A December to Dismember

I told myself I wouldn't do it. I told myself this year, with fatherhood and marriage approaching, that I would embrace the holidays and the Miracle of Life, and set my endless cynicism aside for bright, peachy optimism.

But as I sat on the couch, gazing at the Christmas tree, watching my kittens frolic on the holiday wrapping paper, I realized I forgot to mute the TV during the commercials. That's my usual tactic to insulate myself from the endless barrage of Christmas Capitalism. Well, I forgot, and the thoughtful piano music started...

It's the "December to Remember" sales event at Lexus commercial! PLEASE, SWEET JESUS, ANNIHILATE THIS SINFUL WORLD AND PUT US OUT OF OUR MISERY!!!!

I know, I know, this commercial is an obvious target. What percentage of families, or anyone for that matter, would ever think of giving a car as a Christmas gift? And a Lexus at that! It simply HAS to be the reason why some marketing genius thought of this idea... it's so insulting to common sense, it leaves you dumbfounded and retarded. You can't believe you just saw it... the (insert cute scenario here) where the keys to the new Lexus just happen to end up, a) in the stocking, b) in the toy train, or c) hanging from the tree. I'd love a version where the keys ended up in daddy's liquor cabinet, and are accidentally discovered by the 14 year old kid who then takes it for a joyride. So what if he's only 14 years old? Maybe the car will get him laid, and that would make it a December to remember!

At any rate, for those of you wondering what the real scenario is, I'll tell you. Wife and hubby are in deep doo-doo already. Their ARM is about to reset, their investment property in Celebration, Florida is being foreclosed on, gas prices are killing them on their SUV, and their four hour round trip commute is sucking any last bit of sanity from their shrinking skulls. In short, their exurban paradise is quickly sinking into a debt-ridden abbyss. And they're hanging on by a thread.

But hey, hubby still has a good FICO, so he might as well try to salvage his sinking marriage with a disastrous, materialistic, and ill-timed purchase. Thus the Lexus "December to Remember." Yeah, they'll remember it all right... they'll remember it as the last one before the divorce attorneys get their grubby paws on what is left of their assets.

So please, please, please.... can someone start a War on Christmas so we can destroy these types of commercials? Jesus would surely approve, because Christmas as it has become has absolutely nothing to do with its original meaning. Jesus could be a general in our new army. Imagine that, the Son of God participating in squelching His own birthday! How awesome would that be?

The only thing that would be more awesome is if I decided, years from now, to give my 17 year old child a set of Lexus keys. He/she would get this crazy glow in his/her eyes, and ask, "Dad, where's the car"?

I'd reply, "There's no car! It's just a set of keys! NOW GO SHOVEL THE DRIVEWAY!!!"

Yuletide Music Pollution Explosion

People sometimes ask me why I'm not that fond of the "holiday" season anymore, and it's tough to put my finger on it. Maybe it's the disgusting orgy of shopping and commercialism that breaks out on so-called Black Friday, where fat Americans knock over old ladies to get that last piece of Chinese-made, lead contaminated piece of bullshit at Wal-Mart.

Maybe it's the endless jostling over Nativity scenes and whether or not they should be on display in a public square. For Christ's sake (literally), if you had a nice Nativity scene wouldn't you want to put it some other place than on the lawn of some run-down town hall?

But today, as I was consuming my Friday lunch, where I venture out into chain restaurant land, I finally figured out what it is. It's the endless Christmas music pollution that seems to confront you at every turn during the "holiday" season.

It seems like a rite of passage for an artist to, after a few hit albums, finally do your Christmas album or song. I 'd bet you a Type 2 diabetic Santa that you can't name one Grammy-nominated artist in the past fifty years that has turned down this lucrative cash cow. From Clay Aiken to Mariah Carey to NSync to Celine Dion, if you sold more than 100,000 records, you were destined to be in the studio recording some god-awful version of some marginal Christmas tune, or even worse, a whole album.... just so you could shut up the record company suits clamoring to make their fourth quarter numbers.

But the most offensive Christmas song ever has to be the Jackson Five's version of Santa Claus is Coming To Town. If the incessant bleating of these pre-pubescent snotlickers doesn't make you want to gouge out your eardrums with a candycane, then I would argue that you aren't really alive.

From the mind-numbing repetitive chorus (where "Santa Claus is coming to town" is repeated at least 21 times) to the barely ontune pseudo-singing, this little ditty tortures you with a Guantanamo-like intensity. I can almost see Joe Jackson presiding over his own family cell block in Abu Gharib, grabbing his boys' balls and forcing them to reach ever higher registers with their overworked little vocal chords.

The bottom line is this-- if you aren't ready to confess to terrorist acts after hearing only ten seconds of this, then you simply must be deaf:

The Damn Check Engine Light

I'm sick and tired of the damn check engine light.

How difficult is it to a) actually tell you why the light is on, and b) allow you to determine whether or not to ignore it and clear it yourself? Oh yeah, I forgot, it's so you can bring the car to a dealer, who will then perform a "diagnostic" - i.e., plug a laptop into it. This is yet another way to bilk a car owner out of even more cash. They're very creative at this.

I've heard of some engineering-types doing this at home. They have to purchase the diagnostic software, and the serial cable, not to mention locate where to plug the damn thing in underneath the hood. Not only that, but you really need a mechanic to decipher the message properly, because even after you go through all of this trouble, I've heard that it's still pretty cryptic. There's no way in hell I'm going to devote any of my time or money to sorting out this mystery. If they designed it properly to begin with I wouldn't even be bitching.

And the number of reasons as to why this idiotic, mysterious light can come on are as numerous as the stars. In some cars it can be because the gas cap is on too loose. Well, why don't they tell me that information so I can just tighten my gas cap and not bring it down to the dealer? Oh yeah, that's right... because it's a SCAM.

Besides the annoyance, and the mystery, some states will fail you on inspection if this little fucker is on. Fuck them. No one knows just by looking that it means anything serious, because it doesn't tell you. You could drive around for a year with the light on. Now that doesn't sound very serious, does it?

Even if they divided it into three different check engine lights on your dashboard, it would help immensely. How about:

1) SOMETHING IS MINORLY WRONG. YOU DID SOMETHING DUMB.
2) YOU'RE POLLUTING OUR ALREADY DIRTY PLANET YOU FUCKWAD.
or
3) THIS IS REALLY, REALLY BAD. PULL OVER YOU DIMWIT.

But hey, I guess the dashboard real estate is the most expensive real estate in the world and there's not a square inch left. It must be because they're using the space to give us all kinds of other useful information.

And anecdotally, I've heard a lot of stories from friends and family that their check engine light JUST HAPPENED to go on as their odometer crossed a round number, like say - 50,000 miles. Wow, what a coincidence! An engine problem at exactly the same time when it's due for its next dealer scamming, I mean "service"!

What surprises me about this scam is that it seems like every auto manufacturer is in on it. With today's computer technology, I have no doubt that if they actually wanted to tell you your gas cap was loose, or your tire pressure was off, they could do that.

But instead we are left with one of life's little mysteries, staring at us all day long. It's like the original goddamned "Amber" Alert, except they don't give you a description of the missing kid.

Bastards. I'm going out to my car to rip my check engine light out of my dashboard. How's that for a "diagnostic"?