The Christmas Story
by J.$.

Hi reader.

I'm going to tell you a story. A Christmas story. Actually, I'm calling it, "The Christmas story." It's long, yes. But hey - don't blame me. I'm just the guy telling the story! If you want to blame someone, blame George W. Bush.

The Christmas Story:

Once upon a time in a magical middle-eastern land there was much trouble and sadness, due to an imperialist superpower occupying a small, poor nation that just happened to have the misfortune of being in a perfect strategic location, both for protecting the region's precious natural resources, as well as being a great place to set up a permanent army base from which to launch military operations. Before you jump to conclusions and think I'm talking about Iraq and the good ol' US of A, I'm not - I'm talking about Israel and the Romans.

So, anyway, God looked down on the poor, enslaved, harassed people and thought, "I'm Going To Do Something About This." So, he sent down his son to save these people from not only the Roman imperialists, but also from their sins, which was an added bonus, let me tell you. God really has a great sense of humor, because instead of just placing his son, full-grown, into the middle of the town square of Jerusalem City, preaching his message on a crystal soap-box, he decided to magically impregnate an engaged virgin girl with the embryo of his son. This is funny because, in that particular culture, a girl who has been having sex outside of marriage would have been taken outside the city walls and stoned to death. Either that or she would have to wear a scarlet letter "A" on her bosom for the rest of her life, shunned by all those in her community. Anyway, I was talking about God having a sense of humor and I can't help but laugh at the fact that he went to so much trouble to send his son down to save these people from the Romans AND their sins, but in the end they didn't even believe that this guy, God's son, was really who he said he was. So God had to be like, "Holy Crap, People - What Do I Have To Do Here!...Can't You See Me Working Hard Up Here!?"

Well, so, somehow these subjugated, peace-loving people were able to throw off the yoke of the hated imperialists Romans (mainly by implementing guerilla warfare such as camel bombs, and organizing insurgent groups who would infiltrate the Roman army by posing as Roman Centurions, and then massacring the real Roman Centurians in surprise attacks), and became a free people once more. But unfortunately, God's son got caught up in all the madness and was put to death unjustly, being betrayed by both his Jewish brethren and the Roman imperialists dogs. He was meek and mild, and spent time spreading love and peace and healing the sick and tending to the outcasts, and other generally unpopular activities, and so people finally got sick of him making them look bad. They also really thought that God's son would have come down to earth in the form of Hercules or Achilles, a mighty warrior that would kick some serious Roman ass. Because people desperately love war and killing, and are bored by peace and love. But anyway he didn't. And, to add to the ignominy, in a land full of dark-skinned people, God's son was pasty white, with blue eyes and sandy blond hair. Yikes.

All of this misunderstanding was frustrating to God, who had already wiped out the entire human race years back, except for a handful of the righteous and a boatload of pious animals, when he instituted OPERATION REBOOT THE HUMAN RACE by placing the Humanity6.0Restore software in his giant computer and then clicking on "restart." So he was loath to do that again. That is when he had a brilliant idea. He would raise his son from the dead, thereby cancelling out all the sins of everyone, everywhere, in all ages, thus restoring them to goodness once more.

However, down on earth, human beings had already started doing what they do best, which is making idols and worshipping them, and then needlessly killing and torturing each other. Instead of celebrating the birth of God's son every year by doing good deeds, forgiving enemies, visiting the sick, helping out the poor, or donating money to orphanages or children's homes, these people decided that it would be BETTER if they could figure out someway to, yes, honor God by celebrating the birthday of his son, whom they didn't really believe was God's REAL son, but let's not quibble on small details. But what they thought would be really great is if they could somehow combine God's son's birthday, and a national buying frenzy that would also stimulate the sagging economy, so each person would have more money to buy more things with (trickle-down economics), and the government would have more money to build up its military and devise new horrific weapons that would scare other nations into not messing with them.

So, God's son was sort of given lip service, but the vast majority began worshipping a fat man in a red and white suit named not Christ, but Chris Cringle, who was said to deliver toys to people around the world on the eve of God's son's birthday, using a magic flying sleigh pulled by a team of magic, flying reindeer. The catch was, you had to be GOOD during the year to get stuff from him, but even that turned out to be a crock as everyone knows that the people who always get the most stuff are almost always the most corrupt (such as the CEO of Jerusatech, who took all his company's drachmas and bought a summer home in Rome and left a wave of destitute white-collar Jewish mid-level managers in his wake).

The strange thing was, in the end, MORE people believe in the existence of the rosy-cheeked fat man in a red suit, living at the North Pole, flying around the world delivering toys to everyone in one night from a magic flying sleigh pulled by a team of magic flying reindeer, than they do in the fact that the guy who said he was God's son was REALLY God's son.

So, this is why each year we rush to the malls, flipping off slow drivers who get in our way, maxing out our credit cards and pushing ourselves close to the bring of bankruptcy, just to buy plastic toys or diamond jewelry made from the blood and sweat of slaves from third world countries, or sweaters that were made in sweatshops in China by 7 year old orphans who get paid 5 cents per week, or new SUVs that belch out gases that will eventually destroy the planet - all to prove to people that we are good, loving, kind and decent human beings, just like God's son, the same guy whom we really only pay lip service to and don't REALLY believe in.

