholic society we need an excuse to leave our jobs and the everyday prattle of our own lives to go and just hang out on the couch for a couple days with our parents without feeling like we should be *doing* something.

I have a good friend at work who is Indian, and decidedly not Christian, but she still wanted to decorate her cube for Christmas.  I was taken aback; I guess I’m so used to hearing that everyone should hate on Christmas because it stomps all over all the other holidays (which, admittedly, it does) that it took me by surprise.  I asked her why, and she just told me she doesn’t care what the religion associated with a tradition is, she just loves festivals, and celebrating with other people.  As a person who has been to my share of religious and cultural events that I’m technically not a member of, I love that.  I’m not saying, of course, that everyone should just drop their traditions and celebrate Christmas with all us secular heathens and/or evangelist Christians, but I like the sentiment.  It could probably use some more use in our competitive my-religion-or-culture-is-better-than-yours atmosphere.

For whatever reason, the end of the year is when we celebrate togetherness and love and hope for a brighter future.  Just because my family doesn’t go to church (neither a nor your) doesn’t make this time of year any less special for us.  Any excuse to get off work and hang out with my family is good enough for me.

"You're Welcome, Jesus" or "World:1 John Ozkirbas:1"

Several months ago, science fired the first shot in what has become an apocalyptic struggle between the laws and history forming existence itself and my gargantuan ego. I was a wounded animal. Befuddled. Scared. Lost. I pleaded to the heavens for direction and guidance. I questioned whether I could go on and feared that I may abandon whatever moral dignities I still held. After months of teetering on the edge as a broken man, I left on a Dantean quest for deliverance from such existential despair. And, now I return. VICTORIOUS:

Turks invented Christmas trees

Yep. Do another double take. It's not going to change a thing. After months of soul-searching in a perdition of defeat, my own heritage gripped me tight and lifted me from the pit to salvation. New and improved. Redeemed. So what if the world might be a hologram? Science, you showed your hand too soon. Ozkirbas gets to put one in the win column.

While the article admits the extensive debatability of its claims, it still raises the question about whether or not a given culture can ever definitively claim to be the "source" of a given rite, tradition, or myth. Many cultures may claim (or be academically attributed) to source certain customs, but it is usually difficult to concretely narrow down when a tradition first appeared. Additionally, analogues of a given custom will occur across cultures, despite being on opposite parts of the globe. Psychologist Carl Jung used to talk about a collective unconscious - a genetic source-pool by which all human beings could recall and recognize certain cultural variables. Anthropologists argued a human migration theory concerning myth/custom generation - Snorri Sturluson himself attributed in his Edda the existence of the Norse gods to the migration of the Turks from Troy up north (i.e. that the Asgard were actually Trojans). Either are intriguing prospects.

Still, if Christmas trees can be come out of left field to surprise us, what else can? Does anyone else dare to second guess the origins of the customs and traditions they practice? Can anyone think of common myths and customs that may come from an unexpected place?

"The Spirit" - Any Relation to Will Eisner's Work Purely Coincidental

Hours ago, I walked out of the movie theater, as is tradition on Christmas. I had just seen The Spirit with my good friend and fellow Gentleman, Jason Schalfstein. The events which followed bore recording for posterity.

While in the theater, I saw a film that was low on writing but high on charm. It was over-the-top, cliched, and at times ridiculous, but it was all these things obviously very deliberately. The ironic manner in which the subject was approached allowed me to enter the world of the movie with a very relaxed attitude. I thought Samuel L. Jackson was great. I thought Eva Mendez was stunning. I thought that guy who played the Spirit was dramatic when he needed to be, but also at times clever, charming, and likable. The guy who was the dad on The Wonder Years also is in it, and swears a lot.

All in all, I had a very enjoyable time. However, as I casually glanced over at Jason, it became clear that our experiences were very different. Very different indeed. I was watching Frank Miller wryly twist the worlds of Sin City, Batman, and The Spirit together. Jason was writhing in his seat, wringing his hands, and at times openly cringing at the screen. Jason was not watching what I was watching.

Jason was watching murder porn.

