Christmas Part III

Well thank God that’s over. Actually, thank humans that’s over. Christmas is very much a human-made invention.

We’ve already touched on how exasperating Christmas is and questioned whether the immense effort the season involves is worth it. To reiterate our suggestion, it’s not. Not even a little bit. The stress that pertains to driving, food preparation, decorating, obligatory church attendance, and present buying, not to mention the family functions that involve so much tongue-biting and tooth grinding that you’d prefer a mouthful of ulcers, is immense.

Is this significant cost made worthwhile by the benefits of seeing “loved” ones peel open the wrapping paper to lay sight on the sweater they’ll never wear? No, not one bit.*

But the problems with Christmas are deeper than this. Let me explain.

Those that partake in Christmas all-too-frequently confuse their obligatory duties with genuine generosity. They’re so busy patting themselves on the back that they manage to ignore the fact that Christmas is compartmentalised into a small portion of the year known, for good reason, as the silly season. If you’re rushing around, convincing yourself that you’re generous for two weeks a year, maybe stop and think about (a) the other 50 weeks in the year that you’re a selfish cunt and (b) entertain the notion that you might not really be that much of a legend if everyone else is doing it and you’re just buying shit to keep up appearances.

Really, Christmas is only a chance for western greed to manifest at its worst and convince itself that it’s healthy. All that shit you bought in a stressful state that the recipients don’t want or need is made from a combination of exploited labour and enviro-rape. Your body can’t handle any of that crap you’re eating. Do you see how this works? Western living is built on unsustainable practices and at Christmas we take all of this to a higher level and convince ourselves we’re wonderful people because of it!

Well fuck that.

Meri kirihimete from Shaun and Andy. See you at the Boxing Day sales.

*As a footnote, it is really shit when Americans don't realise their Office is an inferior version of the British original. If you're one of those people, you're a cock.

Christmas Part II

One of the major problems with Christmas is the need to give presents.

For a start, you might need to shop for these bundles of stress at a mall. It’s pretty obvious that malls are horrible all year round but Christmas takes every mall annoyance to a heightened level of shit. For a start, you might need to find a park. Fuck that. Do I really want to manoeuvre my vehicle in between three SUV’s that have never seen dirt and probably can’t handle the gentle turning arc required to get into the spot they’re all jockeying for? Doubt it - especially when my vehicle is a push bike.

Then, if I’ve survived the war zone that is the mall parking lot, I go inside the complex. What is this, a prison? They’re invariably playing Christmas music. We’ve already covered the problems with that. There will invariably be a mall Santa. Well, I guess we haven’t lied to the kids enough yet. No doubt there will be a fucking department store with a fucking Christmas sale.

Under no circumstances should you approach this horrid specimen of “first world” living. The staff of high school students and high school drop outs will being getting thrashed by senior management who decided to launch a Christmas sale the store lacked the space, expertise, intelligence and maturity to handle, not to mention middle management who will be hell bent on whipping the poor bastards in the firing line into shape to deliver the “deliverables” or “key performance indicators” to senior management. Of course, the customers will have shit for brains and will form an angry mob disguised as a queue, press the button on the fish that sings ‘Grandma Got Run Over By the (Motherfucking) Reindeer’ and tell you stuff “must be free” when it doesn’t scan the first time and say helpful things like, “smile mate - it’s Christmas” when you look at them, clearly unable t comprehend just what exactly is so fucking funny. Make no mistake about it: working in a department store is like being caught in the ultimate pincer movement.

If you choose to ignore common sense and enter this lion’s den of awfulness and manage to avoid being literally trampled to death you may come away with a shitty gift that was made in a shitty country with shitty labour laws and shitty standards of manufacturing that your shitty child/partner/parent/cousin/boss/neighbour/friend/etc might pretend they like for five minutes before forgetting about or might have need of three times a decade.

More on this next week....

PS: Don’t forget to buy a Christmas tree. Not only will you be allergic to it but you’ll have to clean up the needles it sheds and contribute to global warming in the process. Trifecta!

Christmas Part I

They say this is the season to be jolly. Hardly. Everything about Christmas is shit and this is the first of a series of posts explaining why. We’ve been playing grinch all year - did you really think we were going to stop now? Of course not - I have years of pent up Christmas retail rage to vanquish.

Without further adieu, let’s tear down the wreaths, spit in the cakes and examine the first bane of my yuletide existence: Christmas carols.

Snoopy’s Christmas

Let me get this straight - Christmas resolved World War I?! The Great War?! The war to end all wars?! Hmmmm. What seems more likely to me is that once the sun rose on Boxing Day the opponents started trying to blow the shit out of each other again.

