By K. A. Laity
I'll say it loud and say it proud: oh god, how I hate Christmas music!
I hate it even more when it starts up at inappropriate times. What is inappropriate? Any day other than Christmas or Christmas Eve. That is my rule. So naturally I am irked annually that shops of seemingly all kinds and even some radio stations begin playing yuletide music while Halloween decorations are still in the stores.
I admit it; Halloween is my fave holiday. Unsentimental, spooky, a tad bit dangerous—what's not to love? What is Christmas but an all-out assault of guilt, competition, and forced jollity? People expect you to be nice just because of the season, even though they'll use every opportunity to take advantage of that niceness to wangle whatever it is they need out of you. Family members who can't bear one another on the best sort of day shoehorn themselves into small rooms in ridiculously close proximity so that the inevitable outcome has to be fights, hurt feelings or, at the very least, a slow-burning resentment that will poison the rest of their lives as they shudder toward the grave one jangling chorus after another.
The only people who really love Christmas music are the same sort who wear those novelty jumpers with jingly bells and flashing lights, a different one for every day on the Advent calendar—you know the very Advent calendar they display prominently on their desk or door, encouraging everyone to share in the daily excitement of opening up another compartment.
It's the point at which you desperately want to ask Santa to bring you a butcher knife, the bigger the better.
It's not just that we're not all Christians (but yes, do let me remind you, we are not all Christians), it's the inescapable assault of the season. Television is a seemingly endless parade of holiday specials past and present, where the thinnest pretext offers a chance to trot out the red and green and a few hastily rewritten jokes with a Christmas twist. And blaring from every speaker, the painful pageant of sentiment and schmaltz that clobbers your senses for week after relentless week of shopping, wrapping and party-going. The latter wouldn't be so bad if it were the usual party of random conversation and too much of everything, but instead there's the stress of gift giving, of charity donations and of family members desperate to heal old wounds with a lot of shiny tinsel.
I always tell people my favourite Christmas song is "Fairytale of New York" (even more so since I've lived here). It's one of the few tunes that recognizes how awful the season can be when the miseries of life are highlighted by the rictus grins of revelers around you.
It might not be as bad if the jangly sound of sleigh bells didn't begin before the shrieks of Halloween died away, but stocking jolly elves and ghastly ghouls side by side has become the norm. I know I can't get people on board with my ideal restrictions, but we need a moratorium! No Christmas music until December. We can work on pushing it back further, but at present I'll take that. Who's with me?!
Image via kwalk628