As Miller's snuff film drew to its conclusion and the Heat emerged, dazed, from witnessing the rape and murder of one of his most beloved comic heroes, a conversation was sparked. I will now provide a transcript of that conversation, as I remember it.

Jason: *broken, bitter weeping*

David: I liked the part with the cat.

Jason: WHY, FRANK MILLER? WHY DID YOU DO THIS??

David: So I take it this wasn't an accurate representation of the Spirit.

Jason: The Spirit is not Wolverine! The Spirit is not Batman! The Spirit is clever and subtle and emotional! That wasn't the Spirit! Why did you make this The Spirit, Frank Miller?! Why did you do it?

(Jason is at this point screaming and crying, and I am beginning to sense something is amiss)

David: I thought the movie had a lot of great moments . . .

Jason: Iron Man! Great film! I can accept some things changing! Octopus is part of Spirit's origin? FINE! The Spirit doesn't have super powers! That's what MAKES HIM THE SPIRIT! "What am I?" NO! FUCK YOU! The Spirit doesn't talk like that! I expected him at any moment to say "I'm the goddamn Spirit!" You have DESTROYED this character, Frank Miller! What did you turn the Spirit into, Frank Miller?! What did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO?

David: So the take was not to your liking.

Jason: WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE SPIRIT, FRANK MILLER?

(Before I could stop him, Jason had sprinted the distance between the two of us and an unassuming old man in the theater, and began screaming in his face)

Jason: YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU DID!

Old Man: I'm so unassuming!

Jason: BLAAAAAARGH!

(Unsatisfied, Jason began punching the old man repeatedly about the head and face as his grandchildren looked on in terror)

David: Jason! That's not Frank Miller! For the love of God, leave him alone!

Jason: *Pulling the old man's savagely beaten face up to see* It IS Frank Miller! Look at his face!

David: I can't! It's been beat off!

(Jason and I shared a brief laugh over the term "beat off." Jason then ripped the man's throat out with his teeth)

Jason: I HAVE AVENGED YOU, SPIRIT!!

David: HOLY SHIT!

Jason: And now to get Brett Ratner!!

(Moments later, the two of us were in Jason's car, careening down the road at speeds well in excess of 88 miles per hour. After Jason realized he had no flux capacitor and would be unable to strangle Brett Ratner while still in his mother's womb, he began seeing him in pedestrians roaming the streets)

David: Why would I get in a car with you?!

Jason: *Mowing down innocent bystanders* Take that, Brett Ratner! Why did you kill Cyclops? Do you have any idea what a trilogy is!? You can introduce new characters, sure! Lando Kalrissian wasn't in the first movie! Jabba the Hutt! BLAgaragGARggarG! (I can't tell if Jason was impersonating Jabba the Hutt or choking on his own indignation) BOBA FETT! Great addition! BUT THE HEROES ARE LUKE, HAN, AND LEIA! YOU KILLED CYCLOPS OFF CAMERA! It was so murky that I sat through two hours of movie thinking he was going to come back and save the day! BUT HE'S DEAD! Did you hate Superman Returns that much, Brett Ratner? For some backstory to that comment, Brian Singer was originally supposed to direct, but was offered Superman, and said he was going to work on that if they could wait. Then they asked Matthew Vaughn, who directed Layer Cake - great movie - and after a few conversations, he walked away. So they brought in Brett Ratner - REALLY? BRETT RATNER? REALLY? And James Marsden took a part in Superman Returns, so as punishment, they killed his character in X-Men early in the film. Somehow ignoring that it MADE THE MOVIE TERRIBLE. You start with Cyclops, Wolverine, Storm, Jean, Professor X, and Rogue. ROGUE! SHE HAD LIKE SIX LINES! WHY IS COLOSSUS THERE? WHY IS ANGEL THERE? WHY IS KELSEY GRAMMAR WEARING A FURRY BLUE SUIT!?

David: I didn't see it.

Jason: *Turning to me, flecks of blood and spittle running down his teeth* Don't.

David: You got it.

