Justin - Resolutions

I never thought much of the idea of resolutions;
Promising to be better to try harder,
Imagining a blank slate comes with the New Year-
 
It is like believing that your car becomes new again
As the odometer rolls one hundred thousand.
But it doesn’t.
 
Maybe it is the seeing the number roll that reminds you to take better care.
But then, wouldn’t the inspiration be your birthday rather than the New Year?
Would not a birthday be the mark of the odometer turning?
 
And if not, it seems that motivation for change could come as easily in February or March as on New Year’s Day,
Or inspired by some event like the prayers of bargaining offered up from the bathroom tile

while trying to survive you first hangover.

 
It also seems that resolutions can be too strict:
“I will go to the gym daily”
But daily means every day,
And once missing a day on January 14^th, you have failed for the year.
 
Or maybe too amorphous:
“I will do this more or that less.”
But you measure based on feelings:
“I feel I’ve done that more.”
There is no accounting.
 
And if the resolution is to be kinder or more compassionate,
To love more and be angry less,
Then what sort of person waits for January?
I think that maybe the best resolutions, if put off until New Year, already mark a failure.
If you don’t want to be a better person now, then you probably don’t really want to be a better person.
 
But then, I don’t think much of the idea of resolutions.

Resolutions - Jason

Resolve

The ritual feels like the labor of Sisyphus
Undone by gravity and the smooth edges of the rock
But worse, somehow more fatiguing
Like green pastures which refuse to feed.
It is a child’s untamed rainbow.

Our talk crossed the dirty dining room table
Of electric hope on painted memories and not granite goals.
We celebrated the ink filled calendar not the crisp unwritten
And our bodies washed in the foam or our combined mirth.
I remember the shows so bad
we couldn’t help but watch
Like falling into the shattered glass
Which captures the red and blue flashing lights.

So we played along
Eat less
Exercise more
Save money
If just for a moment we would pretend
The new would also mean better

The table is still dirty.
The calendar is now filled.
That threshold is once again is before me.

I’ll show them.
I’ll laugh at the ritual.
I will resolve.

Jason - Christmas Movie

Dear Mr. Berenbaum,

First, let me say, I was super excited, like syrup on gummi bears excited to see the documentary we produced. Woo Hoo! We did it. Anyway, I don’t mean to nit pick but there were some things which I thought we agreed were a little too naughty. I am certain you just forgot, so when you do that last edit, it would be swell if you could cut out a few of these things. Let’s make room for everyone on the nice list.

When your nice crew was filming, remember how that set the stage so I would run into that fake Santa? I don’t think that was an honest experience, also I feel bad that I said he smelled like beef and cheese. He did, it was horrible and he should be ashamed, but it is not very nice to tell everyone. Also, when I had a little slip I thought we agreed we didn’t need to include my reference to his sitting on a “throne of lies”. That wasn’t very elf-like. I mean, I think you did a great job, but who want’s to see an unhappy elf? It was odd how you included my excitement about Santa coming, even though you knew it would lead to this. I guess that is because you wanted to show just how much I love Santa. He is the best.

On the topic of Santa I would rather he not see some of the other less than festive things I might have said during the filming. It might have been nice to know you have set those boys up to throw snowballs at us, so I would not have had that outburst. It was not fair to nutcrackers, or their prospective children. In the north pole we are subject to a small fee for not only references to the progeny of nutcrackers, but also the mothers of the elves who are assigned frosting cookies and a few other things. Anyway, if we could trim that first snowball hit, or what whole snowball fight, that would be great.

Perhaps we could add more singing. Singing is great. Or friends, or big hugs. Remember that day I made snow angels for three hours, and my lips turned blue? Maybe we could use that.


Greatest Cheer,

Buddy the Elf

Justin-Grinch Letter

Dear Holiday Program Director,

I recently watched a broadcast of How the Grinch Stole Christmas on your channel and frankly, I’m a bit confused about some things. I know that Dr. Seuss is no longer with us, but I was hoping maybe that along with the broadcast rights, you managed to get some explanatory material that might shed some light on some things.

