NS December 31st, 2007

Following on from Jen’s post, here is how I would sum up the important things in my life from 2007, in 24 words.

My baby became a toddler — smart, sweet, funny. Went blog wild. Greek holiday. Chicago in May. New kitten Lola. Writing and family: my heart.

My favourite posts from the past year:

Home, Part 1

Weekend Wanker

Simpatico

Home, Part 2

Like a Rock

One

Soldier. Sailor. Celebrity?

A Letter to Lisa

Catfights and Crazies

Head up, Eyes Open

 Crumble

Treasure Trove

The Russian Dolls of Love

Is/Is Not: Feminism

The Great Escape

On Why Semantics Matter

Bully For The Burka; Boo Hoo For The Brit

The First Year: Diary of a Mental Breakdown

That’s it for 2007, folks! Hope you have fun tonight, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, and best wishes for a happy, healthy and prosperous 2008.

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NS December 31st, 2007

1: boiler still fubared

2: toilet clogged

3: door to living room fell off its hinges

The joys of owning a home that starts to fall apart right at Christmas when we have the least money — priceless.

• Banal Breakdown , Home and Hearth
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NS December 21st, 2007

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don’t snow here
It stays pretty green
I’m going to make a lot of money
Then I’m going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I’m so hard to handle
I’m selfish and I’m sad
Now I’ve gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I made my baby say goodbye

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on

I love that Joni Mitchell song.

That’s all I wanted to say.

Okay, not really. But I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to write anything. My sister and I have been spending all of our time together — hanging out, shopping, wrapping gifts, playing games, going out, cooking, eating, drinking, watching movies, doing our nails, reading, playing with TNC, going for walks, talking constantly…it’s been great. So I’m sure you’ll understand if posting is a bit light in the next week or two.

Now, I leave you with this amusing little column I read in Vanity Fair today, entitled “The Vanities Dare: The Department Store Santa.”

1. After your child has finished itemizing everything he or she wants for Christmas, press a dollar into Santa’s hand and say, “For your trouble.”

2. Tell a mother and child waiting behind you that Santa’s throne is made of Blitzen.

3. Rehearse your child so that when Santa asks what the tyke wants, he or she bursts into tears and says, “I just want Mommy and Daddy to be married again!”

4. Using both hands, foist a squirmy toddler upon Santa while saying in an Eastern European peasant accent, “I bake just for you … I bake just for you … ”

5. Wearing an airport-security badge and holding a Rubbermaid tub, stand at the head of the line and announce, “Nobody gets to see Santa unless they take off their shoes, take out their laptops, and dispose of all liquids that aren’t in three-ounce bottles!” Repeat every 30 seconds.

Three-Point Dares

1. Scrutinize Santa up and down, then ask witheringly, “Why do you have to dress like such a whore?”

2. Show up in a rented red suit and false beard and announce to Santa, “You’re out, fatso. Manager’s making a little change.”

3. Show up in a rented elf suit, pass Santa a résumé, and plead, “I really need this gig.”

4. Get on both knees and snort the fake snow.

5. Hold up a copy of Paula Deen’s memoir, It Ain’t All About the Cookin’, and say, “Don’t get me wrong, Santa, I admire you, but you did some bad shit to Mrs. Claus.”

Five-Point Dares

1. Tug down on Santa’s false beard, point at him in alarm, and scream, “Megan’s Law! Megan’s Law!”

2. Sidle up to Santa and say conspiratorially, “Hey, I got the stuff.” Then drop a dime bag in his lap.

3. Bow your head, perform a sign of the cross, address Santa as “Father Christmas,” and confess to having impure thoughts about someone within earshot.

4. Dressed as a character from Pasolini’s 120 Days of Sodom, step up to Santa and announce, “I’ve brought the children, Master Claus, just as you requested.”

5. Tell the gathered children that Rudolph is dead—his nose turned red because Putin poisoned him with polonium.

Apparently they’re taking submissions from readers to flesh out the list so if you have a witty one to add, submit away. Mine would be: Sit your child on Santa’s lap angrily, stick a bow on her head and thrust some paperwork into Santa’s hands. Say “The paternity test results are in, you bastard. Merry fucking Christmas. She’s all yours” and then walk away.

If I only had the balls.

• Banal Breakdown , Life's Lyrics
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NS December 18th, 2007

One week until Christmas and I am broke. Brokeity broke broke. Yesterday I was forced to dig into the money I was saving for a long weekend in Germany this summer, where TNH and I met. The flight and hotel package was supposed to be our gift to each other. Now it looks like it won’t happen because we’ve had to spend it on Christmas for everyone else and all of the food, drink, going out and gifts that encompass the season. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved seeing friends and family and have had a lovely time catching up with everyone. My sister is  visiting for two weeks and I am absolutely thrilled to have her here. I love meeting up with friends and going for meals or drinks. But the fact is, I shouldn’t be doing it. I can’t afford it.