I shouldn’t be surprised people go for this nonsense. Snoopy’s Christmas embodies yet another series of Christmas related lies adults tell children. For a start, we’re celebrating the birth of a man who was born to a virgin and apparently turned water into wine after walking on it before dying and coming back to life. Hmmmm. We know all this for a fact cos it’s written down in a book with talking snakes and parting seas and God knows what else. Said book was written 2,000 years ago when said man was alive and somehow we've worked out his birthday was on December 25. Forget Obama, I want to see that birth certificate.

Then there’s the lie about Santa. What exactly are we teaching kids here? Nag your parents for shit you don’t need and probably don’t even want and somehow they’ll communicate your wishes to a fat guy in a stupid suit who lives at the North Pole but hangs out at every bloody shopping mall (more on those abominations later) and he’ll visit you and every other kid in the world in a 24 hour period in a flying sled powered by obliging reindeer and no one will see him doing this even though he’d have to go so fast as to create a sonic boom? Yep, sounds legit, right?

So I guess if you’re gonna believe all that you’ll swallow the idea that grown men trained and ordered to kill each other will stop once they hear Christmas bells and peace will break out and rainbows will appear and the sky will rain chocolate and honey will pour from the taps and the streets will turn to gold. Hate to burst your bubble but World War I did not end on December 25, 1914....

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Firstly, what the hell is “Mommy?” That’s not even a word. Secondly, if she’s supposed to be in loving a relationship with Daddy or Steve the plumber or your other Mommy, you’d better ask her why she’s such a tart. Maybe Santa’s not giving her a chance to say “no.” You should probably be a good kid and break it up. After all, Santa’s only here cos you’re greedy and demanding. He probably just wants something in return for giving up his precious time to visit the house of a spoilt little shit.

Of course, if Mommy isn’t involved with anyone else she can do what she wants. Probably shouldn’t go too far with you watching though. Regardless, as we established above, Santa Claus is NOT coming to town.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Most times I hear this monstrosity I’m in a ghastly shopping mall (there's a tautology) and it’s blaring from the store speakers. As this post and the ones that will follow will show, the writers of this “song” could quite reasonably be sued for subterfuge.

Winter Wonderland

It’s not winter. It’s summer and as we’ve established, you can barely tell from the weather. Still, what is wondrous about winter? We’ve already established that snow is shit. Winter is cold and miserable. Advocates of Christmas need to stop lying.

Silent Night

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Wake me up when it's over....

Jokes I Never Want to Hear Again

1. That’s what she said.

2. Your Mum....

3. Must be free then. (Heard from old people in stores when something doesn’t scan. More on shopping another time....)

4. Any Amy Winehouse joke involving the word, “rehab.”

5. Your Arnold Schwarzenegger impression.

6. Any Scribe joke involving the words, “not many, if any.”

7. Any joke trading on tired gender cliches, e.g.: women can’t drive, men don’t listen, etc.

8. So’s your face. (Scrubs looks pretty tired now, huh? It’s the Friends of the 00’s - funny and sexy in its day but incredibly dated a decade on. Now we’ve got Two and a Half Men. We’d blog about that but it would be easier to tear strips off than an Adidas rugby jersey. It’s below us.)

9. Nek minute.

10. Flight of the Conchords. I was sick of the references to "business socks" halfway through 2008. Why do you insist on ruining (a) FOTC and (b) my impression of you by pushing the same lines? Look, Bret and Jemaine aren't completely shit. All credit to them for success. Let's give some context though. North Americans, would they be as funny if they weren't from New Zealand? Kiwis, would they be as funny if America hadn't told you it was OK to like them? Are their lines really so great that they're still funny even though 2012 is fast approaching? Is Bret McKenzie's Muppets' theme not a piss-poor excuse for a song?

11. Any reference to Spinal Tap. Don’t tell me about turning things up to 11. That was funny when I was 16. A decade later, not so much. The fact that we’re the same age and you still find it funny says one of two things:

(a) when I was a teenager I had the sense of humour of someone in their mid-twenties; or

(b) in your mid-twenties, you have the sense of humour of a teenager.

Me and Shauny don’t like ambiguity so we’ll spell it out for you. You haven’t developed.

Dear readers, is there anything we've missed?

Getting a Haircut

I’ll qualify this statement first. Getting haircuts in Korea was actually quite pleasant. Sure, the staff at the salon would jockey to try and avoid cutting my hair cos they figured that I wouldn’t speak any Korean and that would make it awkward but eventually the poor unfortunate would be chosen and they’d get the job done. They were always efficient and accurate and they could follow my simple instruction: “베컴 머리를 주세요.” I don’t care what shitty Google translate tells you, that basically means, “please give me Beckham hair” (referring to the iconic faux-hawk) and that is what they’d do. We’d make small talk in Korean (read: I’d do my best to practice/flirt) and I’d get a great haircut from a pretty woman for a laughably cheap price.

