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From: moriarty@fluke.UUCP (Jeff Meyer)
Newsgroups: net.misc,net.singles
Subject: Very Late and Rather Grumpy History of Christmas Festival [:-)]
Message-ID: <156@vax2.fluke.UUCP>
Date: Sat, 15-Dec-84 14:54:31 EST
Article-I.D.: vax2.156
Posted: Sat Dec 15 14:54:31 1984
Date-Received: Wed, 19-Dec-84 02:42:16 EST
References: <280@scc.UUCP>
Reply-To: moriarty@fluke.UUCP (Jeff Meyer)
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Organization: John Fluke Mfg. Co., Inc., Everett, WA
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Xref: watmath net.misc:7149 net.singles:4973

During the period of our Lord (Ah-men) 1980-82, at the little village of
Reed College in Portland OR, Christmas was celebrated at the Akerman Dorm in
a variety of different methods.  In the few days that preceded the beginning
of winter break, the tried-and-true ritual of the denzinens of the concrete
and brick building became a holiday event for those who enjoyed the pagent
of the Holiday Spirit (as well as any other spirits whose proofs were higher
than 120).  At Nine O'clock in the morning, the students would rise in
T-shirts, robes, or tuxedos (oh, excuse me, that was Caroline and I... the
picture's so damn fuzzy), walking in the traditional
shuffle-stumble-swear-groan march to the sacred showers, muttering the Chant
of the Ages (ages 17-24), "Godwhattimeisit... GodwhatDAYisit...
Didn'tIhavetocatchaflightoutaheretwohoursago...
I'vestillgotthreepapersandalabdone...  GodwhowasIinbedwithlastnight...
GodwhatwasI {here the scrolls disagree on the interpertations: "smoking"
"drinking" "eating" "thinkingof"} lastnight...
GodifyougetmeoutofthisoneI'llneverdoitagain" {The last phrase was apparently
considered something of a joke...}

After a group shock caused by lack of hot water, the paritioners would
retire to different areas to drink coffee, discuss a variety of matters,
play bridge or Risk, knit, listen to music, and even sometimes engage in
academic tasks.  Eventually, in a method of communication still undefined
even by modern-day science, the group elected The Sacred Interior Decorator
(or, in other interpretations, "She/He who has Money") to go out and get the
most garish and ugly Christmas ornament to be found within the lenghth and
breath of the land (and in Stumptown, this is a broad thing... there are
enough Thrift Store to make Marikesh look with envy upon them).

And then, every night before the congregation split for home via the
Friendly skies, the most plastic, artificial, blinking, electric, and in
general retarded device ever beheld at the holidays (outside of day-care
centers, anyway) was hung up in the main hallway, and the people of Reed
came from yards around to wonder and gasp at garishness.  And the good
people of the ministry of Akerman would sit around it in a circle, and
smile, for they alone knew that the true meaning of Christmas was clear in
their decorating symbolism: You can hang Liz Taylor on a chain, get Doug
Trumball to hook $12 million dollars of special effects up to her, run 1200
volts up her ass and watch her glow like the Hanford Waste Disposal site
after a bad night, and it still looks pretty darn puny when compared when
you've got friends like these.  Ah-Men.  Uncle Harry said it loudest, but we
all realized it, and it lasted far into the night (or at lest 10:00, when
organized and controlled thought were pretty much a thing of the past).

And it warms the dying embers of my cerebral nodes to think back on it, and
smile.

Merry Christmas to all of you, and especially Anne, Rick, Quentin, Keith,
Diane, Karen, and Unc. Harry, the only man ever to get his name in Lisa
Birnbach's guide AND the Rolling Stone magazine in the same week (except for
Lisa herself, that is...).

					Moriarty, aka Jeff Meyer
					John Fluke Mfg. Co., Inc.
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