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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me


I swear, this post wont be devoted entirely to santa

Christmas is over, it was ehh, a lot more like Thanksgiving that anything else, but I'm still left with this one question--

Why do we all sweat Santa Claus so much?

Alright, so I'm old and bitter now (as opposed to just bitter, which is what I was 10 y/o and beyond), so this kind of question was expected.

But really--

Do you think aliens are watching us from above & laughing at the fact that we not only allow our kids to believe in Santa (which I'm not necessarilly opposed to) but make the media play along with the idea? Honestly, they must watch those segments of the news where they go to Macy*s and make a big deal about his "special trip from the North Pole" and (although I've only seen this in movies, I'm sure it must be real) watch that thing on Christmas Eve when they report a "strange sighting of a man and a sleigh and reindeer" and laugh their asses off.

And not even just aliens--what about all the terrorists and shit who watch us via Al-Jazeera (or whatever)? They're probably like, not only do the kids believe in him, but the reporters do, too? You mean to tell me Sade Baderinwas doesn't know there really isn't a Santa's Workshop in the North Pole? Stupid, stupid Americans, I almost feel bad enough to not attack you. Almost.

So it's late/early, I'm up again when I should be sleeping and I'm thirsty but I'm too lazy to go to the kitchen for a drink and I'm trying to write this story I've wanted to write since the summer and it's just the blinking cursor staring back at me on Word. So I started thinking about Santa and came here, where the cursor isn't blinking as much (that's sad) and I can rant sicne nobody reads.

And I'm really not that bitter. I really love Santa and I think that little kids who don't believe in him are sad and I pity them and stuff, but of all the innocent things in this world that've been trampled on and destroyed, why is Santa still here?


it was christmas eve, babe, in the drunk tank.......

Christmas isn't nearly as fun as it used to be, back when Santa was still real, but I still like the way I feel when Christmas Eve comes around. I like hearing "O Holy Night" in church and seeing houses lit up.

This is the first year in a long time, though, that no one's having a Christmas Eve party, which was a "beach crew" tradition for years. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the beach people met most weekdays and every weekend, without fail, at that same spot on 123rd. The adults would stay closer to the shore and all the kids would hang out at the hot sand, playing Uno and wiffleball and talking, making stops at the semi-circle of parents for drinks and for pit-stops between trips to the water. As the kids got older, the attendence at the spot got smaller, but we still had Christmas Eve. We used this night as an excuse to hang out in the winter, to get a look at ourselves pail and fatter but still drunk and ready to talk for hours. Last year we met at the Galvins, and while the mood was exceptionally sadder due to the circumstances, it still felt good to be around people who've known me my entire life. I don't have a big family, and the ones I have I hardly ever see (or sometimes, like to see) so these families act as my extended family--my crazy "aunts" and "cousins." They've become more than just people to share a cooler with, or lend a towel to when you've stayed at the beach too long and used up all of yours. Just like real families, we always tell the same stories--the time Mr. Kuffner's sock went on fire at my family's 4th of July party & "Fireman Fran" saved his life, or that Labor Day Storm when the sky turned black and we all seriously thought we were gonna die. Someone always gets too drunk and does something stupid, but it just gives us another story to add to the pot.

I get it--people drift. I didn't think middle-aged people could grow apart, but they do--them be the breaks, I guess.

I'm still gonna party like it's Thanksgiving Eve, though, by returning to The Place That Stole My Jacket, better known as the Rock Lobster (I wrote about that somewhere else, but Ill post it here soon). I'll still be with family and friends and plenty of those kids from the hot sand, but it still wont be the same, unless someone's mom or dad comes out, too, and makes an ass of themselves. Man, that'll be my only Christmas wish.


just be over already

It's 2 am on a Saturday Night/Sunday Morning and I'm writing not ONE 7-10 page paper, but TWO. This is what the University calls "finals week", the week where I suddely become super student and convince myself that I can write long research papers in a few hours. I've given myself a few days for these papers, thankfully, but I know I'll still wait until the last minute to finish them.

My ethics paper is half done, and I have a good framework and notes for it. My Brit Lit paper is like 4.7% done, and although I have a general idea of what it is ( weak thesis, but still) and plenty of articles on it (thank you, JStor) I'm still a little lost. I'm tired, too, and have procrastinated for the past 7 hours or so--writing three lines, checking my email, finishing that paragraph, checking facebook, adding a comma, taking a snack break.

By Wednesday it'll all be over, and I'll only have one final to study for and one more documentary to edit and plenty of time to reflect on this being my last on-campus semester at St. John's. I'm sure there will be a lot of crying alone in my car, too, so if you see me speeding down the Van Wyck in 2 weeks, looking crazy, just know that I'll be in a weird emotional state.

I wonder if my writing has even improved?