‘Tis the season to be jolly.
And stressed.
Jolly and stressed. Kinda gives you an added insight into the mass hysteria that might just lead large segments of the population into that whole donning gay apparel scene, doesn’t it? Do you realize at this point in history, with the actual meaning and etymology of the word gay lost to the vortex of popular culture, there is a whole generation of children who’ve grown up very, very confused about whether they really should be engaging in such activities as decking halls with boughs of holly or messing around with Yuletide carols? And if they do, whether they should be wearing exclusively Tommy or perhaps something kinkier? Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Come to think of it, there has always been, at least for me, a lot of unsettling imagery in Christmas carols. For about half a year in Grade 4 geography I furtively scoured maps of the world looking for Orient Are. Or was that Orient R? Couldn’t be sure. Never found it.
I can’t begin to describe the discomfort I felt with the idea of giant snowmen suddenly coming to life. Maybe I had trouble separating snowmen from Frankenstein but I figured it wasn’t a very good thing when inanimate objects wrought by human hands suddenly spring to life. An irrational fear of marauding snow toughs was way scarier than even the idea that some animals’ noses might really light up.
All this was made worse by neighbours across the street who filled a jukebox they owned with carols and hung a speaker outside their house every festive season. Visions of malevolent snowmen, quaking shepherds, three wise guys, tiny tots with glowing eyes, psychedelic reindeer and mommy kissing Santa Claus hounded me as I tried to block them out and fall asleep. I can still hear the jingle bells and they make me crazy. And here’s a little advice, if anyone ever offers you a chestnut roasted on an open fire, take the fruitcake instead.
We all have our own Christmas boogies. That’s why "Christmas" is always listed on stress tests, right alongside birthdays. They’re twin traumas none of us can completely dodge during the course of a year. The key is how we cope to live and play another day.
Since newspapers and magazines are chock-a-block this time of year with cutesy stories on how to survive the perniciousness that is Christmas, it seems only right I weigh in on the subject. After all, Christmas in Whistler isn’t exactly like Christmas in, say, Moose Jaw.
The three hells of Christmas seem to revolve around what we eat, what we spend and with whom we celebrate. Some people think the worthwhile goal is to get through the holidays without gaining weight. Those people are idiots. The whole idea behind Christmas is to eat and drink as much as humanly possible while striving mightily to avoid drunk tanks, road blocks and buttons that pop so hard somebody loses an eye. If Christmas wasn’t about excess, fitness centres wouldn’t have January specials. It’s as simple as that.
The holy grail of the holidays for anyone in their right mind should be to eat and drink their weight in the four basic food groups: cookies, turkey dinner, chocolate and alcohol. The rules are fairly simple, eat until you feel the first signs of discomfort. Have one more helping of everything, then slip anything you’ve particularly liked into your pockets for later. To that end, you should always have a plastic bag in your pocket for the rest of the month.
Parties and banquets are plentiful this time of year. Attend as many as possible. The law of large numbers will help get you in whether you belong or not. At any party with more than 30 people, it’s physically impossible to detect interlopers. Walk in with your head high, grab a drink, make small talk – it’s the same at every party – and pretend you belong. If this makes you uncomfortable, invest in a Santa suit. Santa’s always welcome. Even it there are two or three of him already milling around squirreling away shortbread.
The Art of Buffet is a bit like skiing. No matter how good you are, you can always learn new tricks. I followed the Big Kahughna – hissonor – through a buffet one time and he showed me a neat dinner roll trick. It involved grasping the roll in the hand you hold your plate with and palming it underneath. Not only does it free up valuable real estate on top of the plate, it protects against dreaded gravy burn. Of course, you may forego rolls entirely. Why bother? Ditto salad in any of its mutations, except maybe the ones with lime Jello which has endless entertainment value.
It’s important to remember the really good stuff is always at the end of the buffet line. To get enough of this, you have to have focus and determination. Don’t be swayed by the lima bean casserole or any of the 14 other veggies set out to distract your attention and fill up your plate. Use mashed potatoes strategically. A potato dam around the perimeter of your plate creates a well sufficiently deep you can be assured of leftovers into the next week. Intimidate the carver. If you hold your ground, he’ll pony up more of what you want rather than face the wrath of the people waiting behind you.
As blessed in this town as we are with innumerable parties to crash, we are equally fortunate when it comes to avoiding overspending at Christmas. None of us have any money. Between not getting any hours in our supposedly full-time hospitality jobs because the season’s off to a slow start, having to pay extortionate rents and living in a place where we can’t even afford what’s on sale, we get off easy. Make your Mom a drawing to stick on the fridge; she’ll still appreciate it and probably send you a cheque to boot.
Which brings us to the mine field of relatives and Christmas. This one’s simple. You live and work in a resort. You can’t possibly go home for Christmas. You share a suite the size of a tent with 18 other people, half of whom sleep stacked like cordwood on the couch. No one else can possibly come here to visit you for the holidays. Practice saying things like, "I’ll sure miss seeing you at Christmas," until you get a perfect little sobby catch in your throat and sound sincere when you call your relatives collect to wish them a Merry Christmas. They’ll all feel sorry for you.
Is this a great place, or what?
