[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]
There is something to be said of the idea that human beings need excuses to party.
Think about it – holidays have been celebrated since the advent of the human species. While the pretenses and customs vary from tribe to tribe, most cultures have set aside days specifically for the purpose of cutting loose. Work is momentarily forfeited, and individuals are encouraged to engage in social events so that they can relax, enjoy the kinship of their peers, and contemplate concepts that transcend the corporeal.
It’s basically psychic catharsis.
Again, such is the necessity for relaxation that it has been prescribed by multitudes of societies. Anyone doubting this need only consider the confluence of December-holidays: pagans honor the winter solstice, Christians eagerly anticipate Christmas, Jewish folk rock Hanukkah, and of course the saturnalian Romans go bananas for Saturnalia. These holidays are different, for sure, but the common thread is that all celebrants look forward to shirking responsibilities and spending time with loved ones.
For many, the holiday season serves as the canvas upon which some of life’s most cherished memories are painted.
But what about those individuals who, for one reason or another, are without their families during the holidays? How would you feel if in the time between one Christmas and the next, you divorced your spouse and could no longer see your kids on a daily basis? What if you didn’t want to burden friends with your grievances? In what ways would this alter your attitude about the most wonderful time of the year?
If you’re Don Draper it means that you take a swig of booze, bang your secretary, and woefully declare, “I don’t hate Christmas, I just hate this Christmas.”
[This! Is! Mad Men! recaps the newest developments of Don Draper and his ragtag group of cohorts. In the spirit of the show, it will often be sexist and drunk. Apologies ahead of time.]
Don Draper, I want to believe in you.
You know that I love you, Don. How could I not? You’re charming and handsome. And good at your job. And well-dressed. And a loving father. Hell, you’re even a solid ball player.
But I’m not sure if that’s enough anymore. When we first met, I thought you might be a good person who had made a few mistakes. Then you kept making mistakes. Over and over again. Fugg – even when you clearly knew what the right decision was, you chose the easier, more selfish path.
And yet, I still find myself wanting to believe that you’ll prove to be a decent human being.