Thanks, corporate America, for wrecking another holiday.
Christmas was long ago commercialized to death. Easter has been sugar-coated beyond recognition.
Now the best Thursday of the year has become the dirtiest, as the oily consumerism that is our nation’s most toxic asset had spilled over from Black Friday to Thanksgiving.
You can lick the turkey grease off your fingers, but greed is like the blood on Lady Macbeth’s hands. Out, damned spot!
How tragic that the most American of holidays could change so quickly from a day of giving thanks for what we have into a day of lusting after what we don’t.
The soiling of my Thanksgiving began in the morning on the drive down to my sister’s in St. Paul. Boy was texting his friends. “Dad, can I go shopping tonight?”
“No. Thanksgiving is a family day. It’s not for going out with your friends, and it’s sure as heck not for going to Devil Mart and spending my hard earned money.”
A few seconds, and another chirp from the phone. “Kyle says you ruined his day.”
Next it’s Girl. “Dad, can I go shopping at midnight?”
“Thanksgiving is a family holiday. It’s not for going out with your friends, and it’s sure as heck not for going to Satan Mart and participating in a new, unholy ritual whereby the last remaining dollars in my wallet must be siphoned out 12 hours earlier than they were last year. Can’t the evil geniuses who thought up Black Friday be satisfied?”
Oh, I know, believe me I know because the corporate media couldn’t shut up about it for the past week, cheerfully explaining why a sacred Thursday must be blackened because the poor Wal-Marts and Best Buys of the world are so oppressed by the Amazons of on-line retail out-competing them that they have no choice but to lure my children away from their family and into a giant warehouse of cheap plastic crap marked down 50 percent (after it was marked up 50 percent last week).
On the drive home at 6:30, a full two and half hours before the store opens, there they are, sitting in smoking cars outside the Best Buy, a hoard so desperate to save a buck on a TV they don’t need that they would forego the post-turkey nap or game of Yahtzee in order to sit in an asphalt parking lot with a hundred other wretches to get in line for a plastic rectangle even more giant than the oversized plastic rectangle they already spend too much precious time ogling, and which works fine, by the way, but you never know when you’ll get another shot at a $200 42-inch plasma-screen TV so you better say your goodbyes to hearth and home and friends and family to climb in your car, drive to Best Buy and sit in the parking lot with your motor burning nonrenewable fossil fuels for two and a half hours so you can spend $200 on an oversized piece of plastic that in two years will be sitting in a landfill because you’ll be idling in a parking lot waiting to buy a 74-inch plastic rectangle for $200 AT 6 O’CLOCK ON THANKSGIVING MORNING!
Because the blood-sucker will never be satisfied until it has extracted every penny to fill our homes with plastic and our bellies with sugar and our eyes with bimbos and our ears with insipid noise and our minds with nothing, nothing, nothing.
Happy Thanksgiving, and Merry Bloody Xmas.
Brett Larson is the editor of the Mille Lacs Messenger.