Saturday, December 26, 2020

Someone's Having a Bad Christmas

Today is Boxing Day, a day traditionally occupied by giving small presents to the neighbors and public servants (such as letter carriers), after the big family celebration on Christmas Day is over.  I made sure I gave out presents to the neighbors on Christmas Eve, preparatory to submerging into a weekend of work.  It's also the Feast of St Stephen, the first Christian martyr, which in my neighborhood, with its many Irish immigrants, is a big pub day.  I have to be at work at midnight, but in a normal year, I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to meet with friends for a hot toddy before having to get ready to go in.  This year, that's just not an option... maybe tomorrow would be a good whisky day.  I do plan, though, on making some 'virgin' eggnog tonight on the job to see what the fuss is about (I can spike the leftovers tomorrow when I get home).

It's been a 'blah' Christmas, pretty much spent hunkered and bunkered at home or at work, but I've heard from family and friends, so I can't complain.  Via Tengrain, though, we learn that Vulgarmort has spent this festive season complaining about being a loser.  Even with his large family and his vaunted, flaunted wealth, the guy is miserable.  He has a teenage son and a passel of grandkids, one would think he'd put down his goddamn phone and live for once.  I'm glad he's in a blue funk, though, because through his incompetence and venality, millions of Americans have had their Christmases (and Hanukkahs, and Diwalis, and Thanksgivings, and... you get the picture) ruined.  He's even worst than Scrooge, old Ebeneezer only immiserated a handful of people, and had a redemption arc at the end.

I sure hope he spends the rest of the year simmering... like a pot of water made fragrant with the addition of cinnamon and clove, ready to be added to a small glass of whisky with lemon and honey.  I hope his digestion is off all week, maybe from a bit of underdone potato.  I don't foresee a redemption narrative for the guy, no Scrooge or Grinch he, so his running chronicle of angst all week has been balm for me... since Weihnachtsfreude is in short supply this year, I'll settle for Schadenfreude.


Richard said...

We had a nice Boxing Day here. It is aways nice when we survive another relentless "christmas". I talked with some neighbors we put on nice clothes and said hello from a distance. It was nice to see my neighbors.

The New York Crank said...

>> I don't foresee a redemption narrative for the guy...<

Well, of course not. The story of Donald Trump is less like A Christmas Carol and more like Rumplestiltskin. Trump will not suddenly see the light and in a sudden fit of good cheer and human kindness send out for a roasted Christmas goose. More likely, he will stamp his foot in a rage — so hard that he makes a hole in the earth, falls into it and is never seen again, outside of Mar a Lago.

Yours crankily,
The New York Crank

Richard said...

New York Crank.
Make it so, my friend. That was a good rant.

Ali Redford said...

Mmm. Eggnog.