Advent of Angst #1: Secular Santa

advent - The liturgical period preceding Christmas, beginning in Western churches on the fourth Sunday before Christmas and in Eastern churches in mid-November, and observed by many Christians as a season of prayer, fasting, and penitence.

angst - A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.

Let me tell you the story of a Greek guy named Nicholas. Our story actually begins in Turkey, where Nick was residing. The story goes that there was a poor man with three daughters who couldn't afford a dowry for them, meaning they would remain unmarried and probably have to become prostitutes. Hearing of this poor man's plight, he secretly threw three purses filled with gold coins in through the window.

It wasn't long before he was discovered by some of his friends, who encouraged him to spread the wealth to other countries. So he made the trek from Turkey to Germany, to share kind, Christian giving to the pagans. However, almost immediately, there were similarities drawn between Sinterklaas and the Germanic god Odin. For example, Odin rode the sky atop his grey horse, Sleipnir; Herr Klaus rode the rooftops on his white horse, Amerigo.

(not pictured; Santa)

It was also about this time that Herr Klaus hired a tribe of pygmies to work for him, but the Germans associated that with Odin's black ravens. In an attempt to discourage the worship of Odin, he introduced "Das Christkind," a cherubic child with blond hair and angelic wings, intended to refer to the baby Jesus. In an ironic twist, "Christkindl" would later be bastardized into "Kris Kringle," yet another name for St. Nick.

After spending a few years in Germanic countries, his friends decided to make the journey to America. However, at first, puritanical America was less than receptive to this pagan glory-hound. But Nick had friends that knew the only way to get through to Americans; commercialism! He was sponsored by the Coca-Cola Company, who adorned him in the classic Coke red and white. Macy's gave children the opportunity to meet him as their parents were out shopping. Throughout the years, he has also done advertising for cell phones, credit cards, even Coke's competitor, Pepsi.

But Santa Claus grew tired of the spotlight and took up residence in "the North Pole," or more likely, the cold, desolate Yukon. Today, old St. Nick lives as a recluse 10.5 months out of the year. He is a bitter, depressed shadow of his old self. He has diabetes from years of reckless cookie-binging. He has liver problems from years of spiked eggnog. And he is on his fourth unsuccessful marriage, due to narcissism and mild bipolarity. Most days are spent in front of his fireplace, longing for the time he had as a "Secret Santa" in Turkey.

(Santa and his third wife during happier times)

Shut Up and Eat, Charlie Brown!

Thanksgiving is finally upon us, and you know what that means, don't you? (If you said "Christmas," go ahead and slap yourself.) It means it's time, once again, for the festive gorging on turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, and enough gravy to choke a camel (in fact, I intend to - by "camel," I mean me).

Nobody does gluttony quite like America. Ancient Greece may have come close, but America takes that number one spot (just like everything else! suck it, Canada!*). Did you know (and this is a true story) that you can get a Whopper at Burger King starting at 8:00 a.m.? A burger for breakfast! And some of you out there are almost certainly asking yourselves who would want a burger that early in the morning? Well, I'll tell you who. The same people who get meatball subs with jalapeños. The same person who eats leftovers for breakfast. In short, me. And why not? People eat breakfast foods at all times during the day, and nobody says that's weird. But you eat the leftover Chinese food from the night before sandwiched between two pieces of bread, and suddenly you're crazy.

But that's just the tip of the iceberg. Because we've now officially entered "the holiday season." The holiday season is a period of time starting from the Thanksgiving weekend to the New Year. And to quote Lewis Black, "Let's face it, Americans are fat all year round, but the holidays are when we really hit our stride. And you can bet the food we eat will be just as unhealthy as the families we're forced to visit." This is the time of year we can let ourselves go and "blame it on the holidays." But that's crap, and I know it's crap, because Americans can always find a reason to eat. Let's start with "the holiday season";

(oh, the things Americans will do to get pie treats)

Thanksgiving - turkey, potatoes, pies, and in case you don't want to eat your words, you may want to bite your tongue.

Christmas - candy canes, sugar cookies, gingerbread houses (or the easier, more economical graham cracker houses), sugarplums (or so I've been led to believe)

New Year's Eve - assorted fatty foods, junk foods, and also healthy foods such as a relish tray that doesn't seem to get eaten

But it doesn't stop there...