All of this begs the question, why is getting my haircut in New Zealand so damn unpleasant? Let’s start with the store atmosphere. Why the fuck are you playing Gin Wigmore? Why are The Cardinals (her backing band) such suckers for punishment? I thought working with Ryan bloody Adams would be insufferable enough. Wah wah wah, New York street corners, roses, drugs, girls I used to know, girls called Rose I used to know, Mandy freaking Moore, wah wah wah. That’s Ryan but at least when he got it right (note the past tense) he was world class. What the fuck does Gin fucking Wigmore offer? My ears aren’t cheese so there’s no reason to be so grating. At least in Korea the music was excruciating in a language I couldn't understand.

Then again, I should’ve known the interior would be as tasteless as the sign on your exterior. Why is it hairdressers cannot resist pigeonholing themselves with vocational puns in the names of their stores? Here are some excruciating examples:

-Hair's to you!

-Hairport Salon

-Headquarters

-Getting Ahead

-British Hairways

-Shear Excitement

-Fringe Benefits

-Comb One Comb All

-Locks of Fun

-Mane Man

-Julius Scissor

-Barber Blacksheep

-The Brady Scrunch

-Curl Up and Dye

Really, the first cut is the cheapest? Shoot me now.

Secondly, my aforementioned faux hawk is a pretty straightforward style. Beckham had one which meant half of the All Blacks had one which means every male in New Zealand has had one or thought about having one. Every hairdresser in the country must have styled one before so how come when I ask for “short on the sides, a bit longer on top and at the back” I get a blank stare? Why do you want to know what setting the razor should be on and what style of scissor technique to use? Why can’t I just say “make my hair 8 weeks shorter than it is now? Why can’t you understand that I want it as short as you can possibly get it with some semblance of my preferred style so as to maximise the time between insufferable haircuts?

Thirdly, must we talk to each other? You’ve already suggested you have nothing to offer by playing Gin fucking Wigmore in your establishment which should never have been called 'Hair, Thair and Everywair.' All conversing with me will do is prove it. I don’t want to make small talk about my studies. “Oh political science, do you want to be a politician?” No. None of us do, at least in the foreseeable future. I don’t want to talk about Christchurch. My family are fine, thank you very much for asking, but I swear to God, if you ask me which school I went to I’ll stab you in the cock with your own scissors. I also don’t want to talk about the rugby. No one ever talks about rugby, they just recycle a string of meaningless cliches and newspaper headlines. Do us both a favour and forget the small talk.

Look, hairdressers, I know you’re removing an unsightly growth from my head but this isn’t brain surgery. It really shouldn’t be this hard. I want a hairCUT, not a re-style, not a perm, not a colouring, not a treatment, not dreads, not scalp waxing, not a word shaved into my head, not a head massage and not a million bloody questions on how to do your job. Give me a shorter version of what I’ve got. Sheesh, imagine what I’d say if I actually received a bad haircut....

So what do you think? Is going to hairdresser more stressful than it should be and is this entirely their fault?

Movember.

Let's get something straight from the outset: at this blog we are firmly against cancer in all its forms. Really.

Furthermore, it is laudable that some gentlemen take it on themselves to raise money and awareness of prostate cancer. But must it be for a WHOLE month? Must it be done SO obnoxiously? Must it be used as a sneaky excuse for those who cannot grow or wear a decent beard (ourselves included) to commit crimes of facial dis-organisation? Must it be used by consummate normtroopers as a chance to think they're wild when they're not?

NO! ENOUGH! If you care about mens' health, that's great. Just give the damn money directly!

And for the love of Zeus, spare us the sight of your bumfluff bleeding to death on your face.


Photo credit: Mike Halvorsen.

People who think they're all whack and shit for doing thoroughly normal things that heaps of other people do.

You fall into this category if you think you're totally-off-the-wall-Charlie-Sheen-earlier-in-2011-bat-shit-crazy for...

• wearing a costume at a costume party, an event in which everyone else wears a costume.
• playing the ukulele, an instrument whose rise in popularity is so meteoric that every shithead in New Zealand has one and thinks they're in Fly My Pretties.
• smoking flavoured tobacco through some unusual contraption.
• getting sunburned.
• being white and walking through a brown neighbourhood.
• riding the Trans-Siberian.
• watching back-to-back TED talks for 7 hours.
• dancing for a long time at a bar.
• going anywhere in Africa.
• exchanging a message with a celebrity on Twitter. When Ross Taylor says, “cheers” after you send him a “happy birthday” tweet you’re still not his best mate.
• this just in...growing a beard during Movember! Wear one all the time you sissy!
  

Any other suggestions?