Cheap Thrills

This year, more than ever, all the best Christmas stories, even the funny ones, are sad. Makes me wonder if it's the "observed," or the "observer." Yesterday, I went to Mass with my mother and sister, it seemed like the right thing to do, but when we got there, the church was overflowing, there was a children's chorus, and a nativity scene was being performed. The overly-enthusiastic Filipino priest brought in a little plastic baby in swaddling clothes and as he trailed the procession of wise men and barnyard animals, he held it high over his head for the adoring crowd to see. Talk about cheap theatrics. Where's the spinning pie tins when you need them?

I ended up bolting out of there. Not really in disgust, more of a bored impatience...I wondered if maybe all this love and attention being heaped upon some distant, mythological holy kid was instead spread around a little to each and every one of us, we could all make the world a little better place. Maybe a little less divine love, and a little more human love is in order? Anyway, I walked home alone, feeling a little less than groovy, kicking down the cobblestones, except of course there were no cobblestones to kick. Merry Christmas.