Christmas time was here

I realize it’s sacrilegious to criticize American icons like this, but since no one reads what I write anyway, let’s get down to business.

A Charlie Brown Christmas, while charming, is really terrible.

I understand that part of the allure of gathering the tots around the tube every yuletide is to reflect back upon memories of simpler times while appreciating the historical significance of the cartoon, but c’mon: the production value of the thing is just awful.

Whenever I catch a Charles Shultz biography or similar documentary, they are quick to point out that, in a radical move uncommon to the industry, Charlie Brown cartoons used actual kids rather than grown-up voice actors for the audio track. Neat idea, I guess, but did they have to use the least convincing children on the planet for the job? The lack of trained child voice actors in the heyday of animation results in Shultzian quirks that, thanks to broadcast television’s annual promotion, remain with us to this day: long, awkward pauses; weird voice inflections; and a final speech by Linus that’s delivered so quickly it seems like he has to pee or something.

Also (and this is an aside not solely related to the original Christmas show), using child voiceovers necessitates whole new casts for future iterations of Charlie Brown cartoons. After they air A Charlie Brown Christmas, they air I Want a Dog for Christmas, Charlie Brown! with an entirely different cast. I realize that the latter was made decades after the former and that it would be nearly impossible to use the same cast for both, regardless of age, but something tells me it would be easier to emulate the original voices had they been well composed by professional voice actors. Just my two cents.

However silly these kids sound, though, I still watch A Charlie Brown Christmas every year (in all its terrible glory). I don’t know, maybe it’s that I’m a sucker for convention and to watch Peanuts cartoons on major American holidays is the most conventional way a middle class white kid can spend his youth. Maybe my relatively newfound discovery of jazz music has drawn me once again to the cartoon’s soundtrack. Or maybe I just like to watch for the purpose of participating in the greatest of all American pastimes, rampant and unfounded criticism.

Look out for my Christmas post next year, in which I attempt to discern the origins of this new-fangled “Rerun” character. That kid sucks.

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A Christmas Miracle!

You know how in A Christmas Story, when The Old Man pointed to the solitary gift in the corner behind the desk, Ralphie’s eyes lit up like two beacons of childhood splendor?

And you know how the movie ended, with Ralphie clinging on to Old Blue while he drifted into the best sleep he ever had?

Do you remember that?

I had eerily similar emotions this past Christmas, when I welcomed into the family a shiny new 80 gigabyte Playstation 3.

God bless us, everyone!

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Merry Christmas 2006

So, I was in line to purchase a Honeybaked Ham with my mother for our festival of Yuletide joy, and as we checked out, the girl said, “Merry Christmas!”

I got to thinking. I guess they don’t have to worry about any of that “Happy Holidays” hogwash. I mean, they serve ham, after all.

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Bust Santa's Zit!

It’s really not often that something catches my attention when I wake up for school on weekdays. I mean, it’s 5 a.m. and I probably didn’t get much sleep. If you want me to look through my cloudy eyes and make myself forget that I am supremely angry at all things in the world at such an ungodly hour, you’ve gotta be pretty awesome.

My friends, behold one of the few things that would actually make me press PrtScrn at the most insane time of the day:

Happy New Year!

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The Return of the Clapper

If you recall, last Christmas I told you about the greatest Christmas gift I had ever received or ever would receive. Santa gave me my Clapper, and all was right with the world.

What I didn’t tell you, however, was the perilous tale of how I managed to break my Clapper mere weeks after getting it. A word to the wise: never vacuum with your Dirt Devil plugged into a Clapper. It’ll work, but as you get closer and closer to the electrical outlet, the Clapper mistakes the moaning and groaning of the vacuum for innocent bouts of applause, causing the vacuum cleaner to turn on and off so much that the fuses and electronic components of the Clapper end up fried. In honor of Clapper #1′s memory, therefore, I have refused to clean my carpet for a year. It would be too traumatic.

This Christmas, though, I got a replacement Clapper. I have yet to hook it up to anything, though I think I’ll just put it on my lava lamp and this neon Corona Extra sign that my Mom stole from a bar for me.

The point of this story, though, is that Santa did it once again. Right when I thought that nothing could be worse because I had to undertake the arduous task of flipping a switch to turn on my lamp, good ole Chris Cringle came through in the clutch to brighten my life. And for that, I am forever grateful.

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I have a big head

I was sitting at Christmas Dinner last night, and suddenly an argument arose.

Mom: Grandma, look at Casey’s hair!
Grandma (While feeling my head): Honey, he’s got nice hair.
Mom, Dad, & Brother: It’s too long!
Grandma: No, honey – Its length fits his head.

Awkward silence ensues…

Apparently I have a big head. Oh well – all the better to insult you with.

I don’t really want to cut my hair. It’s silly. Those Twelve Tribes people say that it’s against God’s will to cut my hair. Besides, all the lovely ladies prefer it long – Anything to please them.

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