The Road to Kentucky Part II

Five weeks after leaving Chicago, the “H” appeared to me like a beacon of hope in an uncertain land. The Hilton Gardens Inn, Bowling Green. I had arrived. As exciting as the adventure had been, it was nice to finally arrive at my destination and I looked forward to settling in with a nice meal and a whisky sour, which for some reason I had a taste for (perhaps it was the many signs for distilleries that I saw on the way). Parking the car I ventured into the lobby of the hotel where a pleasant woman behind a pleasant desk pleasantly told me that she couldn’t find a reservation for me. Just my luck, I left the confirmation e-mail in the car, so venturing back out to get it I ventured back into the hotel and was told, pleasantly, that I’d actually ventured into the Bowling Green Holiday Inn which, interestingly enough is right across the street from my destination du jour, The Hilton Gardens Inn. So exited was I by the beaconistic H on the sign, that I didn’t actually read the name of the hotel beneath it. “Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

Bundling my luggage back into the car, I pulled out of the Holiday inn lot and pulled into the Hilton lot and found a similarly pleasant lady behind a similarly pleasant desk who thankfully had a reservation for me. It’s been about two decades since I’ve stayed in a hotel. Friends and I used to stay over regularly at hotels when attending Beatlefest (which is what it used to be called) or one of the many science fiction conventions we used to attend. I suspect that, living with our parents during the 80s, the main reason my friends and I stayed over at these conventions, was because we were living with our parents at the time. Given a choice between spending Thanksgiving watching mom and dad fight between courses of Cold Duck or hanging out with geeks at a convention, the con won hands down every time.

I forgot how much I love the hotel experience. The crisp sheets, the 50 towels in the bathroom, the joy of room service. I went for a walk around the area, went to the bar and ordered my whisky sour, went back to the room and ordered room service which was brought to the room by the bartender (not a huge surprise since the restaurant area and bar was about the size of a small bedroom and wasn’t exactly packed at that moment.

I’m guessing Bowling Green is a great little burg to visit with a vibrant historical district and quaint areas of interest. I’m guessing this because my schedule didn’t permit much of a gander round town. I got there around 5:30 p.m. Friday and wasn’t much in the mood for more driving, so I hung out at the hotel, which was fine, me loving the hotel experience as I do. The next day, I was expected to get to the bookfest about 8:30 a.m. for check in so of course I got there at 10. This wasn’t necessarily my fault. While I’m guessing Bowling Green is vibrant historical and quaint areas of interest, the area I was staying looked more like a farm town. I was given directions to the convention center and left early Saturday morning, but I didn’t count on the fact that the town had decided to double name their streets. Driving north, a right turn might take you down Love Ave., while a left turn on the other side would take you down Dilly Drive. So if you’re supposed to go left on Dilly Drive and you’re looking out for it on your right, you ain’t gonna see it. You will see Love Ave. which mirrors Dilly Drive and if you only realized that, you might realize that was the intersection to make the left turn on.

Long story short (and short drive long) a 10 minute drive took me 90 minutes before I located the convention center. Once inside and registered, it was a fun afternoon. I sold and signed some Vampires’ Most Wanted and even sold some Chicago’s Most Wanted. It was nice to see the latter still had some steam to it. There were some big names there like Carl Hiaasen and Heather Graham but they were kept in their own enclosure up front for fear they’d get lose and tear up the place. They can get very excitable in a crowd. Yeah, that’s right, you know who you are Hiaasen.

Sitting next to me was an author named Amy Clark who wrote the book Success in Hill Country based on the oral histories of eleven natives of the Appalachain Mountains who went onto success. You always worry who you’ll be squished next to at these sorts of events, but Amy was a pleasant neighbour and we actually had a lot of fun. Plus, she has a doctorate, so she’s a scholar with credentials as opposed to me who’s a scholar because “I said so, so shut up!”