(We then pulled into the Jewish Community Center I had left my car parked at earlier. Jason's car at this point is drenched in the blood of the innocent, reminiscent of a sharkbear attack)

Jason: Remember when everything Frank Miller did wasn't completely misogynistic?

David: . . . No.

Jason: Year One? Daredevil?

David: Oh.

Jason: Well, I had a good time tonight, buddy.

David: Me too.

(We parted ways, I to go home and write this blog post, Jason to go find Tim Story and beat him to death)


And thus ends the true story of how I saved Christmas.

Worst. Present. Ever.

Hello globe.

I haven't been sleeping much recently, which I mostly attribute to my ridiculous work schedule. I've recently been switched to the midnight-8am shift, and occasionally the 4am-noon shift, and my body just isn't cooperating. Today, on Christmas, I actually had a 9am-5pm day, a wonderful change of pace. Kind of fun hanging out with a newsroom of Jews actually. If ever there was a day to claim that Jews control the media, it's on Christmas, because that's the day we actually do. But hey, not our fault all the Christians took off today. Tomorrow though, it's back to the 4am-noon shift, and back to struggling with sleep.

If only the cure for lack of sleep were silver dollars. But alas, they probably are not, so my struggles continue. Yes yes, I'll explain.

This is the first time.. ever.. that I won't be home for Christmas/Hanukkah and all that. In fact, all three of my roommates left for home this week, so I'm home alone to myself. It's kind of strange, but I'm trying to enjoy it. Tuesday night I spent the evening sipping hot tea, eating cookies dunked in hot chocolate, eating home-made (but not too dry) falafel with hummus, and watching college basketball (Butler upset Xavier) and a movie (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest). Last night on Christmas eve, I got drunk on sangria with my friend SamLaz at La Tasca in Chinatown and went to bed early. Christmas time is an interesting time of the year for a Jew.

For instance, this past weekend I went to an "ugly Christmas sweater party," and also passed up an invitation to go to another one. I actually kind of like the idea of these parties... they're silly but sweet and innocent. Like puppies. Like WALL-E. I realized very quickly though that Christians actually own these sweaters, actually receive them as a gift, and I'd have to hit up the Value Village in College Park to fulfill my ultimate dreams.

"Ha ha ha," I laughed to myself (that's me, laughing to myself out loud) and thought about how much that would suck to get an ugly-ass, totally unwearable, comically emasculating sweater on what could have been the happiest day of the year.

But then I thought about Hanukkah. And I stopped laughing.

Now, I'll warn you, the follow piece of information might sound cute at first, but really it's just as sad those Christmas sweaters.

Every year, for Hanukkah, my grandpa gives me, my brother, and my two cousins each a single silver dollar. And a card. I think he takes a great deal of pride in those silver dollars. In fact, I don't think he goes to the bank to get them every year. I think he's had them piled in the top drawer of his dresser for years. I'm serious. My two cousins are now in their thirties, and my brother and I are 19 and 22. That's a lot of silver dollars. I've actually saved as many of these silver dollars as I can. At last count, I think I had about 14. This will be the first year I won't get one. It's kind of sad in a way.

EXCEPT I DON'T WANT AN EFFING SILVER DOLLAR FOR HANUKKAH AS MUCH, MAYBE MORE, THAN YOU DON'T WANT ANOTHER EFFING UGLY CHRISTMAS SWEATER.

My cousin Marti suggested that maybe sending me a silver dollar from our grandfather would make me feel better. Or that maybe when my family comes down to visit me in DC from NJ that they bring the silver dollar with them (I got this text from my mom last week: "we r coming to visit u dec 27.28 wkend like it or not here we come with the latkes!!" Who doesn't love texts from parents? C'mon. Anyway, I got them to push it back another week.)

So the question dawned on me. Which is worse: getting an ugly Christmas sweater or a silver dollar?

The answer is very obvious of course. Because silver dollars do not, in fact, cure sleep deprivation.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Best. Present. Ever.

Hello globe.

