![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
This? Is the best game today. I couldn't convert anybody to Pastafarianism, but that wasn't for lack of trying.
Dec. 11th, 2005
Random last-year link on Santa...
Dec. 11th, 2005 02:54 am
Interesting post.
I'm only posting it to quote a specific comment:
I bet you don't believe in imaginary friends, either. Your world sounds so sterile and literal.
WTF is that supposed to mean? Of course he doesn't believe in imaginary friends! 'cuz they're imaginary. That's the meaning of the word!
What Anonymous means, of course, is "don't think they're appropriate", which is something else altogether. It's also a straw man - people don't lie to their kids about imaginary friends. People *do* lie to their kids about Santa. Children aren't expected to actually believe their imaginary friends are real. They *are* expected to believe that Santa is real. Whether or not you consider this a bad thing, the two things are not comprable.
Don't believe in imaginary friends. What a nonsensical set of words. It's like complimenting Shrubboy by calling him an incredible speaker. Not only are you wrong in the sense that you mean the word, but you're right in the literal etymology which nobody uses - he is quite honestly not credible. Whee, tangent!
I'm only posting it to quote a specific comment:
I bet you don't believe in imaginary friends, either. Your world sounds so sterile and literal.
WTF is that supposed to mean? Of course he doesn't believe in imaginary friends! 'cuz they're imaginary. That's the meaning of the word!
What Anonymous means, of course, is "don't think they're appropriate", which is something else altogether. It's also a straw man - people don't lie to their kids about imaginary friends. People *do* lie to their kids about Santa. Children aren't expected to actually believe their imaginary friends are real. They *are* expected to believe that Santa is real. Whether or not you consider this a bad thing, the two things are not comprable.
Don't believe in imaginary friends. What a nonsensical set of words. It's like complimenting Shrubboy by calling him an incredible speaker. Not only are you wrong in the sense that you mean the word, but you're right in the literal etymology which nobody uses - he is quite honestly not credible. Whee, tangent!
When I was three, I could've died.
Dec. 11th, 2005 12:36 pm
I got attacked by a whole nest of fire ants. Probably my fault, I have no doubt that I kicked their hill over.
I used to think that I couldn't remember it, that I only *thought* I remembered it because I'd heard the story so much. Then I found out that my Bonpapa had been there, which was part of my memory that didn't make sense - I didn't think he could've been there. But it did clarify that it's a real memory.
This comes up because, a few days ago, my sister refered to something as "being like being bitten by fire ants".
I nodded, then pointed out that I didn't remember being bitten. I remember Bonpapa being there. I remember sitting on the floor of the car, crouched up and crying. I don't remember any pain. Not only can I not feel it in my mind, which is normal, but I can't remember feeling it then. I can remember feeling pain for other times I got hurt at very young ages, but not then.
What happened is as familiar to me as any childhood story. I got swarmed on. We rushed home and called the hospital. They didn't know what to do. My mother thought fast, and put me into a bath with baking soda. I didn't die.
I have marks on my legs, not big ones, like chicken pox scars, which we think *must* be from that time.
And all I remember is crouched on the floor of the car, crying, but no pain.
I used to think that I couldn't remember it, that I only *thought* I remembered it because I'd heard the story so much. Then I found out that my Bonpapa had been there, which was part of my memory that didn't make sense - I didn't think he could've been there. But it did clarify that it's a real memory.
This comes up because, a few days ago, my sister refered to something as "being like being bitten by fire ants".
I nodded, then pointed out that I didn't remember being bitten. I remember Bonpapa being there. I remember sitting on the floor of the car, crouched up and crying. I don't remember any pain. Not only can I not feel it in my mind, which is normal, but I can't remember feeling it then. I can remember feeling pain for other times I got hurt at very young ages, but not then.
What happened is as familiar to me as any childhood story. I got swarmed on. We rushed home and called the hospital. They didn't know what to do. My mother thought fast, and put me into a bath with baking soda. I didn't die.
I have marks on my legs, not big ones, like chicken pox scars, which we think *must* be from that time.
And all I remember is crouched on the floor of the car, crying, but no pain.
And finally, it's August, and you're so sick of the song that you tell them that they can get arrested, or somesuch nonsense, and you feel bad, but you hope it'll shut them up, but it doesn't, and you could just scream?
Yeah. That's me. Not the lying, the singing. I *love* most Christmas music. And Chanukah music, when it comes to that. And Auld Lang Syne. Religious music. Winter music. I love it. The only two I don't like are "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Down". They strike me as creepy.