Another person I met was positioned two doors down the row and roamed by the name of Bertena Varney. She wrote the book Lure of the Vampire: A Pop Culture Reference Book of Lists, Websites and "Very Telling Personal Essays" and I wish I would have met before Vampires’ Most Wanted was published since I think her book would have been very helpful in researching mine. An interesting book to check out. As experiences go, it was most definitely an enjoyable one that I wouldn’t hesitate to do again (now that I know the way) once my vampire series is printed. All that was left was the long drive home Sunday. I had a chance to arrange my schedule, I would have stayed over a day or so for some sightseeing, but that wasn’t to be. I considered stopping at the local mall:
But then I thought better of it. It was a long drive home and I wanted to make it before sundown (cause that’s when the zombies come out. It’s a proven fact). A thousand Enrights cried for every distillery marker I passed by on 65 North. Every DNA strand in my body cried for me to stop and take a tour, but I couldn’t. Though, as I drove, I swore with each marker I passed that somehow, I would find my way back down to Kentucky and inhale the angel’s portion (and drink like a fish) from the distilleries I was unable to visit that Sunday.
As always happens, the ride home seemed to go quicker than the ride down. I left the sweet mountains of Kentucky for the flatland and billboards of Indiana (though I was looking forward to seeing the windmills again. I love those things). There is something surreal about driving across two or three states. At some point I stopped at a yogurt store for a comfort break and a cup of frozen yogurt (in that order) and had to ask the sales clerk if I was in Kentucky or Indiana. From his response it seemed as though I was at the tail of Indiana. I still had a drive ahead of me but I was filled with courage having made the first part of the trek with nary an incident. I entered Indiana wondering if I was going to stop at Illinois or if I’d just keep on driving wherever the road took me. I chose for my ride back home the printed directions from Mapquest. I was still bitter about the little joke Rand McNally (you know, the map people) played on me. And actually, as I neared the Indiana and Illinois border I found the directions a little simpler. So bite me Rand McNally. I crossed through post-war Berlin and made it into Chicago $5 lighter.

I was of course disappointed that I had forgotten to accidentally take the 73 Exit that would take me to the Lion’s Den Adult Super Store in Indiana, then I remembered the many resources available to me on the Internet and felt better. Besides, all I could concentrate on when I hit the Dan Ryan expressway was my supreme frustration at having to go down to 55 mph after driving several hours at 70. Add to this the fact that apparently everyone had chosen that moment to go back home and we were lucky to make it up to 25 most of the time, and I was fairly crawling out of my skin. So yes, after weeks of worry and uncertaintity, I made to and back from Kentucky in one piece. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. I'll just have to remember that St. Louis/Louisville splits.

The Road to Kentucky Part I

Southern Kentucky Book Fest

Well, after a bit of a trip, I'm now ensconced in the Hilton Garden Inn, Bowling Green, KY and preparing for the Southern Kentucky Book Fest tomorrow. Okay, who am I kidding. I've never been prepared in my life. But I am looking forward to hanging at the fest and signing copies of Vampires' Most Wanted. I've brought my red pens. The trip from Chicago was about 6 or 7 hours (not counting the wrong turn on 70W (which apparently takes you back to Illinois). Damn you, Rand McNally! I do regret not having taken another day for fun. The itinerary is drive down Friday, fest Saturday, and drive back Sunday. i would have liked to do some sort of sightseeing. Plus, I forgot how much I enjoy the hotel experience.

Travel notes have been made and hopefully a proper post is forthcoming. Hopefully.

http://www.sokybookfest.org/Authors/E

The Queen's English

I have a friend in Australia who often decries the state of the Queen’s English. Americans in particular, he claims, have mongrelized it to heart-breaking proportions. Yes, that’s what tends to happen when cultures collide and America has been a thick stew of colliding cultures for centuries.

My friend’s attitude makes me laugh. The Queen’s English? What Queen is he referring to here and for that matter, what of the King? Does each monarch get to choose the grammatical rules?

There’s this romantic notion about this nebulous thing known as “The King’s/Queen’s English.” English has been one of the most mongrelized languages on the planet long before it made its way across the ocean to America. Even in its “birth” place or perhaps more accurately, its first place of evolution, there is a variety of ways it’s spoken. A trip from top to bottom of England could require the Universal Translator to sort out the varying accents and syntax.

