Welp. It's officially the holidays, I guess. Fa la la.
Once upon a time, I bet "the holidays" referred strictly to Christmas and New Year's. Thanks to the gods of retail, "the holidays" now incorporate Thanksgiving, Halloween, and pretty much any date that falls between October 15th and January 2nd. I'm surprised by this point we haven't just rolled Valentine's Day into the mix. January 21st is National Squirrel Appreciation Day, and I bet if you gave greeting card companies enough time, they'd figure out a way to monetize it.
As for me? I am not feeling it yet.
I normally love "the holidays," and honestly, who doesn't? If there's an opportunity -- even if it's just an arbitrary day on a calendar -- to feel some warm fuzzies, take the day off work, and get together with friends and family, what's not to like? I mean, other than crass consumerism, forced interaction with toxic family members, overindulgence, pointless arguments over whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and hearing that terrible "Santa Baby" song on the radio eleventy-kajillion times. But I mean, other than all that, it's kind of an alright time to stroll the Earth, no?
But THIS year? I've yet to find that holiday vibe. In fact, as I type this, I'm still stubbornly wearing a short-sleeved shirt, refusing to accept the fact that Old Man Winter has already started his annual commute to our neck of the woods. I don't only want an extension of fall, I'd be up for a complete re-do of summer, please. My brain still wants outdoor fun, country drives with the windows down, and a sun that doesn't set at an eyeblink past noon.
Despite my stubbornness, though, the holiday season marches on. I'm trying to figure out exactly what I need to do to get into that mindset.
As much as I hate to admit it, one thing that might shift me into holiday mode would be a good old-fashioned snowfall. There's no denying winter is coming when you wake up to a blanket of freshly-fallen snow. When I was a kid, I used to beg the heavens to open up and blizzard away at full force. I remember my dad getting stressed out about plowing the drive, and I was so confused as to why anyone could possibly dislike snow. It's the closest you could ever get to toys literally falling out of sky.
Then I got older. I got a driver's license. I bought a house with a sidewalk I'm suddenly responsible for. I broke my foot on a patch of ice. I get it now -- snow sucks. It makes a mess everywhere, it takes work and effort to shovel and plow, it's treacherous, and it adds extra time to the morning commute when my brain is powered by little more than caffeine and hope. My days of praying for snow are over. Still, there's nothing like a coating of slushy ick to put the final nail in summer stubbornness and force me to move those short-sleeved shirts to the back of the closet.
In my continuing efforts to find some Yuletide glee, I tried watching a made-for-TV Christmas romance the other night. If television has taught me one thing, it's that if you're a holiday humbug, all you need to do is get stranded by a snowstorm in a small mountain town where the woman of your dreams (who is usually a former cast member of Full House or Party of Five) and her precocious son and/or daughter will force you to discover holiday magic while you save her hotel and/or Christmas tree farm from an evil corporation (that you probably work for.)
These days, though, I find I have the attention span of your average eight-year-old. The guy in the movie had barely gotten stranded and I was already picking up my phone to watch some inane TikTok video instead. After rewinding the same scene four times to try and focus on the Christmas magic unfolding before me, I finally just gave up and turned the movie off. I'm pretty sure I know how it ends. Someday I want a Hallmark romance with an ending where the guy doesn't get the girl, the hotel gets foreclosed on, and a card before the credits comes up and just says, "Can't win 'em all, I guess. Sad holidays!"
All that said, I do have one last trick up my sleeve and a hail-mary effort to officially get in holiday spirit. It involves a certain Festival of Trees you all might be familiar with. You might NOT, however, be familiar with what happens this Saturday night at the River Center. The Festival of Trees shuts down at 7 p.m., but then re-opens at 8 p.m. for the after-hours Festival of Trees Silent Disco. Every attendee gets a pair of headphones, and you can select from one of three DJs throwing down beats onstage. I'll be one of those DJs.
It's my favorite gig of the year, and its the only opportunity where you can dance around the Festival of Trees expo hall without people thinking you're a bit weird. If nothing else, show up just to hear people singing horribly off-key in an otherwise silent room. It is yuletide comedy gold, trust me. Tickets are still available on the Festival of Trees website and also come with a free general admission pass to the daytime festival if you're so inclined.
Normally, I'd apologize for shamelessly turning my column into a plug for a DJ gig, but if we're living in a world where stores have their Christmas displays out the day after Halloween and radio stations are already belting Christmas songs weeks before Thanksgiving, I figure I'm just a tiny cog in the holiday money machine. And with your help, this gig might be EXACTLY what I need to find that elusive holiday spirit. Bonus points if you're the woman of my dreams. But I'm not saving your Christmas tree farm. I've got, like, stuff to do, sorry.
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