I know that no one forced us to spend this money and that we should have budgeted better so that we didn’t have to dip into our vacation fund, but Christmas spirals out of control every year and leaves us screwed for at least two months while we try to recover. We simply don’t have the extra money to spend. We live on one salary and are barely making it as it is. But to stay at home and not participate in the holiday just like everyone else is too depressing to bear, at least for TNH. The thought of not going out to the pub with friends or for the big Christmas restaurant meal our group does every year, of not exchanging gifts with anyone — it would be the lowest depths of despair for him. I’m not as bothered but it would drive him mad and therefore me as well. I’d never hear the end of the moaning about how our lives suck and we’re poor and woe is us. I’d almost rather be in financial ruin than listen to the complaints every day for two months.

It makes me question why we even perform these pointless rituals and leaves me saddened at how materialistic it has all gotten. I would love to give people used or handmade gifts but feel like a cheapskate when I hand over a used book and a handmade card and get handed a brand new shiny thing in return. Next year, I’d like to declare a moratorium on gift-giving or demand that everyone either make the gifts or find them secondhand. But I know I can’t do that because it’s rude and makes a big deal about money and sets parameters about gift-giving which is tacky in many people’s minds. Etiquette dictates that we don’t mention money or how much things cost. But that silence may be the very reason why Christmas has turned into Consumerism Day — everyone thinks that everyone else can afford it and are doing just fine when, in fact, nearly everyone is just as screwed as each other.

After I withdrew my vacation funds and said goodbye to the long weekend in Germany that was meant to commemorate a decade of happiness and love with my husband, I trawled the charity shops for scarves, hats and gloves. I managed to get three of each item, all in excellent condition, for under £10. Ten bloody quid on nine items. Today, I will go to the 99p store (same concept as a dollar store) and buy the same amount of toiletries and then go to the store and buy a big handful or chocolate bars at 50p each. All together, I will spend about £25 on ten gifts for people I’ve never even met. The sad part is that there is no doubt in my mind that the homeless men and women who receive these gifts will appreciate it and won’t be looking at the tags wondering if it’s used and be appalled and judgmental when they see that it is. That’s because we expect people with nothing to be happy with anything they receive. And so I suppose the opposite applies as well — those with everything are never happy with nothing. Is that what Christmas is really supposed to be about?

When I mentioned to TNH that I might want to forgo gift-giving next year and severely curtail the social engagements, he reminded me that our families love giving us gifts and that especially with The Noble Child around, there is no way we can tell people not to give us, or at least her, anything at all. Even when people are understanding about adults not wanting to exchange gifts, they always say “It’s just about the kids, really. The kids will still have gifts, of course.” But I still don’t see the logic. Why should children grow up learning to be spoiled and to expect a ton of gifts on certain calendar days? I understand that adults like to show their affection for children in their lives by getting them things that bring them joy, but why for only one day of the year? Personally, I think it would be a better lesson and a much nicer sentiment if there were little things over the course of the year instead of a cascade at the end.

I know I can’t change centuries of tradition and order and I don’t want to alter the holiday to where it’s no longer recognizable –I’m not a total Scrooge; there are things I love about the season — but something has to change. Christmas is spinning out of control and until it gets back on its axis, I want to get off.

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NS December 15th, 2007

Every day, we pass them — the cold, dirty, huddled masses on street corners the world over; the tattered cardboard signs; the vacant and desperate stares. On our way to work; the mall to buy more crap we don’t need, don’t have the room/time/money for; on our way to love and warmth and happiness; on our way to safety and silence; on our way home.

Our footsteps fall by their faces as we march past them, our fallen comrades. On a battlefield this would be unforgivable. In our communities, even in times of ‘peace,’ it is methodical. We don’t send for stretchers. We don’t throw ourselves over them and refuse to leave until they are plucked up and rescued from misery and near-certain death. There are no shared cigarettes in the trenches as we huddle together awaiting the rescue chopper and show pictures of our loves back home. We don’t bandage each other’s wounds and give words of comfort. We just click our heels three times and quicken our pace and give that small, thin-lipped, terse smile that says “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

Homelessness. To use an old cliche here in England — it’s not just for Christmas, it’s for life. But Christmas is as good a time as any to do something small, to show that people do care, even if we can’t change things for them. To slow down those footsteps and look into the faces there. To share a tiny bit of the embodiment of what this time of year is supposed to be about. I am not a religious person, moved by the spirit of a God who died for our sins. But I do believe in the spirit of humanity, and in the goodness of those who inhabit it. So much these days is doom and gloom and all I hear about is the world going to the dogs, turning to shit, draining down the tubes. And it very well might be. But while I’m on this earth and raising a child who will continue to live here after I’m gone, I can still believe. I don’t believe in Santa or Jesus, but I have faith in us.

Noble Savage’s Gift The Homeless 2007 has begun. Over the next few days I am going to amass as many chocolate bars, gloves, winter hats, scarves and toiletries as I can, inexpensively, and get to wrapping. I’ll be going into Central London a few times over the coming week and a half and hope to hand them out to those in need. I am not sharing this to make anyone feel uncomfortable or guilty or anything like that. I’m not asking for money or donations. I don’t know why I’m telling you, really. I guess I was afraid that if I didn’t write it down, I would allow myself to get too “busy” later to do anything about it. This blog is like my confessional and knowing that there are some people out there reading, maybe giving me silent encouragement and thinking positive thoughts…it helps me see things through.

Happy holidays everybody. Peace and hope to all.

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