Valentine's Day - candy hearts, heart-shaped chocolates, chocolates that come in a heart-shaped package

St. Patrick's Day - Look, I'm not gonna lie; I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I actually go out of my way to not wear green. I don't have a drop of Irish blood in me. I come from Anglo-Nordic stock. Honestly, my family could use a little color. That's why I need to find me an Indian chick (the most beautiful women in the world). But I digress. So, I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day. But who doesn't enjoy drinking and corned beef and cabbage?

Easter - nothing says "Jesus" quite like brightly colored eggs and jelly beans

Cinco de Mayo - I don't actively celebrate the Mexican army's victory over the French, but you better believe I enjoy Mexican food. The more authentic, the better. Sorry, Taco Time.

Summer Vacation - barbecues, cookouts, camping trips (I hate camping, but I love a good bonfire, and if you have hot dogs, marshmallows, and Starburst to roast, even better)

Fourth of July - 'Merica! On this one day alone, as many as 155 million hot dogs will be downed, not to mention cakes, pies, root beer, and whatever Chinese gun powder you may inhale.

Peach Days - Okay, so this is a Brigham City thing. But peach cobbler is made en masse and eaten just as readily, along with the various carnival/specialty foods served at various booths.

Halloween - Candy. Candy. Candy. Vomit. Repeat.

And just when the sugar rush dies down...

You're back to Thanksgiving. It's American excess and gluttony, Charlie Brown! Now shut up and eat!

* (I'm kidding, Canada. You know I love you.)

A Post to be Thankful for

Thanksgiving is coming! A time of gluttony, designated airing of grievances, and awkward family conversation. A day celebrated in commemoration of the Pilgrims' land at Plymouth Rock and the feast they had with the Wampanoag indian tribe. But little did you know...

Look, it's pretty much roundly-accepted that the "Pilgrims" were a group of puritanical Separatists that traveled to America to escape persecution. Well, did you know the only reason the Pilgrims (oh, those rascally puritans!) stopped at Plymouth Rock is because they ran out of beer? They were actually originally planning to settle in what is now New York. Massachusetts was just an afterthought (take that, Red Sox!).

(Brian Wilson; the best thing to come out of New England since the Pilgrims)

Also, there is some debate as to the exact origins of the feast. But we know that they may or may not have actually had turkey. More likely, it was sea food (this is New England we're talking about) and assortment of wild fowl and venison. But I do believe this was where the first awkward Thanksgiving dinner conversation started. Kind of like a meal shared between two neighbors that don't really like each other. On their way home, the indians were probably snickering "Boy, can you believe we talked them into planting fish with their plants?" Meanwhile, the Pilgrims were probably laughing "Can you believe they accepted those smallpox-infected blankets we gave them?"

There is another rumor to be debunked. John Smith may or may not have been Pocahontas' lover. If they were, this would make John Smith a pervert; regardless of how the Disney movie makes it appear, John Smith was around 27 years old and Pocahontas was around 12 years old.

But there is still much for which to be grateful (it's proper English, but it does sound very "Yoda"). Through those brave, boozy puritans, we can now celebrate by gorging ourselves on turkey (which probably wasn't served at the first Thanksgiving) and pumpkin pie (which definitely wasn't served at the first Thanksgiving) and watching football (which should have been played at the first Thanksgiving; Patriots vs. Redskins). The Detroit Lions have played on Thanksgiving every year since 1934 (which is probably the only reason anybody living in Detroit has to be thankful). Not to be outdone, the Dallas Cowboys have played every year since 1966 (because they're kind of douche bags).

If football's not your thing, I recommend yet another of my movie gems; Thankskilling. Really, there's not much to explain. It's a ridiculous, low-budget horror-comedy about a foul-mouthed killer turkey (or is that fowl-mouthed? eh? eh?... I didn't think it was funny either) named Turkie. It's obscene, profane, and festering with over-the-top violence. Kudos to OPK bandmate and best hillbilly ever, Tony Sparrow, for showing this to me.

(yeah. this.)

