Christmas is for children, and not just the Santa Claus
part.
An annual celebration of the birth of a magical Caucasian superhero
who protects us in life and death is clearly for the comfort of
children. And the ideas that everybody can love one another, or that we
will one day come together in peace and harmony, are also lies we tell
children. These lies are perpetuated by a million Christmas TV
specials; they’re gargled by a million shiny pop stars; they’re pushed
at us annually by millions of merchants.
But the Christmas myth dissipates when exposed to the musk of
adulthood. When childless adults swallow the myth of Christmas, or
child-free environments are decorated to celebrate the holiday, it is
always a sad and tragic spectacle.
Every office has at least one childless, solitary cat lady in a
three-dimensional Christmas sweater who brings home-baked red-and-green
cookies. They bleat inane Christmas carols, they wear idiotic Santa
hats, and they admit, proudly, that they’re “a little bit crazy for
Christmas.” These adults are annoying as hell because they refuse to
let go of the auspices of childhood, and they’re so full of shit, or
rather the “holiday spirit,” that they’re despised by everyone they
encounter.
There is only one way to redeem this person—let’s call her
“Dottie”—and convince her to put away that Christmas sweater.
Dottie needs to be taken on a tour of Seattle’s porn shops and bars and
casinos. They’re decorated for Christmas too, just like Dottie, and
they’re every bit as heartbreaking. No one can witness the sad displays
of hollow Christmas cheer at a porn shop, for instance, and then
continue down the path of yuletide fuckstickery. It could be traumatic
initially, but Dottie, the Antiscrooge, will eventually hail you as a
hero, the Ghost of Grown-up Reality, for saving her from the compulsion
to dress like a swollen elf for a month out of every year.
Dottie’s tour starts out on Aurora Avenue North, where everything is
dark except for Butch’s Gun Shop (7503 Aurora Ave N). There, above the
hand-printed signs that read “GUNS WANTED” and “STUN Guns $19.95,” is a
single strand of white icicle-style lights. The combination of guns and
holidays, so soon after America’s annual shopping-mall massacre, should
make anyone wince. Butch’s likes to stock affordable weapons, and so
they don’t currently carry SKS rifles—the type used in the
Nebraska mall shooting earlier this month—due to restrictively
high prices. But you can pick up a lovely Cobra .380 ($149.95) for the
wife or Hi-Point 9mm ($149.95) for junior.
Next, drag Dottie to Tukwila and its three-story sex megastore
called Lovers (119 SW 148th St). Sex shops are great—we love our
porn and our sex toys. But if there’s anything less sexy than the sight
of two large-breasted mannequins in red velvet lingerie clutching a
stripper pole wrapped in gold garland—upstairs at Lovers—we
haven’t run across it. Downstairs, there’s a male mannequin wearing a
red-and-black satin smoking jacket driving a tiny sleigh pulled by four
reindeer. And everywhere there are giant snowflakes, 15-inch dildos,
sincere Christmas carols, and life-size fuckdolls.
By now, Dottie’s probably begging for mercy. You can assure her that
she’ll find that White Center is alive with holiday spirit. A bar
called the Locker Room (9633 16th Ave SW) has window paintings of the
Grinch and a few drunken penguins. Be sure to keep a close eye on
Dottie: Interpersonal relations in White Center could very well fog up
her poinsettia-tinted glasses. Last weekend, I witnessed a woman taking
a photo of the Grinch painting when a very drunk, very old man stumbled
out of the bar. “Herrrm, why don’t you take a picture of me licking
your pussy?” he asked the woman. Then he wobbled backward two steps,
belched, and nodded to himself—clearly, his work here was done.
He staggered toward Stan’s Adult Superstore (9630 16th Ave SW), a shop
that sells dusty novelty items—windup masturbating monkeys,
cunnilingus-enhancing dildos that strap to your chin—and whose
Christmas display is limited to seven bare pine trees. It’s as if
someone started a Christmas display, came to his or her senses, and
then wandered off.
Taboo Adult Video (9813 16th Ave SW) is a block from Stan’s. Behind
the counter is a row of Polaroids of people who’ve been bounced from
the premises. One man urinated in a viewing booth. One elfish pervert
was ejected for smoking. Just above this lineup is a Christmas sales
display: a vibrator disguised as a candy cane; a Santa hat bedazzled
with tiny, light-up erections; a vinyl “Santa’s Coming!” Christmas
stocking ($39.95) filled with a butt plug, edible body paint, two
vibrators, anal beads, a condom lollipop, a cock ring, some lotions, a
blindfold, and, curiously, a pen with Santa’s head on it. Off to the
side, there’s a small, tasteful Christmas tree and, below it, some
brightly colored packages and a copy of Barely Legal Christmas ($39.95).
Dottie can recover from that sight at Roxy’s Casino Bowling Bar
& Grill (2823 SW Roxbury St), which is near Taboo. At Roxy’s, a
paper snowman smiles below a sign that reads “MERRY CHRISTMAS CASINO”
and there’s some red garland. But the old women playing poker and
blackjack are all wearing secondhand versions of Dottie’s ugly
Christmas sweaters and a wreath hangs next to the liquor license.
The Lusty Lady (1315 First Ave) in downtown Seattle is worth a
visit. Below the marquee (“Dancers, Prancers & Vixens” and “Come
Fill Our Stockings”), there’s an animatronic Rudolph made of Christmas
lights, turning his head from side to side. Below Rudolph, it’s fairly
common to witness groups of large, wealthy white men exiting the Lady.
They tug on their pants, not quite making eye contact, and, having
spilled their conquering seed, they’ll spontaneously start laughing
like criminal masterminds in a thriller. Above them, Rudolph’s head
moves back and forth in silent rebuke: “No no no no no no.”
By now, Dottie should be thoroughly impressed with the bleakness of
the holiday, but if, by some miracle, she’s still humming “The Little
Drummer Boy” to herself, there’s only one option left. In Sea-Tac
International Airport (17801 International Blvd), there’s a display
that’s controversial precisely because it was intended to avoid
controversy. Last year, in lieu of a Christmas tree, airport officials
erected a generic “holiday” tribute. Pundits and bloggers identified
Sea-Tac’s holiday decorations as a battle in the “War on
Christmas.”
This year’s Sea-Tac holiday display is painfully ugly. More than a
dozen birch tree logs jut up out of a bed of flaccid cotton. Sticks are
driven into the logs, and ugly wooden seagulls are impaled on the
sticks. The whole thing is bathed in a morose blue and violet light.
The only intelligent response to this display is the momentary
consideration of suicide.
There’s nothing human about an airport, and there’s nothing human
about Sea-Tac’s holiday display, making it the ideal symbol of all
those holiday lies that ought to expire with our childhoods. It may be
the only honest Christmas display for adults in the entire city. Nobody
can take in Sea-Tac’s dead trees and impaled birds without concluding
that this is not a season of joy, but of sorrow, lies, and
heartbreak.
Not even Dottie. 