That’s not to say that Americans haven’t played fast and loose with the language. It needs to be remembered that rather than going out to conquer the world, we had the world flocking to our shores bringing with it a whole load of languages. There was bound to be a bit of shuffling.

But I urge all those bemoaning the mangling of the Queen’s English by the American tongue to go have a sit down with Shakespeare and see how happy he would be with their use of the language he used so cleverly. What do you think Chaucer might say if his Canterbury Tales were translated to modern English?

Go a little further and talk to King Richard. Or back further still and have a conversation with a druid who’s watching the Romans putting up strip malls where his sheep used to graze. I’m guessing communication would have to be a combination of hand signs and stick figures drawn on the ground.

English never was nor will it ever be an original language. Kings and Queens might love to think it is and produce rules to try to keep it as such, but the fact is that it’s so stuffed with French, Germanic, Celtic, Roman and other influences that one would be hard pressed to find a word that actually originated in England. Just because the English can turn a phrase with a wildly attractive accent doesn’t mean that the words they’re using, and the way their used, haven’t been borrowed from a variety of other sources. The English just did a better job at staking claim to them.

A New Year with the Marx Brothers

Every year I try to ring-in the New Year with the Marx Brothers.  It’s a tradition I started decades ago when I was a kid.  WTTW, our public broadcasting station, would show old movies on New Year’s Eve/New Year’s and it was where I was first exposed to these classic movies.  I was bowled over by them.  The slapstick of Harpo, the absurdity of…well pretty much anything that came out of Chico’s mouth, and the irreverence of Groucho that would lead him to romance Mrs. Teasdale in one breath, while insulting her in the next. Actually they all possessed that sort of irreverence, they just channeled it differently.  They went through life unphased by societal conventions and from what I understand it was the same off screen as it was on.  But then they had led a bit of a free-for-all life by the time their movie careers hit.  The Marx Brothers had been knocking around vaudeville for a couple of decades and were actually in or near their 40s (except for Zeppo, the baby of the family, who was 28) when they made their first movie, “The Cocoanuts” (1929).  It was based on a Broadway musical in which they also appeared.  They hit the silver screen at just the right time.  Before the advent of talkies two years before, Harpo and his silent physical humor might have been fine, but the verbal humor of Chico and Groucho wouldn’t have translated as well.  Conversely, if they had hit it several years later, Chico and Groucho might have been okay, but Harpo’s sort of physical shtick was bowing to more dialogue driven films.

It was the perfect mix at the right time and the chemistry that got them through all those years on stage was evident on screen even though they played characters who normally didn’t know each other (though Chico and Harpo’s characters usually had a friendship).  The jabs Chico and Harpo aimed at other people seemed almost accidental (or provoked by the victim’s arrogance).  At some point during the plots, they would fall into the orbit of Groucho’s character and the three ultimately conspired somehow to do something that would cause someone in high society great consternation.  Groucho’s jabs at his unsuspecting targets seemed meaner and unprovoked, perhaps in keeping with the off-stage, curmudgeon-like character of the comedian himself.

The three of them together were a physical example of vocabulary evolution, from the silent communication of Harpo, to the barely understandable verbiage of Chico, to Groucho, who used words with the swiftness of a snake and the precision of a surgeon.  Interestingly, in real life, Groucho had designs on being a doctor but his fortunes were with his family in show business.  Still he was an avid reader and writer, from articles, to letters. to books and even a play. 

There was often a musical cadence to his dialogue in the films which perhaps is in keeping with the musical talents of the three brothers.  Harpo, of course, played the harp and was considered quite a virtuoso even playing in Moscow as a good will ambassador.  It’s oddly appropriate that the devilish tramp he plays on film is able to sit behind a huge harp and produce such sweet melodies.  A focus overcomes him and suddenly nothing else exists but the man and his harp.