Isn't that a weird story?

The end.

J.$.  ¶ 6:56 AM 2 comments

  My late Christmas letter
I was thinking the other day that even if you think religion is all a bunch of hooey, the non-commercial spirit of Christmas is refreshing and brings a certain measure of optimism. Maybe it's the proximity to New Year's, which I usually find is a good time to cast off all the stress and downers of the last year. I always think of moonlight on fresh snow, which I've heard about from other people. It sounds very peaceful.

Here's my best attempt at a non-denominational Christmas message for all:

"Whatever your religious beliefs may be, I hope this season brings you a sense of optimism for times to come and that you share my feelings of peace, happiness, and contentment."

Come to think of it, the actual storyline of Christmas doesn't inspire me all that much. I find the story of the Whos down in Whoville more meaningul, maybe because the story and the happy ending are self-contained. I feel like the New Testament is one long set-up for a sequel, especially the manger scene and all that.

Pass the eggnog, eh.  ¶ 10:10 PM 1 comments

  Irony My personal political views are heavily driven by a concern for what the world will l0ok like when it is "inherited by the meek." The "meek" I'm thinking about is the little ones, like my son, or any of your nieces, nephews, adopted feed-the-children children, etc. So, my wife and I have set our charitable giving priorities on a handful of environmentally oriented organizations, and I am left with the task of executing on the plan in a tax-efficient manner. The highest leverage is in giving appreciated securities, and the more untaxed gains they have, the bigger the tax benefit of giving (since you don't have to pay the tax on gains, and still get to deduct the donation).
So I scanned through my portfolio and noticed that one stock (NYSE:MRO) in particular has appreciated by 300% and chose this as the vehicle for all my charity for 2006. This was all done months ago.
Now, December 15, I'm feeling all "Christmassy" and decided to make one additional gift, and got curious about what that stock was. In a flash of irony, I looked up the symbol and realized that it was Marathon Oil.

None of the environmental groups even mentioned it.  ¶ 10:40 AM 0 comments

  Astro-Scamming My local AM talk radio station frequently airs ads for something called the "International Star Registry." Apparently someone has figured out how to take something of which there is a virtually inexhaustible supply, which belongs to nobody and everybody, and which can never be possessed in any meaningful way - and sell branding rights to it. For $50 and up, you can have a star named after you or a loved one. It makes a perfect gift, they say.

Intrigued, I contacted them to see if the Sun is still available. Instant immortality -- generations from now people will awaken when the Chuck comes up, hang out on the beach for a Chuck tan, and so on. Unfortunately the Sun was already taken (a long time ago in Greece by a dude named Helios). But a fortiori, I found out the star-naming is not recognized by any scientific standards body or international organization. You wouldn't know it without reading the fine, fine print, but you're buying only a pretty little certificate and some symbolic gesture to your unsuspecting loved one. (For about $30 more, you can get a hardcover book with information about your star, and those of the rest of the suckers).

It made me wonder: if all you're selling is a meaningless naming of something that isn't yours, why stop at stars? Why not planets, mountains and rivers? Care to name a city after your aunt Gina? Or a species of beetle? Or The Beatles? (Maybe you never cared for their name). What about renaming a movie star? Or a branch of mathematics? The (financial) possibilities are endless. Any bids on a new name for this blog?  ¶ 10:42 PM 2 comments

  I read a great article last week about people who play chess. The article was mainly about the differences between grand masters and people who are only exceptionally good, and the differences in how the two groups of people look at a chess board. Very interesting, but what woke me up was the statement that the grand masters, in general, got to be as good as they are by continuing to challenge themselves with problems slightly beyond their capabilities. People who are only pretty good at something, on the other hand, often achieve proficiency and then stop forcing themselves to learn.
Saturday night, I went to watch Robyn’s rehearsal for The Messiah (since I’ll be out of town for the performance itself). When I closed my eyes, I could hear all four voices in the music and follow the themes. I was the only person in the audience, which made me feel quite lucky.
I was really inspired to see 100+ people who are all talented singers making such a big effort outside their daily responsibilities and commitments to learn a piece of music. It was really positive for me to be reminded that it is in fact possible to push yourself to master something even though there are a thousand other things you have to do to pay the bills.
I can almost feel a New Year’s resolution coming over me.  ¶ 11:30 PM 1 comments

  Blog about blog - Live with the bats This weekend my wife and I went up to visit a couple we are friends with in Cleveland. She later googed his name and found a blog about him. The blog was titled, "how much I love my mother." It was really long. The story was basically about our friends 1st birthday party, and how he laughed at the gift that the author brought. That induced crying, and in the author's polished memory, it was because the gift was picked out by his mother. He then goes on to say that if our friend walked into the coffee shop he worked at in Portland, he would kick his Ass (28 years later) because of how much he loves his mom.

All that sounded a little intense. But it was a good reminder of how many people we damage emotionally along the way. I think I'm moving to a cave. I could learn to speak sonar.  ¶ 7:50 AM 0 comments