Christmas from DCotU 2017.

 

We here at our secret underground bunker would like to wish you and yours a very merry Christmas. (Legal disclaimer by we I mean me, and by secret underground bunker I mean my room.)

 

My original plan for Christmas was that Aubrey Plaza was going to drive up from California to spend some time here at GetFoLA Farms. She as going to do her hair all up like “Crazy Lenny” from Legion. She was going to bring some fresh baked chocolate chip cookies that Bruce Campbell had made for me, and given her to deliver. We would go caroling in Old Town Portland, then come back and read to each other our favorite passages from Sara Vowel Books. (I would read her the part in Assassination Vacation where Charles J. Guitaeu, the assassin of President Garfield, makes a play on death row, where God punishes all those who done him wrong including the judge. She would read from Peculiar Fishes, the part where the sailors threatened the missionaries with cannons, for not letting prostitutes on to their ships.)  She would change in to the psychologist costume from Chapter Six and I would put on a man sized Star Wars pajamas with feet, and we the eat Bruce’s cookies while watching old Daria Re-runs.

Lenny Cornflake Busker has some dang sexy hair.

My plains were ruined when it dawned on me that she is a real human being, who probably wouldn’t think the above paragraph romantic or funny, who doesn’t know who I am, and if she did would probably lump me in with all her other obnoxious fan boys, and just smile and say that is nice, because also her agent has told her too.  And that she is probably spending the holidays with her real family, which I would have known about if I had bothered to Wikipedia her.

I don’t always make chocolate chip cookies but when I do you know they are grovy.

So what I will do instead is a quick 4 hour morning shift from home for work. Then wrap the presents, which I bought over a week ago but didn’t wrap until Christmas day. Call my daughters wish them Merry Christmas, go over to my aunts where my whole extended family will be. Watch my niece and nephew open presents, eat turkey. And come to the realization that this is better than any fantasy, with the exception of actually spending Christmas with my daughters. But you get it don’t you?…come on…Crazy Lenny Hair….Yeah I knew you would.

 

Sometime between when I get off work and 1:00 when the local store closes, I will go to the Estacada Super Market.  Not that I need something, but to see someone I am not related too. As a child we would go to my Grand Mothers and except for people in cars, it seemed like the whole population of Los Angeles would disappear on Christmas day. So I try to see other people I don’t know on the Holidays. Just to remind me that I share this Earth and this time with 7 Billion+ other people.

 

The local Estacada Market was the scene of a terrible tragedy last Mother’s day. A crazed man walked in with a severed head, and stabbed Mike one of the employees. The other guys knocked him to the ground and wrapped him up with duct tape until the cops came. (This is a real event I didn’t make this up) I was there 30 minutes before it happened.

 

I have to admit this event knocked me off my center. Mike was the older guy who told corny jokes and made Star Trek references when I waited in his line. This isn’t California this is FRIGGING Estacada Oregon, thing like this aren’t supposed to happen here.

 

But it did and somehow we overcame it. We all pitched and donated to a fund to support his family when he was in the hospital. It was practically a civic holiday the day that Mike came back to work. Evil came to our inner sanctum and we triumphed over it.

 

It has been a hard year for a lot of us. Many see evil as the Mobius form that is penetrating our society during 2017. But in this case it took a physical form and the little town of Estacada overcame it. You can to America.

 

When I am at the market I will look at this mural on the side of it, depicting Native American ceremonies. There are sacred dancers with this Goat in the middle of them. It dawned on me this doesn’t look like a native shaman, it looks like a real goat spirit. I went home and proudly proclaimed my revelation to all those who would listen.

A few months later my mother proved me wrong. She came back from the library, with a book that had a photograph of the original native shamans, and there was a man that looked like the goat dancer painting on the wall.

 

Facts had disproved my theory,. but then again the fact that the painting was based on a man wearing  a costume, doesn’t make the awe that I feel when I see the mural any less? Does it take away ancient truths about humans and nature? Is it any less a piece of art? In 2018 I hope you all find your Goat Spirit, even if it is really a man in a costume.