There wasn’t much of a transformation when Chico sat at the keys of a piano but that’s appropriate too.  His style of playing is raucous, rag time, the type of playing you’d find in a speak-easy, where you often found him both on and off screen and he carried that energy with him through life.  I once had a piano teacher tell me that the Chico Marx style of piano playing wasn’t the correct style of piano playing.  Who cares?  It was fun and it sounded great!  I don’t know if he could have played a Beethoven Sonata, but none of that mattered when he launched into a rousing rendition of one of the film’s main theme songs.  Later in life, he even toured with his own big-band.

Even Groucho got into the instrumental act when he played his version of “Everyone Says I Love You” from the film “Horse Feathers” on the guitar, an instrument he learned to play by ear (of the three, Chico was the only one who received lessons and he probably didn’t take those very seriously) and did quite a sturdy job of finger picking the song.

Their talent is particularly fascinating when you consider the fact that Chico was the only one to finish high school (and was probably absent more than present). The second oldest in the trio, Harpo, got through second grade while Groucho, the more academic of them, left before his 13^th birthday.  Life, apparently, was their teacher.

When lists of classic films are released, the film “Duck Soup” (1933) ranks high and I concur whole heartedly.  But also on the list are two Marx Brother films which in the MB filmography, tend to overshadow films that I think are much more deserving.

After the release of “Duck Soup” the brothers left Paramount and were convinced by Irving Thalberg to sign with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. At this point there was some talk that the group’s act might be over but Thalberg was able to revitalize their careers with two films, “A Night at the Opera” (1935) (ANATO) and “A Day at the Races” (1937) (ADATR).  These were two great films to be sure with some classic bits.  And Thalberg was perhaps intuitive when he believed that tempering the brothers’ mayhem with a substantial romantic subplot would play better to a movie-going public that had changed since “The Cocoanuts” had hit the screen.  It worked (though sadly Thalberg’s sudden death in 1936 left them without an advocate at the studio and their careers suffered for it).

One reason I find these two films weaker than their previous films is because, for me, romance doesn’t just temper them, it waters them down completely.  Thalberg made them sympathetic and thus more acceptable to an evolving movie audience, yet he also blunted the absurd wit that made them so different and fun to watch in the first place.  Not that I mind sympathetic characters, it's just that's not the strong suit of these guys.

The brothers’ first two films, “The Cocoanuts” and “Animal Crackers” (1930) were both based on Broadway musicals and also had romantic subplots with two rather banal lovers singing swooning tunes to each other.  Still, these subplots, though time stealers, were kept from burdening the film too much by the sheer crazed force of the brothers themselves.  The schmaltz was properly balanced (unlike with “ANATO” and “ADATR”).

I love these two movies and I enjoy “ANATO” and “ADATR” but I would have to say that for me, along with “Duck Soup” the best movies the Marx Brothers made are two that are often ignored or much lower on the list when the lists are compiled.   “Monkey Business” (1931) and “Horse Feathers” (1932).  These are the first two movies written specifically for the Marx Brothers (as opposed to being stage plays turned into a Marx Brothers movie).  And along with “Duck Soup” any romance in them (such as it is) involves a Marx Brother so the storyline moves more seamlessly.

Let’s talk Zeppo for a moment.  I’ve concentrated on the other three, but in the beginning of their film career they were billed as The Four Marx Brothers because, until they moved to MGM, Zeppo was a part of the films.  Zeppo had been tooling around vaudeville with his much older brothers, often filling in for them (he could imitate all of them) if they were unable to perform.  In the films he often played Groucho’s assistant (often his foil) and did a good job at it. 

Who knows why he didn’t develop a character as his brothers did?  Who knows if he truly even wanted to be in the act?  But “Monkey Business” suggests a perfect role for him to play to remain in the films:  That of romantic lead.  He was certainly handsome enough for it and given more material, a stronger screen presence may just have emerged.  In “Monkey Business”, he and his brothers play stow-aways aboard a cruise ship that also carries a gangster and his daughter coming back (presumably) to America.  Along the way, two of the brothers are tapped to work for one gangster while two are tapped to work for his enemy, also on the ship.  The end result is that none of the brothers do a heck of a lot of work for anyone.  While running away from ship’s security, Zeppo has a “meet-cute” with the gangster’s daughter and the two fall for each other.  The film culminates with the daughter being kidnapped by enemies of the gangster and the brothers going to free her, Zeppo the only one actually putting any effort into it as he dukes it out with a kidnapper.

