You may be wondering why I’m blogging about Christmas decorations four days after said holiday. You know what… be quiet, I do what I want and this topic grinds all of the gears. ‘Tis the season for curmudgeonly whiners, and I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of Christmas tackiness. I’m humming all of the bugs.
In other, more coherent terms, prepare for a rant.
Tell me dear reader, have you removed your tacky Christmas decorations? Redundancy, sorry, have you removed your Christmas decorations? Because my neighbors have not, and I’m hoping they read my blog and take it to heart. And by “take it to heart,” I mean pilot a bulldozer into their inflatable snowman militia.
To be clear, those pictures are from Google images. I have not stooped to taking actual photos of my neighbors for the sole purpose of lambasting them online. But that’s me being nice. I’m not done humming.
I guess I’m okay with lights (if they meet my strict criteria). However, I cannot bear the Christmas seizure displays accompanied by holiday dubstep. If it takes more than an hour to set up, it’s probably a little bit too much. If it rivals German nightclubs in both brightness and decibels, you’ve committed a crime.
If anything moves, crime. If anything talks, crime. If anything invites audience participation, crime.
Which brings me to yard inflatables. Do I even need to discuss yard inflatables? Even one is too much (unless you trundle to Wal-mart clad in your Snuggie), but the “people” who collect them? How do you get to the point in your life where you need another motorcycle-riding inflatable Santa Claus? Or a fully-operational inflatable mechanical dancing abomination/snowglobe? Or whatever the hell this is?
Bathtub Santa costs $130 through Amazon. For that price, I could buy so many other things… like five Christmas alligators through the one-stop holiday inflatable superstore, Home Depot. Feel free to browse through those links, if you don’t value human dignity.
I could go on, but I’m afraid I’ll never stop. I just hate these things so much. And all December, I’ve been pondering the best way to defend overabundant Christmas decorative stupidity.
All my answers are as hollow as the bathing Santa Claus… some as creepy as the reindeer who watches him.
At first, I had hoped it didn’t need to be done. Maybe I’m just grumpy. Maybe this isn’t really a societal problem I need to comment on. But… look at that first house and tell me it doesn’t need a defense. Either that, or a couple of hydrogen bombs. Alas, I got my degree in writing, not science-y explode-y stuff. Probably for the best, because that house doesn’t need any more light erupting from it. And the deeper I got into holiday inflatable catalogues, the more I wanted to kick a box of grenades.
But what other holiday inspires this much fervor? Do you see yardfulls of Columbus Day inflatables, or Labor Day light displays? What other holiday inspires people to abandon all notions of taste and decency in pursuit of brotherhood and camaraderie?
That line of thinking didn’t go well. But I have a backup plan.
So we all have quirks, right? Sometimes that means tackiness. The world would be a lot less interesting if people weren’t willing to be tacky. I’ve written about Honey Boo Boo and the Jersey Shore, so I can understand tackiness. However, unlike those reality show money-grubbers, decorative abundancers do it out of sheer joy. And, even though I’m an admitted bug hummer, I must force myself to look at sheer joy and say… sure.
I cannot hate people for being too happy. I may want to light their lawns on fire, but that’s beside the point. They truly love a holiday, and want to celebrate with every ounce of their being. I will laugh at them, and therein also gain some enjoyment. Everyone ends up slightly happier, so I guess it’s a good thing overall. Those Christmas decorations are good for the universe. Somehow.
But don’t even get me started on the “ugly Christmas sweater” fad… sorry, “Christmas sweater” fad. Damn redundancies…