 

OK, so between writing this and posting this I drove to the supermarket to take a picture of the mural, and get some  traditional Christmas day old macaroni salad, because, when it is a day old it is not only half price also all the spices and vinegar really soaks into the macaroni making it taste very very good, when the biggest bald eagle I have seen since moving to Oregon flew over the store’s parking lot. I saluted it, wished it “Merry Christmas.” And told it to say hi to the goat spirit for me.

 

Yesterday we had spaghetti for dinner. My family has been doing this since before I was born. (Although due to the Mandela Effect I remember it being tagliarini for Christmas EvedDinner) My Grandparent’s started this in the early 60’s.

Ralph and Doris Burdick, my grandparents wedding circa 1938.

The story my aunt tells it. My grandfather and mom, were living in the Bay Area waiting for my grandmother to move up from So Cal.  They decided that they would have a spaghetti for Christmas Eve. In line at the store they saw a pregnant friend who was for some reason separated from her husband, buying tomato soup for dinner. My grandfather said that no friend of his would eat tomato soup by herself for Christmas Eve diner, and they had her over for spaghetti dinner that night. Ever since then my grandfather had people over for spaghetti dinner. After he passed away, someone in the family has always had spaghetti dinner for Christmas Eve.

 

Stockings are the best part of Christmas. When I was a kid I would love that they would be full of little tinny Three Musketeers bars and those cellophane wrapped Carmel cubes. When I was six I got this awesome book called The Green Dragon, about a green dragon and his best friend a princess. My sister made me a stocking. She wanted to make me a scary stocking, but could not find a Cthulhu fabric. So she made me this stocking with sexy fan boy vampires and werewolves. It was the scariest thing she could find.

As I scroll though Face Book, I see people of all political persuasions, wishing everyone a merry Christmas. No bickering, no feuding, no name calling. It reminds of that Christmas Eve World War One when the British and German troops stopped fighting and shared food and played soccer. It is nice, tomorrow, however I suspect it will be back to the trenches.

 

All the FB cos-play girls I follow are all dressed up in their holiday finery. Santa Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy with boughs of Holly, or Lady Vader wishing you “a merry Sithmas.”  All my friends have pictures of their children in flannel PJ’s, then my oldest daughter sent a post to me on Face Book saying she loves me and wishes me a merry Christmas. I hope some guys truck doesn’t break down in the next two hours, or I will have to send roadside assistance to them with tears of joy in my eye.

Merry Christmas Pudding

I shared Sarah Vowel’s essay on my Face Book Page because she (Legal disclaimer probably some guy she hires for her IT) likes my page when I share her stuff. If she does it will be the third time that happens. Not bad for a woman who the only time I met I was so nervous that I told her. “Oh I am just going to miss up the cover of your book that you are signing for me.” I kind of like to think she thinks fondly of me, not that Aubrey Plaza needs to worry or anything.

OK, so between writing this and posting this, Sarah Vowel, liked that I shared her post. I am not saying we are picking out China or anything but I think she or her IT guy digs me. (Don’t be mad Aubrey Plaza, I will still cyber stock you.)

 

So it is a Christmas tradition, that I take my goat Claes some of her favorite food resins. Goats don’t appreciate things but it her little rectangle pupal eyes, I see a glint flash of appreciation, and I know the universe doesn’t suck.

Claes

So if I had one wish for you during this Christmas Season, it would be that your favorite comedy/history writer likes it when you share her post, or…That your personal goat spirit sends you this honking big bald eagle to you, or…that all your macaroni salads taste like day old ones, or…that when someone tries to stab you in the back figuratively or literally some small town guys throw him to the ground and wrap him up with duct tape. Or… You only have to do half shifts on holidays, or….Your goat loves you when you feed her rasins. Or…that your Facebook page is full of hot, cos-play girls. Or…That someone loves you enough to make a sexy vampire stocking for you. Or…

 

This year you can see the amazing dace of the surreal, incredible and absurd, that life is and know how beautiful it is.

 

Or….That your celebrity crush brings you cookies made by your favorite B-Movie star. That would be awesome!

 

Love,

 

Dave.

 

Estacada OR

December 25^th 2017.