I was happy to arrive home from College Station last weekend to attend several Christmas parties. I could use a pick-me-up, and this is the time of year when we celebrate the birth of the son of God by drinkin’ eggnog and watchin’ TV.
The Year Without a Santa Claus came on the other day. Sure, I needed to finish hanging Christmas lights, but I’m kind of an expert at this sort of thing, so I felt like I should be studying these programs more closely.
Sure, this is a story geared toward kids, but my most substantial memories of The Year Without a Santa Claus come from college, when an associate and I would argue which miser was the better miser loudly enough that people down the hall would yell at us.
But I sat down and watched more closely than I had in years. Otherwise, I’d have had to hang my Christmas lights.
Santa Claus, you see, gets down on himself and wonders if he should even bother making his Christmas run. Some elves head out to find kids to bring to Santa to convince him Christmas is still important [I feel like that story would raise some eyebrows today].
But they run into some misers. It’s 2018. Why must the keepers of the weather be stereotyped?! #MisersToo
They first encounter Snow Miser. He had a big smile on his face when asked about causing snow all the way in Southtown, USA.
Listen, Snow Miser, not everyone thinks so fondly of snowball fights and ice hockey. Back home in Dayton, they’ve lost several hockey teams. Ain’t no fond memories there.
I’m not sure, though, why Snow Miser looks so happy while Heat Miser could not have seemed more miserable. Maybe not miserable. Maniacal. It makes me want to jump on Team Snow Miser.
Heat Miser (Or Mr. Green Christmas, as he likes to be called) slowed down the tempo, which, ironically, felt cooler. He also seemed more argumentative. “What?!” he exclaimed. “Snow in the south!?”
Cold Miser must have given Heat Miser Greenland the year we had the Super Bowl and it kept snowing here.
Cold and Heat Miser are brothers [you could probably tell because they share the same last name]. Their mom, Mother Nature, sorts this whole thing out [she does not share the last name. Maybe she’s married to someone else. Someone named Leon Nature].
But as I transition into old manhood, I think I may become a miser myself. For my introductory song, I’d have ladies dancing, maybe the Rockettes, not midgets or small children. I wouldn’t be too warm or too cold, though. I think my introductory song writes itself:
I’m Mister Temperate. I’m Mister Evening.
I’m Mister “Maybe Wear a Windbreaker, but I’ll Feel Fine Either Way.” I’m “Mister Low 80s But Not Humid.”
Friends call me Beautiful Miser. Whatever I touch … is comfortable and feels a light breeze in my clutch.
I’m not too much; I’m the exact right amount.
[Cymbal tap]
Listen to how seamlessly it flows! In addition to hastily written reviews of television shows, I can now add reviewer of 40 year old Christmas specials to my resume.
