Why I hate Freak Season

Freak Season in Cincinnati: From my office window, I look out over the bleak grey street running between the bleak grey buildings, underneath the bleak grey sky. Think Frank Miller graphic novel turned film noir with all the drama of stale bread. You get a monochromatic backdrop - Cincinnati is grey from late November to mid-February - inhabited by bleak people shuffling along like zombies that have been disposessed of all their caffeine. I hate this time of year.

Its supposed to be the holiday season: Christmas tree lights blur in the drizzling rain and wreaths that don't really smell like pine. Lights that are cold-lit white and fuzzy. Sort of like little blobs of day-glo cotton candy.

Christmas carols blurt from all the stores - like commercial jingles inviting people to come spend money that - especially this year - they don't have. I especially like the remakes of old classics - the ones that have an upbeat, pop-tempo. The ones that remind us how little time there is to shop and how much there is to do before year's end. Every one seems to be freaked out.

Stress is high this time of year. Who really finishes all the things on their wish list of noisome tasks in time to enjoy the holiday? Relationships end.

Gawd, this is depressing. Sounds like a Chris Isaak song - the soundtrak for that Frank Miller movie/stale bread drama thing.

I wanna go buy presents for all the people I don't talk to anymore - and all the ones I do. I wanna go buy toys for my daughter - watch her smile warm entire rooms. I wanna go light some candles of my own - the kind with bright orange flames that are warm and certain - the kind that promise there is gonna be another one tomorrow night to brighten the dark.