ThankwanzhanuChristgiving
2004-11-02, 10:36 p.m.

It�s here. Hallowe�en is over, and it is now time to totally ignore Thanksgiving as a separate entity and plunge straight into is now known as Thankschristmahannukwanzaas shopping. I went into Radio Sh@ck today to return a gloriously overpriced nonfunctioning cable, and was met with a sign urging shoppers to buy whatever gadget for �Chrismahanukwanzakah� from Virg*in Mobile. No kidding. This ticked me off on two fronts: First, for someone actually officially lumping everything into one shapeless consumer-driven pile of gunk; and second, for leaving out a crucial �t�, thus neutering �Christ� right out of the �Christmas� part. Slam it in with the other observances, fine, but have enough respect for those of us who DO observe Christmas to keep Christ in it. �Chris� is not our Savior. Christ is.

I refuse, REFUSE, to put up any Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. I will not let Thanksgiving die. This year we will stuff ourselves on my mother-in-law�s overcooked sawdust-passing-as-turkey, overcaffeinate ourselves on her world�s best ice tea, lie around on the sofas and floor like quivering bloated leeches, and only then will I begin to contemplate Christmas d�cor. But not one minute before.

I do love Christmas, and savor the anticipation of the events that mark the Advent season. No cutesy little calendars here, no tiny ornaments or candies to announce each day. No, my Advent season is marked by
and and and absolutely everything else made by Rankin Bass. But long ago, it was also marked by something that has undoubtedly left deep psychological scars on hordes of tv-devouring youngsters: The rat that killed Santa.

I think (and I hope) that it was a little local Christmas special. I saw it only a couple of times, which was enough to make a deep and lasting impression on a malleable mind. A cynical rat puppet argued with a lady about the existence of Santa Claus, and she informed him (and all the good boys and girls) that Santa cannot live unless we all believe in him. Santa jollied his way into the scene, the rat proclaimed that he did not believe in Santa, and Santa Claus fell over dead.

(Cue thousands of children to cry and scream and wail and be scarred for life because Santa Claus was just murdered on-screen by a disbelieving rat puppet.)

The rat then became remorseful, the lady implored all the children watching to clap their sweaty little hands and chant �I believe in Santa!�, after an eternity the rat chimed in, and Santa popped up miraculously restored to life.

And a generation of children in the local viewing area were predestined for serious counseling well into adulthood.

I think I shall Google �rat killed Santa� to see if I can find any mention of that show online, and also to annoy those whose websites do pop up with those keywords. Googling odd keyword combinations is fun, because you always find something interesting, and you are messing with the minds of those (like me) who have Site Meter and other keyword-revealing systemologies. Don�t you just love looking to see who�s been browsing you and under what search they found you, only to see you showed up under �anal citrus ice capades�? In Swedish?

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Start thawing your turkey, and check these out:

Carve your roast beast here.

Get your tree here.

It just isn�t a Christmas show unless Burl Ives is in it somewhere.

And the very best elves who shaped Christmas for my whole generation: Rankin Bass.

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