When I moved to Los Angeles in 1996, I worked for a temp agency. One full December, I was the receptionist for a business in an office building. I would wake up in darkness, go to work, and come home in darkness. It was depressing. My desk faced a twelve foot tall Christmas tree, fully decorated in gold. Gold bows. Gold balls. Gold ornaments of cupids. Gold corporate logos. I sat directly under a speaker that was on a twelve-hour loop of Christmas muzak.
On about December 15th, I noticed that the Christmas tree was getting dry. I started watering it, not out of any cheer. I didn’t want it to catch fire. I didn’t want to die in that fire.
On December 23rd, I saw the workers deteriorate, many trying to reach quotas. One expensive-suit, hair product man karate chopped at the closed elevator doors, walked over to me, took a handful of chocolates, asked “How fucking long do the fucking elevators take? Where are we? China?” and tossed the wrappers on the ground as he entered the elevators.
I really don’t embrace Christmas or the holidays. I really don’t like shopping. But I do love punk rock and I do love The Angry Snowmans, who take punk rock classics and don’t ruin them like The Vandals.
From Dec. 1st, to Jan. 2nd, play the shit out of this stream of What We Do Is Festive. We can all be “Joyeux Again.”
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