Red Hot Platonic Love

SCENE: In an uncharacteristically bold move, and at the prompting some friends, I am at a club. Strobe lights, fog machines, thumping techno music, the lingering smell of Axe body spray - in short, if I had style, it would be severely cramped. Across the room, I see a fiery latin girl dancing sensually with some of her girl friends.

Me: (Holy balls! She's gorgeous! She's like if they spliced the genes of Shakira, Penelope Cruz, and Angelina Jolie into one perfect hybrid being!)

From across the room, I see a faux-hawked douchebag approach her with an appletini.

Me: (Oh, expletive. A bro. If I'm going to make a move, I better do it soon.)

As I walk towards the unattainable beauty, I first feel confident, then uncertain, then a little bit nauseous.

Me: (But wait! What am I supposed to say? What am I going to possibly going to talk about?)

I draw nearer. I slow myself.

Me: (Okay, man. You can do this. Well, maybe you can't, but you've never done this before, so you'd better start some time.)

I walk at a geriatric pace.

Me: (What am I going to say? I'm a 24-year-old nobody who lives with his parents. Maybe I should just lie. I'll tell her I'm in a band. It's sort of a Jonas Brothers-meets-Menudo pop rock band. It's called Suicide Abortion.)

I stop.

Me: (Suicide Abortion? Are you sure she's going to know you're being cute and ironic? You can't get too far being subtle these days. So what do I say? Hey, wink wink. I'd like to, wink wink, get intimate with you. Ugh, that's no good, either.)

As I stand contemplating, I catch her eye. She smiles.

Me: (Oh, my. I can taste that look. It tastes like Hawaiian Punch. Even her looks are sweet. Okay, Brent. Don't fear the reaper. Here goes nothing.)

I approach her.

Hot Chick: "Hi..."

Me: "Uh..."

I promptly walk away and out of the club.

Me: (Whatever. She wasn't going to like me anyway.)

With that, I walk to the nearest Subway and take solace in a meatball sub, sobbing softly as big, salty tears garnish my sandwich. I'm bound to be a virgin forever.

That's not actually a true story, per se, but it is uncomfortably true-to-life. It's not easy to connect with people when you don't like people. However, in the lack of a romantic life, I have pursued another form of interpersonal relationship;

Bromance.

For those of you who may not know, bromance is a "close but non-sexual relationship between two or more men." There are no overt homosocial practices involved in this type of relationship (although there may be certain Freudian psychology beneath the surface in some cases). Rest assured, it is a normal, healthy relationship shared between close male friends. Han Solo and Chewbacca. The Dude and Walter Sobchak. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie. Wait, not that last one. In any case, there are things to take into consideration.

First, pertaining to the bromance itself. Bromantic love cannot be shared between just anybody. Think; if someone is romantically linked to numerous people, said person is thought to be a whore. As such with romance, it is with bromance. Be careful in choosing your compadre (the English "companion" seems too formal, and frankly inappropriate).

Next, man-crushes. Not be confused with typical, sexual attraction, a man-crush is a heterosexual (or at least asexual) infatuation with another man. I myself have a not-so-secret man-crush on the Giants' closing pitcher Brian Wilson. Every man is allowed at least three. I would argue that every guy should have at least one, but no more than three. Then it just seems a bit awkward.

Finally, man-dates. There is proper etiquette on man-dates, just as there are with normal dates. Where in dates one party (usually the male, but I'm not so closed-minded to rule out feminists and gays) pays the tab for the other party, in man-dates, one should not pay for the other unless a tab is being kept or if it's a birthday or a bachelor party or otherwise celebrating.

On man-dates, one can be too courteous. Opening doors, pushing in seats, holding hands - these are all inappropriate man-date behavior. I mean no offense to my gay friends, but we're discussing man-dates. There reaches a point where it stops being a man-date and becomes a date-date. Bromance and romance ought to be kept separate. It would be like if your wife/girlfriend was also your drinking buddy. It's just weird. In short, if your man-date ends in sexual arousal, you're doing it wrong.

(G.I. Joe; they're doing it wrong)

The last thing to remember is that these things can't be forced. Forced romance is called sexual assault. Forced bromance is called "that idiot who's trying way too hard to be accepted." Don't worry, though. Unless you're a serial murderer or Dane Cook, bromance will find its way to you.

Until next time, keep on lovin', loverboy!