I’m a mean one, Mr. Grinch

It was Friday and I had been deeply involved for more than an hour in a discussion with the band’s new keyboard player sorting out who was playing what on each of the 25 or so songs for the unit’s first public gig coming up in just a bit more than five weeks after this issue hits the street. And I suddenly realized I was sitting in my garage with a guitar in my lap in the dark.

Thinking there was no way I had been on the call that long, I looked with some panic at my watch, assuming it would say at least 8 p.m. But it was, in truth, not even 6:30 p.m. That was the moment —this year, at least — when I was faced with the hard truth that my least favorite part of the year is upon us.

Winter.

Holidays.

Decorations.

Parties.

Stupid online memes about any or all of the above.

A hearty Bah! Humbug! to all of it. Unlike most everyone I know, I LOVE the fact that days are still in the 90s in mid-October this year. It means putting off the inevitable a little longer.

My hatred of the holidays is not easy to explain. Part of it is family tragedy. My brother’s birthday was on Dec. 16, and the family rule had always been that the Christmas tree went up on the 17th every year and not a day before. 1973 was the last year there was a reason to do that. My brother, Brad, died after a year and a half battle with leukemia in June of ‘74. My mom has always had a couple of emotional fasteners that needed periodic tightening, but after that, trying to keep the screws from getting really loose became a losing battle.

Part of it is stress of the expectations and economic variety. It is not just the typical, “I don’t know what to get for Cousin (insert name here) this year” worries. It is a cascade of that multiplied by 100 starting in late November.

My daughter, who I love like crazy to the point that her mom and I are attempting to bring Christmas to her in St. George this year as she and her roommate/best friend/bonus sister both work in very customer-facing roles and neither will be able to come home to Vegas for Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. Really. We bought a small tree that will fit in their apartment and I will be working remotely that week as the paper will be going to press early and I will do a lot to make my kid happy, but I don’t think I can pull off a daily commute between BC and St. George.

Anyhoo … Erin’s birthday is on Nov. 20. Her bestie’s birthday is the following day and we have celebrated both of those along with Thanksgiving together for at least a decade. Then, less than two weeks later, on Dec. 2, it is my wife’s birthday. Then there are just three weeks until Christmas.

No joke, the struggle is real. Four major life-event days where presents are involved/expected in the space of about five weeks. Just the thought of it raises my blood pressure.

Finally, I am a pretty stoic, not terribly emotional (on the outside) dude who values honesty and authenticity above pretty much anything else in my relationships with the outside world. And the fake joy and rote well-wishes and just the whole general holiday atmosphere makes me kinda throw up in my mouth a little.

Plus (yeah, I know I said “finally” in the past paragraph. Sue me. Santa already has me on the permanent naughty list with the rest of the Holiday Haters Club), the days are too short and it is too cold. Give me 100 degrees and still light at 9 p.m. over cold and windy and gray and icky and dark at 4 p.m. any day of the week.

You know, there is a reason that cultures around the world and going back thousands of years have all celebrated the coming of spring.

Historically, winter meant cold, deprivation and death. Spring brings warmth, bounty and signs of new life everywhere. In a competition there is, well, no competition.

All of this puts me in a bit of a bind. My wife and kid and friends are all used to me doing things like calling them out about Christmas posts online in freaking September —or even earlier! (I’m looking at you, WalMart…) However, the person I end up spending more time around than anyone other than my wife and who occupies the cubicle next to mine in the tiny BCR offices is… What is the nice way to say it… a Christmas Enthusiast.

I am trying to be understanding. I try not to bring up that my favorite part of the holidays is that they end. Or tell him that my favorite Christmas movie is “Violent Night.” One positive is that I am the Keeper of the Streaming Music System in the office, so I can push off holiday music for a while longer. And when I do finally succumb, it’s more “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses, “Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto” by James Brown, “Yule Shoot Your Eye Out” by Fallout Boy, the Weezer cover of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and the Morgan James version of “Backdoor Santa” than anything others might consider as “normal” holiday fare.

I don’t wanna harsh anyone else’s holiday mellow, so I will endeavor to keep my scrooge-y pie hole shut.

Until about early March. You know, when the sun comes out again and I can feel actual warmth on my face. Any smiles from me for the next few months are likely totally fake. But when I smile again in March? Yeah, that one is real.

Merry happy ho ho and please try to keep it to yourself.

Thank you.