Holiday Creep

The egg nog started showing up on the refrigerated market shelves a few weeks ago, but I can’t reasonably start guzzling the stuff, in earnest, until at least a week into November. It’s all the same as the Black Friday nonsense, and the soft transformation of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas into one mega-holiday—an immense three-week-long shopping Odyssey. Early egg nog presentation is another symptom of a society that has lost its way, a society that has gone so extreme in our celebration of consumer culture that we will exploit any tradition in order to make more money.

Anyway, I’m currently into the egg nog. I love it, I breathe it down, I live for it. Egg nog season is my absolute favorite characteristic of winter. The cold weather, the rain, and the fires are nice—but without the egg nog I’d as soon move to San Diego. I never drank egg nog during the years I spent in Southern California. It doesn’t make sense in a climate where the temperature is eighty degrees, and the skies are sunny seven days a week, maybe three hundred and fifty five days out of the year.

In San Diego I drank a lot of gin, and in Los Angeles I drank everything, but never egg nog.

Sabata May Be the Best Movie I’ve Ever Seen 

I am watching a 1970 Spaghetti Western, starring Lee Van Cleef, called Sabata right now, and it very well may be the best movie I have ever seen. The plot is rudimentary enough, but the surreal costuming and sets, the pacing and framing of the shots, and the other-worldly musical score are blowing my mind.

Sabata just shot a priest, but the priest was corrupt. Can you think of anything worse than a corrupt priest? Maybe a corrupt cop, or a judge. I don’t suspect that the position causes corruption to surface, so much as I suspect corrupt, or corruptible people, seek out these positions. A priest gains so much intense, personal access to the people in the congregation, and potentially their money. A big church costs a lot of money. Why spend every last dime feeding needy people when you can use the tithing to construct massive golden domes or towering brick buildings that appeal to the materialistic cravings of the ego?

I don’t know what I’m babbling about, it’s only a movie, albeit one of the greatest movies I’ve ever seen. Some giant with blue eyes and red hair keeps showing up and playing the banjo. In a remarkable display of creativity, he’s called “Banjo,” and he “lives in the saloon.”

Well the fun is over; Trish wants to watch her shows and channel 20-2 is now 7-1. Sabata has been relegated to the next time they run it on this TV, or maybe added to our nebulous and generally surprising Netflix queue.

One more egg nog and I expect I am out for the night. I can barely keep my eyes open.

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Bob Howard has been living, working, and writing in Northern Califonria since he moved to Chico in early 2000. In January 2011, he and his wife Trish relocated to Los Molinos, 30 minutes north of Chico, where they are the proud proprietors of the Double Happiness Farm. There they grow organic food, ornamental plants and trees, and generally work to enjoy the beauty of this great region.