So this month is always my favorite month. I don't have to hum Carol of the Bells, instead, it's socially acceptable to hunt down every version I can and stick it on repeat on my computer and listen to it all freaking day. I can sing "Auld Lang Syne" at the top of my lungs, all 500 verses that nobody remembers but me. And while people find it strange that an agnostic sings hymns, nobody finds it strange that that same agnostic sings Very Religious Christmas Carols. Praise to Christ the Lord? Hell, it's seasonal, let it pass. Praise to the Maccabees? Hell, it's seasonal, let it pass.
I even like the Christmas carols everybody hates, in spite of (or because of) the fact that the radio insists on playing those songs the most often, like the Drummer Boy song. Parumpapapapapapapapuuuuuuuuuum! Whee!
We may not have been Santa-freaks in my house, or done any sort of religious thing, but... my dad loved holidays. And so did I, growing up. He really got into them, with the lights, and the decorations, and the trees, and vaccuming with pine needles to make everything smell nice. I couldn't get the plastic off my candy canes, so I'd just crunch through it, and suck out the candy as it melted. One year, we went to B&N, and bought as much as we could afford in books, tons of books, the cashier was gaping at us, and did our best not to admit that we were all sneaking peeks in the books we thought were for us.
And he died, and Jenn and Mommy weren't such big fans of holidays. Too much work, not enough reward. So we did a little the year after he died, and the next year I got my friend Alexis to help me put up a tree, and it stayed in the front room until summer. Cousin Bobby visited, like, for a change, and he made us take it down. He was shocked it was still up. Nobody had even wanted to bother. It was a fake tree anyway.
We're not really in touch with most of the family. My mother says "Oh, we tried, we tried to stay in touch", but... maybe they say the same things. I think, this year, I will definitely, if nothing else, send out a card. A three kings card. They can hang it over their door for luck, or throw it out, whatever. You can't just say you tried, you have to keep trying. I don't even know my cousin Chris (little cousin, because he's my age, not my mom's), and last I heard he was in Afghanistan, and this was a few years ago, right after 9/11. And my father's side, his mother, I don't even know when (if!) she died. His brother, that's no great loss, but you still have to keep in touch with people. You have to try, anyway, so long as you can stand them (and how is it that the only cousin we *do* speak to on any sort of regular basis I can't stand at all?).
Yeah. That's me. Not the lying, the singing. I *love* most Christmas music. And Chanukah music, when it comes to that. And Auld Lang Syne. Religious music. Winter music. I love it. The only two I don't like are "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Down". They strike me as creepy.
So this month is always my favorite month. I don't have to hum Carol of the Bells, instead, it's socially acceptable to hunt down every version I can and stick it on repeat on my computer and listen to it all freaking day. I can sing "Auld Lang Syne" at the top of my lungs, all 500 verses that nobody remembers but me. And while people find it strange that an agnostic sings hymns, nobody finds it strange that that same agnostic sings Very Religious Christmas Carols. Praise to Christ the Lord? Hell, it's seasonal, let it pass. Praise to the Maccabees? Hell, it's seasonal, let it pass.
I even like the Christmas carols everybody hates, in spite of (or because of) the fact that the radio insists on playing those songs the most often, like the Drummer Boy song. Parumpapapapapapapapuuuuuuuuuum! Whee!
We may not have been Santa-freaks in my house, or done any sort of religious thing, but... my dad loved holidays. And so did I, growing up. He really got into them, with the lights, and the decorations, and the trees, and vaccuming with pine needles to make everything smell nice. I couldn't get the plastic off my candy canes, so I'd just crunch through it, and suck out the candy as it melted. One year, we went to B&N, and bought as much as we could afford in books, tons of books, the cashier was gaping at us, and did our best not to admit that we were all sneaking peeks in the books we thought were for us.
And he died, and Jenn and Mommy weren't such big fans of holidays. Too much work, not enough reward. So we did a little the year after he died, and the next year I got my friend Alexis to help me put up a tree, and it stayed in the front room until summer. Cousin Bobby visited, like, for a change, and he made us take it down. He was shocked it was still up. Nobody had even wanted to bother. It was a fake tree anyway.
We're not really in touch with most of the family. My mother says "Oh, we tried, we tried to stay in touch", but... maybe they say the same things. I think, this year, I will definitely, if nothing else, send out a card. A three kings card. They can hang it over their door for luck, or throw it out, whatever. You can't just say you tried, you have to keep trying. I don't even know my cousin Chris (little cousin, because he's my age, not my mom's), and last I heard he was in Afghanistan, and this was a few years ago, right after 9/11. And my father's side, his mother, I don't even know when (if!) she died. His brother, that's no great loss, but you still have to keep in touch with people. You have to try, anyway, so long as you can stand them (and how is it that the only cousin we *do* speak to on any sort of regular basis I can't stand at all?).