I Wish You A Messy Christmas

Mutant Sestina written by Erin Palette, Christmas 2008. Feel free to share this with all your friends, but please attribute it to me.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial- No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

Fa la la la fuck it

Okay.

That's it.

I'm done with Christmas this year.

Even though I'm trying very hard to have a low-key, slackful holiday season, apparently that sort of thing is just not allowed in my family.

From morning until night in this house, there is enforced Christmas cheer. I didn't mind the first 18 hours of Christmas carols, but it's gotten to where I can't hear myself think anymore. All the baking was nice -- until I couldn't fix myself dinner because there was no counter space, the oven and microwave were in use, and I couldn't even get to the fridge.

And of course, we have the holiday arguing to go with the high-stress holiday. Yay.

Tonight, it finally got to me. I couldn't take it anymore. I knocked over a glass of cranberry juice onto the carpet and I just collapsed, bawling. It was one of those full-contact cries, with the shaking and the snot dripping from my nose and me making unfathomable noises as I gasped for air between words.

Because, you see, I was terrified that I'd spilled it onto my mother's priceless, hand-made Christmas tree skirt with the glitter and appliqué Santas.

I think my family has noticed that maybe, just maybe, their daughter doesn't love this holiday as much as they do, and needs a break from it.

I think their other clue was when I went to the refrigerator, pulled out the eggnog and sake, and started tossing back Nog-a-Sake's. (The trick is to mix them, otherwise the sake causes the eggnog to separate.)

At any rate, I'm done. I'm so fucking done with this high-stress, commercially bastardized holiday. I'm going to do a very large shot of NyQuil, and see if I can sleep until 2009.

Other than posting my Christmas poem on the 24th, Lurking Rhythmically is going offline until the New Year.

To those of you who DO celebrate this holiday, I really do wish you all a Merry Christmas, and I sincerely hope yours is better than mine. If you feel inclined to do something for me, all I ask is that you send me an email saying that you read this blog and you enjoy it.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Random Frothing

GAAAH WHY DID I CHOOSE TO WRITE MY CHRISTMAS POEM AS A SESTINA??

IT'S FREAKING HARD AND I CAN'T MAKE THE METER WORK GRAR RAWR FROTH AT MOUTH GNASH TEETH ETC.

That is all.

My Khaotica Karol

I was supposed to post this last night, but I passed out. Alcohol may have been involved, but until you find incriminating photographs you can't prove a damn thing.

Anyway.

My efforts at subversive slacking have paid off! I have convinced my family to forgo wrapping presents this year and instead use thoseChristmas gift bags that have become more common over the years. This has the following benefits:

• No paper waste
• No frustration in those of us who can't wrap a damn thing
• Huge savings in time and effort
• Bags are reusable

I'm not being lazy, I'm being "green", which is all the rage this year (and is coincidentally a Christmas color.)

However... the use of reusable bags has awakened within me a puckish spirit, and I'm actually going to spend some effort to make things extra-specially Eristastic. Specifically, I'm going to take this picture...

(Image courtesy of Justin)

.. print it out, and glue it onto one of the aforementioned Christmas bags. So help me, I may even use glitter and fake snow just to make it look extra-Christmassy.

I doubt my family will even notice, but if they do, I can always say that "Gold is one of the presents the Wise Men gave Jesus. Isn't that why we exchange presents on Christmas?" The KALLISTI would be a harder sell, but none of us speak or read Greek...

(Again, I have nothing against the holiday. It just bugs me that something which started (at least in the Christian church) as a simple religious holiday has sprung into this devouring commercial enterprise which lasts for three months.)

I will post pictures of my Khaos Kontainer if it turns out well.

The word of the day is...

MEDIABATORY
(adverb, from mediabation, root to mediabate)

Of, or relating to, the media's tendency to report the same damn thing over and over again when a story is breaking but there is nothing truly new to report. Generally used to suggest that the situation has shifted from reporting the news to masturbation of same.

Example: "The constant barrage of non-information regarding Caylee Anthony has become mediabatory."


Special thanks to Chris Bridges who coined the term at my insistence, as I was never particularly fond of "Newswanking."

Stuff that I am working on

I'm making a list, and ch-check-checking it twice:

1. The continuation of my Witch Children story. No, I have not forgotten. The holidays have just eaten my brain, is all.
   
2. A super-secret project wherein a friend of mine wants to adapt an idea I had into an MMO of some sort. Right now I'm writing the backstory and series bible. I can't tell you what it's about, but it is code-named "Jews In Spaaaaaaace."
3. Seriously, that's the working name. If this ever gets off the ground, we'll probably call it something sensible, like Diaspora.
   
4. A Christmas poem which I shall include in all my holiday correspondence this year, because the economy is shit and I am broke. So, yay! You get more words from me!
5. It's better than socks, though. Amirite?
6. There is NO.... rule 6.
   
7. Also working on various commissions and such, as well as the next part of Curse/Or.
   

Dear Santa: Please bring me for Christmas a quiet place where I can write and not be interrupted. No, I can't use the library, I like to write in my underwear.

Doc Rotwang gets it

"It", of course, being a Yule-Jim, the official processed meat snack of Khaotica.

Doc Rotwang -- he who Wastes the Buddha with his Crossbow -- has perfectly embodied the spirit of Subversive Slacking through his yearly ritual of going to see The Nutcracker and, well, being generally trippy about it.

An example from Crotch Monsters on Parade:

After the intermission, we find our protagonists (but not the titular one, who is no longer invited or something) in The Land Of Sweets. Drosselmeyer introduces Clara to some folks and Clara recaps Act I for those who didn't bring wives. So the Sweetsians--I guess we can call them that--put Clara in a chair, and show her some dance routines.

It's not clear why they do this, but I like to think that it's because they peg the girl as an experienced, accomplished regicide who enjoys the tacit protection of an eye patch-wearing badass planes-hopping spellcaster, so they decide to play things safe by keeping her entertained lest she start throwing footwear and the halls begin to echo with the ringing of blood-stained crowns striking the flagstones and THAT, my friends, is a pair of NPCs to use. We're still a gaming blog, after all.

Please continue to his blog to read the rest of this excellent post wherein he savagely subverts ballet into a wonderful Discordian experience.



PS: If he used a machine gun, would it go "Buddha buddha buddha?" Just a thought.