First, the Whos; is that their species like the Sneeches? Is that a name? The girl is referred to as Cindy Lou Who, so it seems like a name, but when they say “all the Whos down in Whoville” it definitely sounds like a species or at least a clan. This kind of applies to the Grinch as well. Is “the Grinch” a name, title, or species? It’s all a bit confusing.

Second, speaking of the Grinch, he’s green and furry yet manages to disguise himself as Santa with a coat and a hat. He’s still green and furry, and also, HE’S NOT WEARING PANTS. Does the Whos’ Santa mythology include a green, furry, pantsless Santa? Or does Cindy Lou Who have severe vision issues? Most cultures have a version of Santa that kind of blends with the population, which would mean not green or furry or half-naked.

Also, where is Santa? There appears to be a strong enough belief in Santa that the Grinch believes he can get away with grand larceny provided he has the right coat and hat. Yet, the fact that he attempted his holiday stealing plot indicates that he has no belief in Santa himself. The fact that he gets out of Whoville without Santa seeing what he is doing indicates that Santa is not real. Is this story saying Santa is a fake? Maybe there should be a warning before the broadcast so that parents can have a heads up concerning potential myth breaking implications.

Along with that line, the Grinch knows the Whos believe, which means he knows something about them. He’s probably met some of them. If I lived in a small community and someone I knew met a tall, green, furry guy up in the mountains, I’d probably know about it. Everyone would know about it. Assuming we all know that there is a green, furry guy up in the mountains, I’m going to assume that that’s who the green guy is in my living room, not Santa. But again, we don’t know the Whos Santa story.

            Anyway, if you could possibly answer some of these questions, that would be great. I don’t need a written reply, maybe an FAQ section on your website. And I would really consider that whole warning thing and maybe a parental discussion guide or something.

            Thank you for your time and Merry Christmas.

Sincerely,
A concerned parent

P.S. You might also consider giving the Grinch some pants.

Thanksgiving - Jason

Plymouth, 1623

William Bradford, the Governor of Plymouth, looked around the table, at the bounty, the guests, the gifts of the Lord Almighty. He considered how much had transpired in the last two years. He felt the immense sadness of his loss, the blessing of his fortune and the great weight of his responsibility.

Massasoit, the native king, stood across from the Bradford and held his hands up over the long table. Voice spoke in what seemed a child’s language as his sun darkened hands pointed to the roasted meats, the shellfish, the indian corn and corn bread. He then turned his attention to the Governor himself and while he did not understand the white man nodded politely.

“He thanks you, sir, for the hospitality,” started Squanto the native who had helped them make good with the soil these last years, “He thanks the deer for their sacrifice and the sun for its warmth.”

“Thank you, Squanto.”

“This is Mrs. Bradford’s first Harvest Festival,” said Edward, a good lad who had been at the Plymouth since the first. He would probably be Governor one day. He looked to the Governor’s new wife and then back to William. They shared the mix of joy and sadness. The salt water breeze felt good, but it reminded them of that moment when William had pulled himself back onto the Mayflower and he looked from one tear streaked face to the next. He knew, even before Edward had broke the news, he knew.

“William?” asked Alice, “What is wrong?”

“We have just been blessed so much,” he started. The people around seemed to wait for him to say something more, something which gave substance to that relief that they were feeling. Massasoit, Squanto and the others, both from the land and the church seemed to give him notice.

He stood and spoke in a way they all could hear, “Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, peas, beans, squashes, and garden vegetables,” the eyes of those at the table looked over the spread before them trying to find the various items of bounty he named, “and has made the forests to abound with game and the sea with fish and clams, and inasmuch as he has protected us from the ravages of the savages,” he looked to Squanto, a savage but a good one if there be such a thing, “has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience.”

It was then the smell of the deer and roasted vegetables got to be too much. Those gathered gave thanks, those who were standing sat and they all began to eat of the abundance.