There’s no denying that, this year, my pre-christmas Scrooginess approaches Grinchlike levels. I fear that not even watching the Blackadder christmas-special will help to raise my spirit. Since you apparently shouldn’t sweat the small stuff, here’s a final thing I can’t freaking stand about christmas. As for the rest? Well, it can go stuff itself.
The final thing I’d like to rant about is, of course, the Meaning of Christmas. According to some stuffy old book our Lord and Saviour was born some two-thousand years ago, and in a fine PR-campaign from the Catholic Church it was decided that this joyous event should be commemorated every year on the 25th of December. But there is no compelling evidence for this story whatsoever, and anyone who objectively looks at the way christmas is celebrated nowadays has to see that it doesn’t have a lot to do with that story. The tree, the fat guy from the North Pole with the presents, the lights, the time of year, the feasts and even the virgin birth are all derived from pre-Christian traditions.
Okay, so there are people who insist that there’s a war on christmas and who think that there’s still a lot of Christ to be taken out of christmas, and for them it might have a religious meaning first and foremost. And that’s fine. They may think that, but they’re wrong. There is no war on christmas and there are probably no gods.
I would argue that for the majority christmas might as well be a celebration of the birth of Santa Claus. It’s a holiday to be miserable with your friends and/or family. That’s all there is to it.