It's Christmas Eve and I'm really excited to give out the presents I made with my girlfriend, Jackie. We made chocolate covered pretzels out of chocolate chips and pretzel rods. I don't know if it's maturity or a sense of the "true meaning of Christmas," but I really don't care about getting presents this year. I'll gladly accept anything given to me of course, but as far as I'm concerned, once I give out my gifts, the transaction is complete, I'm happy, and anything else is an added bonus.

But in realizing this evolution from receiver to giver, I can't help but think back and dwell on the best gift I ever got as a kid. It wasn't so much the present as much as it was the way it was given that impacted me.

Real quick, for those of you who don't know me well, I've had an affinity for video games since I was 5 years old.

It was Christmas morning back in third grade or around about, and I was in Chicago spending the holidays with Grammy and Grampy and my uncle Aaron. I remember it being really cold inside because they didn't have central heating, but once the presents rolled out all of my senses were transfixed on the goods.

At one point I had opened all of the presents that were out. I remember being grateful, but disappointed that I didn't get a Super Nintendo, which had just been released. I wasn't acting like a spoiled brat or anything, I was respectful and genuinely happy about what I got, but the SNES was at the top of my list.

So Uncle Aaron comes out from his room with a present for me, saying he left it in his room.

I open it and I'm instantly deflated. Super Mario Kart. For the SNES. Not only did I not get the one thing I wanted the most, but, I can't even use it! I don't need a gun rack, I don't even own a gun!

So I look up to say something like "awww, but I can't play this," and Grammy is looking back at me with raised eyebrows.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have a Super Nintendo."

Out of nowhere Grampy has a huge box in his hands and he's walking towards me and Grammy yells, "well you do now!"

Everyone is screaming.

Everyone screams real loud.

I think I cried a little.

I've gotten video game systems for Christmas before and it's awesome. But it was the surprise that made this the best present I ever got as a boy. I couldn't articulate it at the time, but it's the idea that these people care about me enough to spring this awesome present on me out from nowhere, that they thought about doing this just for me, and that they were thinking about me when I wasn't around, that makes it all so magical.

So my question to the globe is: what is the best present you've given or received, and how was it given?

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!

Last Christmas

It's weird to know exactly where you were one year ago from this exact moment. At some point tonight I realized what night it was, what tomorrow is, and exactly where I was one year ago today. In this room, who I was talking to, what I was thinking about and how I felt - an entire year ago, a unit and measurement of time that is making less and less sense to me at the moment because on the one hand it feels so long and on the other so incredibly short.

It was a year ago tonight, she came over. I had been really depressed that day, I don't remember why. She had seen her ex-boyfriend for the first time in a year or so. Things were rocky, but she had told him she was happy. We slept in the same bed.

The next day I had plans to go over for Christmas Eve. I bought a card with penguins on it that I probably still have somewhere, to go with a white gold and diamond dragonfly necklace (that I don't). I saw Robyn Milekowski with her husband at the Giant, and called Jacob. I got to her house, was handed a gift, asked what was wrong, had the gift taken back out of my hands, and was told to leave.
I went home, the biggest wreck I'd been in my entire life.

On Christmas I sat in the booth at the JCC facing the wall while I played Wallace and Grommit to little kids.

It suddenly occured to me that was one year ago. Today, tomorrow, and the next.
I'm in the same room.
And on Christmas I'll be in the booth playing movies for little kids.
For all the massive changes, the places stay the same.

It's a weird feeling to remember exactly where you were, what you said, what you did, what you felt - to the detail but detached, a year ago in a moment in time.

Sunday Papers

A few amusing things in the Sunday Papers:

First - Daptone Records!

Second - Writers should write books, Joe the Plumber should not. I agree 100%!

Third - We're not the dumbest generation!



Also, I am going to begin a running list of things not needed during the recession. To begin with:

#1 Lexuses for Christmas
#2 Cadillacs ever. (It amazes me that despite the disgusting smugness of bud light commercials the Cadillac ads are even more smug. The cocky dude from the Escalade Hybrid commercials is so smug he literally makes me nauseous just watching the commercial)
#3 Special edition box sets of mediocre summer blockbusters.
#4 Blue ray versions of movies shot before 2005. Theses movies were not in high def to begin with, stop lying to yourself.

To be continued...