In “Horse Feathers” he plays the son of Groucho’s college president character, who also happens to be romancing the college widow.  The romance is not quite so sweet in this one (especially since the college widow, as played by Thelma Todd, seems to be open to romancing anyone), and his role much smaller, but Zeppo again shows that he can at least hold his own in a movie if given more to work with.  I suspect that one reason he left the group was because by the time “Duck Soup” came about again, he was back to playing Groucho’s assistant, given minimal dialogue or business to do, and didn’t see much point in continuing on (he would go on to a career as a theatrical agent).

In “Duck Soup” the romance angle seemed to go instead to Groucho who spends a good portion of the film alternating between insulting Mrs. Teasdale and asking her to marry him.  It was a game he played in the first two, but not to such vigorous proportions as in “Duck Soup.”  This movie fully reveals the mastery Groucho had with a line.  It wasn’t just the way he said it, it was the tone of his voice and his body language.  It was completely natural.  He could turn on a dime, as when he asks Mrs. Teasdale for a lock of her hair, then tells her, “I’m letting you off easy.  I was going to ask for the whole wig.”  Or when, as the newly installed president of Freedonia, he asks Ambassador Trentino, “So how about paying us that $20 million you owe, skinflint.”  There’s no mugging for the camera, or wacky tone in his voice even though the ridiculousness of the leader of a country calling another country’s ambassador “skinflint” is clearly there.

As pure Marx Brothers movies, “Monkey Business,” “Horse Feathers” and “Duck Soup” let the brothers do what they did best, without having to stop the energy for drippy love-bird songs or forcing them to blunt the sharpness of their skills.  Aside from the obligatory Chico piano and Harpo harp solos, there are no musical numbers in “Monkey Business” (though there is a hilarious reoccurring dance number between Groucho and Thelma Todd); while “Horse Feathers,” aside from Groucho’s opening number as he takes over presidency of the school, has only one other song, “Everyone Says I Love You” sung (or played) to Thelma Todd by each brother in their own style.  The movie spends a good portion of its time taking swipes at the pomposity frequently found in higher education as Professor Wagstaff, a man who fought, finagled or possibly cheated his way into his title becomes the head of a college to the chagrin of the bearded and robed professors at his installation ceremony.  He then decides to focus his attention on helping the college win the football championship by taking his son’s advice (and smothering his ethics) and hiring professional players that he finds at a speak-easy.  His teaching style left much to be desired too.

Curiously, there are no Chico/piano, Harpo/harp performances in “Duck Soup” but the film does boast two fantastic musical numbers.  The popularity of “Duck Soup” re-emerged dramatically in the early 70s as those opposing the Vietnam War honed in on the film’s tight political satire on the absurdity of war.  The film was released several years before Germany invaded Poland (and we all know what that led to) but it seems to have been more inspired by the imperial weirdness that led to World War I.  The end number, “The Country’s Going to War” illustrates the crazed jingoism that shuts out reason and often leads to unwise police actions or straight out war.

It also precedes a brilliant scene where President Firefly takes part in the war started by his own over-sensitivity and stubbornness, which he has no idea how to fight or finish.  Previous Marx Brothers movies may have toyed with messages of class vs. class, but this was a full out message movie.

So as glad as I am that Thalberg was able to help the group with revitalizing its career, and as much as I love the first two movies they ever made, in my opinion, the last three movies they made for Paramount showcased their talents the best and were the finest of a very fine career.

Manning Up

It's time for us to retire the term "man up."  It's become a very popular phrase (along with the many versions of "grow a pair") and the more I hear it, the more the implications of it irritate me.

Perhaps I'm being too picky.  Perhaps the implications are so hidden that it doesn't matter.  The thing is, they're there.

