by Garrett Coble
The countdown is on.
At the time of this article’s composition, only 87 days remain until the greatest holiday of the year. In little over 60 days, yuletide music will begin to sound through the halls and brave evergreens will sacrifice themselves in the name of celebration. Retailers will slash prices in the attempt to cash in on this spirit and strengthen their bottom lines.
Oh how I love capitalism.
For faithful readers, this last statement will come as no surprise. As an apprentice economist, I’m predisposed to a love of capitalism. However, what may come as a surprise to some is my next statement: I love Christmas more. Granted, these two passions are not mutually exclusive. After all, what could be more capitalistic than hordes of small men laboring to create a year’s supply of toys under the management of a privileged, old, white male?
It’s just beautiful.
My adoration of Christmas will not shock those who’ve had the pleasure (or misfortune) to interact with me during the month of December. While some of the more fair-weather Christmas lovers decorate their abodes a few weeks out, Christmas lights and a miniature Christmas tree keep vigil in my dorm room year round. It is not uncommon to hear the sounds of Silver Bells during March in New South 232.
In the words of Elf, the best way to spread Christmas cheer is to sing loud for all to hear.
A strong case can be made that I love Christmas enough for all of those around me. Indeed, my affinity for the holiday at times overcompensates for what I deem lacking enthusiasm from friends and family. More than once my routine 6 a.m. impromptu Christmas pageants have garnered obscenity-laced lashings from roommates and friends, but such is the plight of the 21-year-old who tracks North Pole flight patterns year round.
At this stage of a Christmas article, most authors delve into the true meaning of Christmas and the corrupting effects of the aforementioned capitalist economy. I choose not to engage in a lecture; you either understand or you don’t. However, I would challenge those suffering from uncertainty to compare the beauty of Christmas Mass and Black Friday—there isn’t much of a contest.
Undoubtedly, these proclamations will shock several readers, many of whom are drawn to this dark corner of the internet for a weekly dose of sarcasm and jaded commentary. Yet how can such attitudes prevail in the face of surplus fruitcakes and chestnuts roasting on an open fire? They simply can’t. Christmas time stands as the one time of year when all is simply right in the world.
Except Turkey Bacon. That is still wrong.