Jewish Christmas, Bitches!

Yes, I know I’m not Jewish.  Despite my curly brown hair, prominent nose, and Hebrew name, I’m actually about as WASPy as you can get, madras and pastels included.  I am regularly mistaken for Jewish by the local Hillel on campus, but my Presbyterian family has been in America for centuries.  To be honest, though, I did work at a Jewish camp once.  My nickname was Cohen because the girls thought I looked like Adam Brody from The OC.  I took it as a compliment since everyone knows The OC is one of the best shows to ever exist.

All that aside, I have always kind of hated Christmas.  Part of it is probably because I have parents who really, really suck at the whole concepts of “gifts.”  Part of it is because I always found it to be so insincere, and never really understood why you were supposed to be nicer for one month out of the year.  Why couldn’t you just be a good person all year long?  Why the sudden emphasis on December?  My juvenile brain couldn’t wrap around the concept, and I’m not sure my adult brain can now, either.  Short of asinine parents trying to force some good behavior out of their monstrous beasts of children, there’s nothing else I can come up with for this bullshit “holiday season cheer.”

To be sure, the music certainly didn’t help.  I never really liked Christmas music, save for a handful of classics, like “Santa Baby” (the Eartha Kitt version, natch) or Jack Johnson’s version of “Rudolph” where he lambasted the other reindeer for being such pricks.  Then came senior year of college.  Senior year of college was the real downfall of any kind of respect for Christmas music.  I worked at a store that sold paraphernalia for my school – hoodies, t shirts, shorts, golf shirts, postcards, shot glasses, jewelry, ties, et cetera.  From Thanksgiving through Winter break, we had to listen to that most unholy of things – the nonstop Christmas music radio station.  For nine straight hours (the length of our shifts), we listened to only Christmas music.  And let’s get one thing straight – there are only about 15 or 20 songs that these stations use, and they just rotate the versions of each.  If I have to the listen to “The Little Drummer Boy” or that horrid song about the boy buying his dying mother shoes so she can meet Jesus, I will rip someone’s head off.

No. Joke.

Then there’s the absurd clothing. Trust me, I am all for a tacky Christmas sweater party.  It’s horribly cliche and completely overused, but it’s funny and you can always make it competitive.  For Christ’s sake, my fraternity has Christmas colors, so when I was social chair, I rocked that out.  We teamed up with a sorority with similar colors and I established an annual “Christmas in April” mixer – these parties are a hell of a lot more fun when you’re wearing shorts and getting blitzed.  But I recently headed to a house party with some friends from my cohort, and these people were wearing lit antlers, Santa sweaters, and reindeer silk pajamas without a hint of irony.  Chuck Bass being my fashion idol, I went casual with a yellow Oxford and some navy chinos.  People legitimately held it against me that I didn’t dress like an absolute moron for this party, and I was shocked and appalled by my friends and colleagues being dressed like 60-year-old women.  It is never, ever okay for you to wear something with jingle bells.  This is just a cold hard fact, people.

So, for the past three years running, I have retired to my friend’s country farmhouse, built in the 1850’s, for Chinese and Indian food.  Kate and I would avoid the world, hang out with her family for the requisite time, then gorge on pan-Asian cuisine while we watched truly awful movies.  Since I’m stuck on campus this year, the charm of rural Virginia and the biting sarcasm of Kate will have to wait, but it doesn’t mean I can’t order some General Tso’s and watch the most awesomely bad movies possible.  I’m thinking I’ll start off with The Perfect Score.

Love it - how can you not?