What are the implications?  People usually use the term when they want a man to be brave and responsible.  "Grow a pair" is very much about gaining courage.  And yes, to act responsibly very often takes a great deal of bravery.  Which gender, however, has the pair to grow?  What this implies is that anyone who can't "man up" or "grow a pair" is unable to be brave and responsible.  Which means that such traits are the pervue of males alone.

Again, perhaps I'm being too picky.  But the implications are there and let's not forget it wasn't that long ago that women weren't allowed to vote because they "couldn't be trusted" to make wise decisions (or so men thought).  The head of the households were men and a man's house was his castle (and the woman should be thankful that he was allowing her to live there so she should be quiet and get his slippers).

This was the pervailing attitude in various degrees for centuries and in some cultures around the world, it still is.  We have women forced to walk around in burkas and women forced to marry their rapist (and if they don't, they're imprisoned for crimes against morality) because some countries still believe in the superiority of men.

Even in America, if a woman in charge makes a powerful decision she's said to have "grown a pair" over night (or very often stolen her husband's).

I'll admit, I grew up in a household where my father could not be counted on to act responsibly.  I learned how strong a woman could be by watching my mother be stronger than she gave herself credit for.  She was the one who worried about the bills being paid.  She was the one who worried about getting the kids to school.  She was the one who went to pack staples at night so she could supplement the meager allowance her husband gave her (you're not assured of child support when you're married) so that we weren't sitting on furniture that was torn and falling apart (my dad once told me that he had refused to buy new furniture because he was "teaching my mom a lesson."  I guess she decided to just go and get it for herself).  My parents were far too complicated to paint my father as completely worthless, but he was not the sort of father a father should be, nor was he the sort of husband a husband should be.  So I grew up believing that a woman should not necessarily expect to be taken care of because one day, she might not be. 

Bravery and responsibility wasn't and shouldn't be the sole commodity of the male gender alone.  It's something that all people should aspire to so referring to the acquisition of these traits as "manning up" is disrespectful to that other gender that is just as capable of those traits and has fought for centuries to be recognized for such.

My mom didn't need testosterone raging through her to fill in the gaps left by my father's disinterest in his family.  She did what needed to be do.  And there are a lot of women, married, single, mom's or not, doing the same thing.  Finding that inner core of bravery and responsibility that we all should possess to help make this world a better place. 

So let's retire the silly little phrase.  I know it sounds cool and tough, but it also sounds stupid when we bear in mind the implications, unconcious or not, surrounding it.

Happy Holidays

No Virginia, there is no war on Christmas.  It was something invented by fools like Bill O’Reilly to…well, who knows why.  Why would someone look for problems where none exist?  To bolster weak positions?  To bolster weak egos?  The people behind the War on Christmas talk a big game about the greatness of this country then completely trounce upon one of the core principles that make it great.

Semantically yes, they have a point when they say Christmas is about Christ.  That’s where the “Christ” in “Christmas” comes from.  What they conveniently forget, however, is that the people who made up the holiday Christmas (oh let’s call them Christians) did so by hijacking other celebrations, such as the Roman celebration of Saturnalia and the Germanic celebration of Yule, and slapping the Christmas label on this time of year by claiming that Christ was born on Dec. 25.  Now the time of year wasn’t the only thing said Christians hijacked to create their tradition and the fact is that this follows in a long line of religions “borrowing” from each other (though none stole a tradition and made it their own as well as Christianity did).  But to insist that this time of year must remain sacred for one dogma is an insult to that good portion of the world who doesn’t believe in that dogma yet also holds this time of year dear.

This brings me back to one of the things that make this country great.  The Founders, in their far sighted wisdom and perhaps having witnessed their share of religious squirmishes, decided that everyone should have the right to worship (or not to worship) as they pleased.  So strongly did they believe in this that they put it in our Bill of Rights.

That’s a scary thing for Christians for in their philosophy, it’s not only sinful but dangerous not to acknowledge the glory of the Christian God.  And I must point out in all this that I refer only to intolerant Christians for I know there are Christians out there who couldn’t care less if someone wished them a “Happy Holiday.”  No, to intolerant Christians, turning our collective back on God could cause all sorts of calamities to befall the country.  It’s a fear that makes them pine for “one nation under God” and helps them forget how important a freedom of religion is (because without religious freedom, they might be the ones persecuted one day.  I mean actually persecuted as opposed to the persecution they’re imagining because FOX told them to). 

