Monday, December 03, 2007

Hanukkah starts Tuesday night, so we don’t have to wait all of December. And we get eight crazy nights, not to mention Adam Sandler’s Who’s Jew list and Kenny Ellis bebopping Twas the Night Before Hanukkah. So who needs one eve of Xmas gift-giving and an eternity of Der Bingle’s crooning?

Don’t get me wrong. I love Yuletime traditions. Mistletoe as nature’s mandatory make-out session. Eggnog spiked with napalm. Tiny Tim finding Zuzu’s petals after shooting the Heat Miser with an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

So it surprises me when people wonder if I get jealous of Christmas rituals, such as tree-trimming or decorating the house with lights and Inflatable Snowmen. No can do, Cindy Lou Who. I’d rather gaze at the goyim’s garishness than feel obliged to embellish my own area. I’ve heard the pagan case for a fir in my flat, but a Hanukkah Bush sounds too much like Dubya demanding Ari Fleischer debriefing him on dreidels.

And even though we now have a chimney doesn’t mean I’m inviting St. Nick to stop by. I didn’t spend all weekend splitting wood to burn in our fireplace to let some fat bastard commit B&E and steal my milk and Mallomars.

But I gotta admit, my newest obsession is the Advent Calendar. I like their cute compartments containing a little candy to count down ‘til Christmas. It’s kinda like my grandma’s month-long pillbox, but instead of keeping track of arthritis medication and psoriasis pills, each day you get a dose of dark chocolate. Brilliant. They should tie these into Halloween -- any leftover Trick or Treat treats can be siphoned out to savor the rest of the year. Of course, I’d be more like Billy Bob Thornton in Bad Santa and scarf the whole thing down on day one…

…if I had an Advent Calendar. But it’s too Christmassy. When my fiancé saw me eyeballing them in stores, she offered to get me one, but I declined. If I start a confection celebration for 25 days, next thing you know I’m stuffing stockings instead of stuffing my face with latkes, going to Midnight Mass instead of lighting the menorah and before you can say "Kathy Lee Gifford" my foreskin grows back.

But when Adelphia bought me these (click here for a bigger view), I couldn’t resist. I don't gotta feel guilty about going goyisha if I get eight days of gelt, right?

Happy Holidays.


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