Man, we’re really rolling along with this list. Number 3 already? It seems like only a month ago I was writing #1 . . . So I figure, in the interest of time, why not combine two list entries into one post? This way you can be twice as
bored fascinated with me all in one shot.
So here it goes:
#3 If Christmas was a flesh and blood woman, I would marry it – and then immediately go Boxing Helena on it. That’s how much I love Christmas.
#4 Every year, I buy myself one toy that I absolutely can’t afford, as a way of saying to myself, “You’re special, don’t ever forget that.”
So . . . Boxing Helena – pretty fucked up movie, huh?
Wait . . . don’t tell me you’ve never seen Boxing Helena . . . The love story about a doctor who cuts off the arms and legs of the woman he adores so she can never leave him? YOU NEVER SAW THAT MASTERPIECE!?
Well you should have, but if you didn’t here’s a quick synopsis, courtesy of imdb:
A top surgeon is besotted (someone likes the thesaurus) with a beautiful woman who once ditched him. Unable to come to terms with life without her, he tries to convince her that they need each other. She has other ideas, but an horrific accident leaves her at his mercy. The plot is bizarre and perhaps sick at times, ending abruptly and with a twist.
Not the best plot summary. I mean, that’s like summarizing Back to the Future and leaving out the part where he goes back in time.
Basically what this “besotted” lover does is rescue a post-80’s leftover beauty queen after she is hit by a car and knocked unconscious. He brings her back to his house where he amputates her legs and provides her with a seemingly comfortable wheelchair. When she asks to leave, he lovingly replies, “No.” When she becomes more adroit in her wheeling abilities and almost escapes, he decides to cut off her arms too. When he has company over, he keeps her in a comfortable box, much like a hamster or a pair of socks, essentially saying, “I love you so much, I can’t bear the thought that you might someday get lost.” For me, that’s romance.
And that’s exactly how much I love Christmas. Everything about it – the music, the gifts, the decorations, the general merriment. Consider:
1. My friends and I do Kris Kringle every year. And we’re not in grade school.
2. One of the genres on my iPod is labeled “Christmas.”
3. I believed in Santa Clause until I was about 15 years old.
4. I’ve seen Scrooged approximately 25 times.
and of course . . .
5. Regardless of the fact that my apartment is the size of a newsstand, every year I buy a Christmas tree the size of a hatchback.
This tradition is longstanding, going back to my first “real” apartment (not the one I shared with drug dealers in Brooklyn my freshman year of college). This apartment was beyond small. It was a studio just big enough for a couch, a single bed, a table and a TV. Yet for three Christmases there I rearranged furniture, basically sacrificing the ability to reach my closet for the presence of a pine tree with big, colorful lights on it.
At my next apartment, I started a tradition of throwing away a piece of furniture in order to fit a Christmas tree. It began in 2002 with an Ikea chair, and then an Ikea table in 2003.
2003 in particular I got a little carried away, or as The Girlfriend likes to put it, “insane,” and bought a tree that was not only too big for it’s designated spot, but also GREW every single day for the two weeks I had it. It was as though the tree was up all night eating Entenmanns doughnuts and drinking protein shakes. Every morning I would wake up, go out into the living room and it would be taking up a few more inches of space and spreading it’s branches out over the couch. It got to the point where I expected to wake up in the middle of the night with the tree standing over me saying, “Sshhh! This is MY apartment now, and I don’t like screaming in my apartment . . .”
Last year, in my newest apartment, I again bought a little too big. The precariously placed tree stood as a challenging obstacle to the entrance of the kitchen, to the point where on more than one occasion I was hungry but didn’t get food because I didn’t want to bother with cleaning up the pine needles that would scatter on the floor when I brushed past the tree.
(Oh, and this tree also ate a Time Warner technician, who incidentally had a wooden leg.)
So when I went to get my tree the other night, of course things were no different. They tried to sell me the shorter, thinner one and I, in a forceful, awkward display of Christmas spirit, picked up a bigger tree, was overcome by it’s surprising weight, dropped it, and picked it up again saying, “I’ll take this one.”
Which would bring us to #4 on the list – my annual display of weakness for shiny, expensive toys as I thumb my nose at supposed “fiscal prudence.” In 2003 it was my first digital camera. Last year it was my iPod. And this year, lest it come to a close without one completely over-the-top spending spree, I bought myself a new, too-awesome-for-words-unless-those-words-are-“fucking awesome” digital camera – a Nikon D50. Which invariably means that posts for weeks and weeks to come will be riddled with pictures that may or may not have any correlation to what I am writing.
Luckily for this post, they do. I present you with:
“Dan’s 2005 Christmas Tree, In General And In Detail.” Enjoy.
A gift from my dog Blaze, although I still never found out how he bought it.