Thanksgiving comes FIRST.
I don't know how things are in YOUR neck of the woods, but here in Boston everything's just gone to shit. Red velvety, holly-bedecked, fa-la-la SHIT.
I went into the Starbucks upstairs from my office LAST WEEK, and the fuckin' place looked like ol' Kris Kringle projectile vomited, had explosive diarrhea, and then spontaneously combusted all over every shelf, corner, and display rack. "Would you care to try an EGGNOG latte?" the cashier burbled while trying to keep the cutesy-pooh stuffed reindeer affixed to the top of his register.
"There...there are still LEAVES on the TREES outside," I stammered.
"We can put RED SPRINKLES on the whipped cream!"
"I have leftover HALLOWEEN CANDY on my desk."
"You could PAIR IT UP with a Cranberry Bliss Bar!"
"It's not even VETERANS DAY!" I wailed, before finally ordering my tall-room-for-milk and cringing when it was handed to me in a RED cup festooned with SNOWFLAKES.
The "oldies" station here has already started its "ALL Christmas music ALL the time" onslaught. This used to start the day after Thanksgiving. I avoid this station for that very reason, but this morning, I was treated to Mannheim Steamroller's turgid rendition of "Deck the Halls" as I waited in line at Dunkin' Donuts (their coffee is, as my friend Spooney says, "hot dog water," but they've managed thus far to refrain from putting up the tinsel, so on principle I figured it was okay).
Then I looked up and was faced with a ginormous poster of Rachael Ray daintily holding a gingerbread donut as if it were a stool specimen and smiling that slightly-crazed smile of hers, like any second now the dam is going to break and she'll burst into alternating paroxysms of hilarity and sheer terror. Either way, she'll never stop screaming.
I stormed back downstairs to my office and confronted my friend Brett: "I have just been EMOTIONALLY PUMMELED."
"I don't know if I want to hear about your emotional...pummeling...Lees."
"They are playing CHRISTMAS MUSIC on the radio at Dunks, Brett."
"I KNOW, right?"
Only 42 shopping days left.
For Christ's sake.
lisamcc at 6:45 p.m.
4 comments so far
I hear ya', Honey...feel the same way but unable to expound as prolifically...it's especially heinous down here among the palm trees and orange groves. It wasn't even Halloween and there was a big blinky sign at Michaels, reminding the masses that there were only 58 days left... Oh, for the days when "the season" did not officially begin until the day after Thanksgiving...the first Christmas tv commercial was Santa riding an electric razor over the snow banks during the football games on Thanksgiving Day...in black and white. Gawd, I'm getting old!!!! Love ya'.
I've been a bitter bitch over the loss of Thanksgiving marketing for so long now. The day after Halloween came the Christmas crap, and I wanted to poop in somebody's mouth. I mostly get offended because it seems as though we should pay no attention to a holiday meant to bring thanks for all the things in our lives (because not all of us have a harvest time), and just play up a formerly religious-centered day of note. I simply don't respect Christmas as much as I used to, and it's a damn shame.
Thanks for stopping by over at my place and letting me know about this post. You've stated the case quite eloquently. Maybe we can get some folks to listen; I don't know. I sure hope so. Jim
"Eloquently." Heh. You're too kind.