The term in question seems to be the insidious “holidays” as in “Happy Holidays” (though I’m sure “Seasons Greetings” is considered just as powerful a weapon in the non-existent War on Christmas).  These are two harmless sayings that I remember in cards and decorations as a child. 

It is true that the term “Happy Holidays” has been replacing “Merry Christmas” with increasing frequency over the years and here’s why: Because we have a vibrant country with a variety of religious philosophies (including those people who hold no religious views).  These people work hard, play by the rules, and pay their taxes.  Why then is it so terrible to honor the diversity, include everyone, and call it a “Holiday Tree”?

To whine about this is akin to the fools in the United States House of Representatives wasting time in November voting to make “In God We Trust” our national motto despite the fact that a good portion of tax paying citizens don’t trust in the Christian god (or any god for that matter).  We had a perfectly good motto, e pluribus unum, “Out of many, one,” that honored the country and the diversity of its people, but those who would vote to change that motto and disenfranchise a portion of this country aren’t interested in honoring their fellow citizens.  They’re only interested in proving a point:  God rules and unless you can get on board the Christian train you’re not invited to the party.  The irony there is that Saturnalia, the festival appropriated by Christians for the purpose of Christmas, was a festival where everyone was invited to take part no matter what they’re religion was.

To put it on a personal level, I was raised a Catholic (left the faith when I was 14) so calling this season Christmas is a very ingrained thing even though I no longer believe in Christianity.  Having worked in public service for years however, I’m aware that while not everyone celebrates Christmas, they may celebrate a particular tradition at this time of year.  Plus, I appreciate that this time of year could be important even to those who don’t celebrate a religious tradition.  After all, the secular New Year’s isn’t far away.  So when I send someone on their way, I am more likely to wish them “Happy Holidays” because I don’t want to assume what creed the people follow.  That to me is more respectful to fellow Americans.

The word "Christmas" in this song is not going to stop me from loving it.

Stores have taken this tack the past few years and their attempt to be respectful to their customers is grist for the mill for the pea brains trying to pump up this mythological idea that there’s a War on Christmas.  It’s the stores business to make a welcoming and comfortable environment for every customer not just a small minded sect who has decided their god is being dissed because the store is trying to be all inclusive.

Yet now there’s a list made up by the American Family Association (AFA) that grades stores on what it feels is the aiding and abetting the enemy in the War on Christmas based on how often they use the term Christmas (not that the stores have stated that they’re against Christmas, just that they haven’t used the Big C in their advertising and such).  Even if the store sells Christmas items, if it doesn’t blast out the term Christmas in all its advertising, it’s on the AFA list of stores censoring Christmas.  In the economy we’re struggling with now, these intolerant fools are going to slash at a store because its managers had the audacity to want to make everyone feel comfortable.  This doesn’t sound like a war on Christmas.  This sounds like a war on tolerance.  A war on the very philosophy our Founders believed in.  You are not supposed to be punished because you don’t bow down to a particular creed.

I’ve had people wish me “Merry Christmas.”  I’ve had people give me religious gifts.  And I could be petty and become insulted over these people assuming I am of a particular faith.  But how stupid would that be?  These are tokens of someone’s affection.  No matter what god they believe will bestow it, they’re wishing me peace.  How could I be so rude as to throw that back in their face?

But this is a concept very foreign to those actually waging a war at this time of year.

And I can imagine after being in charge for so long, that it must be tough for some Christians to give a little when it comes to tradition.  After all, I’m sure there were faithful celebrants of Saturnalia who didn’t appreciate it being swiped by Christianity (we won’t even go into festivals like Easter or Halloween).

But it’s 2012. We need to start growing up.  No one is denying anyone’s right to celebrate Christmas.  Those who use the term “holidays” are merely trying to honor the fact that this time of year does and should have resonance with a variety of beliefs and we can all enjoy it if we can just freakin’ learn to get along!