We have no right to call ourselves sane, as a culture. Interesting, sure. Interesting in the same way the old carnival sideshow was interesting, interesting like a car accident. People slow down to watch a car accident, not because they care about the people involved, or because they want to help, but because they want to see if someone's dead, and they want to make sure it isn't them.
I wasn't involved in the mad post-Thanksgiving dash to the stores. I was tucked away nice and warm indoors with a good friend and a bottle of red wine, but I know people who braved the rampant insanity in search of gifts and gadgets. One of them returned, wide-eyed and stunned, to tell of seeing people fighting in the aisles- actually physically wrestling with each other- over merchandise. She spoke of hordes of scrambling people. She spoke of two teenage girls who were battling over a purse. I gave her some hot chocolate and put her to bed, all the time shaking my head at the world. Then I sat down and thought about it. What if I were trying to buy something I could only barely afford at the reduced price, knowing that if I didn't get one on this particular Black Friday, I would never again be able to afford it. What if I fought my way through rude, pushy, jostling people with screaming babies, bruised and battered, to the aisle I needed. What if I arrived at the item I needed just in time to see some complete stranger about to yank the last one off the shelf. Would I go a little crazy? I just might.
I don't know if I'm just noticing it more, but every year we seem to get a little weirder, a little more crazy. Remember a couple holiday seasons ago, when people were paying thousands of dollars for Tickle Me Elmo? It seemed to make some twisted sense at the time, and looking from inside our society, I can understand it, if not condone it. But two hundred years from now, historians are probably going to regard our Christmas behavior the same way we look back on bloodletting, or Roman castration of slaves: Confusing, and a little disgusting.
I can't tell if we as a society feed on this kind of unchecked consumption, or if it's killing us. Maybe a little of both. Like a parasite that activates the pleasure centers of the brain, even as it munches on healthy tissue and turns the brain into mush.
We've already killed the innocent, unlucky mascot for the season. We proudly proclaim that Santa Claus doesn't exist. And it's probably a good thing that he doesn't, because he'd be overweight, hypertensive and bankrupt after spending all his money on legal fees to defend himself against accusations of molestation from his elves, who are running a smear campaign against him in order to further their union, which is on strike anyway. We like our holiday spirit stripped, shaved, raped and left out in the slush with a sign around its neck reading "$0.75 or best offer."
Ho. Ho. Ho.
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