December 24, 2004 by s.z.

The True Meaning of Christmas I'm Just Sayin' presents five minutes that will change your life: highlights from the "Star Wars Holiday Special."  Sure, you probably thought it was just a legend, or a story told by parents to scare their children into being nice, not naughty, but it's very true -- just like Peggy Noonan saw in her desk-inspired vision.  And it knows where you live! 4:17:08 AM

Deep Thoughts, by Peggy Noonan [Peggy is in maroon; Jack Handey, author of the authentic "Deep Thoughts (ask for them by name!) is in blue; Airplane! is in green; and I am in black, the new black]. This week, on a very special holiday "Deep Thoughts," Peggy tells us about a Christmas miracle.   It all started when she was seven . . . . I was 7 years old and what I wanted for Christmas was a desk. Instead of putting a quarter under a kid's pillow, how about a pinecone? That way, he learns that "wishing" isn't going to save our national forests. Peggy wanted a desk because all the glamorous women in movies had them: Rosalind Russell, Katharine Hepburn, Bonzo the chimp.  This was back in the 1950s, you see, when even the TV stations were poor.  Yes, back in those days, stations were lucky if they got one movie in their Christmas stocking, and they had to try to make it last all year.  And so the equally poor Peggy would have to watch the same movie day after day, which not only led to her desk fixation, but undoubtedly warped her mind.  I wonder if she could sue? They had no money for programming on Channel 9 so they repeated the same movie over and over for a week at a time. To this day I can recite whole sections of dialogue from "They Drive by Night" but that's not important now. Elaine Dickinson: You got a telegram from headquarters today. Ted Striker: Headquarters -- what is it? Elaine Dickinson: Well, it's a big building where generals meet, but that's not important right now. But anyway, little Peggy really, really wanted that desk, but it didn't look like she would get it, because desks were expensive back then on Walton Mountain, and Peggy's parents, being Irish Catholics, believed that desks were the tools of Satan. Anyway, all I wanted was the desk. But I didn't expect to get it because desks were huge and expensive and shiny and . . . well, it was unlikely.  We asked Dad if we could have a trampoline, but he said no, that they were too dangerous and too expensive.  But then we went and talked to the trampoline salesman at the store, and he said they weren't too expensive or dangerous.  I think I'm still sorta mad at Dad for lying to us like that. But then a Christmas miracle occurred, and Peggy woke up on Christmas morning to find a shoddy, cheap, made-in-Taiwan desk under the tree.  And as she sat behind it, picking slivers out of her fingers, trying to keep it from smashing her foot, and sucking the tetanus germs out of the wounds caused by the protruding nails, she thought it was the most beautiful desk in the world --- but later she wised up, and vowed that someday she would make everybody pay for forcing her to make do with such a crappy desk. And yet that Christmas morning I ran to the tree with my sisters and over on the side was a desk. I want you to know what it looked like. It was small, maybe two feet high, and beige, and made of plywood. It had a drawer for pencils. The plywood wasn't finished and if you rubbed against it the wrong way you'd get a splinter, but it was the most beautiful desk in human history.   The people in the village were real poor, so none of the children had any toys.   But this one little boy had gotten an old enema bag and filled it with rocks, and he would go around and whap the other children across the face with it.   Man, I think my heart almost broke.   Later the boy came up and offered to give me the toy.   This was too much!   I reached out my hand, but then he ran away.   I chased him down and took the enema bag.   He cried a little, but that's the way of these people. Now, here comes the REAL miracle part -- the fumes from the desk's cheap varnish start giving Peggy hallucinations! I sat there, closed my eyes, put my hands over them, and tried to imagine the first Christmas. And I saw it. I saw it like a movie. It was a blue black night and there were people on the road and I saw the man and the woman, I saw them going from house to house and being told there was no room. Then they went to a rocky place on a little hill just beyond the houses. There were some trees and bushes and a sort of wooden shanty with hay on the floor. Then there was the cry of a child. Animals came and stared and their breath warmed the air. It was starry. Mary's blanket was Joseph's cloak. And I thought: It's all true. It's not just a story, it's true, it really happened. This struck me like a thunderbolt. Yes, it was just like a movie -- it was like They Drive by Night.  It was a black, melodramatic night, and these people (Humphrey Bogart and George Raft) are on the road -- you know, because they are truck drivers, and they have to get the oranges from Fresno to Frisco.  And Peggy saw the man (Bogie) and the woman (Gale Page), and they went from place to place because Bogie and Raft's trucking business was going down the tubes due to sabotage by crooked competitors and Bogie's missing arm, and because it was the Depression and all.  And there were trees, and bushes, and a cry from a crazy Ida Lupino about how the garage door opener made her kill her husband.  It's all true.  It really happened!  Really! And it was the holy desk of Antioch that was responsible for the miraculous movie that played in Peggy's mind, in that it cracked open her brain and let the lead paint from the walls drip inside.  Or something. When I wondered in later years why I had that moment--why I saw it in my mind and suddenly knew it was true--I thought it was connected to the desk. The fact that it was there seemed a miracle. The joy of receiving a happy gift and being grateful for it and excited by it opened up my mind. It cracked open my imagination and let a truth that seemed like magic in. To me, truth is not some vauge, foggy notion. Truth is real. And, at the same time, unreal. Fiction and fact and everything in between, plus some things I can't remember, all rolled into one big 'thing'. This is truth, to me. Is there a moral to this memory of Peggy's?  Um, yeah -- that kids like gifts. Is there a moral to this memory? What it taught me, what I remember all these years later, is that everyone likes gifts but no one is more affected by their power than children. Every year at Christmastime a whole set of emotions sweeps over me--emotions which probably go back to my childhood.   The first emotion is wondering if I'm going to get any presents.  Then it changes to "Hooray, I got some presents!"  Then it changes to "Is that all the presents I got?" The rest of the moral is that it's good to give cheap, shoddy gifts to kids, because the varnish on them can help the kids get high -- and then what wonderous visions they will see! A child can look at a red toy car in the red-green glow of Christmas tree lights and imagine an entire lifetime. A child can play with a new doll and smell good things being cooked and hear sweet music and it can make that child imagine that life is good, which gives her a template for good, a category for good; it helps her know good exists. Maybe it's my imagination, but food seemed to taste better when I was a kid.  Also, food would sing and dance and play musical instruments, but that could also have been my imagination. So, Peggy suggests that you give a gift to a child.  Or if that seems like too much work, just reminisce about your own favorite childhood Christmas gifts, and your own shellac-induced hallucinations. 3:51:49 AM

Caroling with John Derbyshire Did you ever wonder why Derb's academic, blue neighbors reacted coldly to his seasonal greeting of "Merry Christmas or Die, godless commies"?  Well, it could have been due to his singing. Yes, boys and girls, it's that time of year again! Time to light the Holiday log, gather round the Holiday tree, raise a glass of mulled port, and sing along with Derb as I celebrate the ancient feast of Holiday. Don't hold back, now — I want to hear the rafters ring! Although Derb offers several beautiful songs which echo the angels' message of "On earth peace, good will toward men," this one seems especially seasonal, given Jesus's well-known hatred for poor people and Samaritans: Song of the Illegal Immigrants(Tune: "She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain" ) We'll be pouring through the border when we come. (When we come!) We'll be pouring through the border when we come. (When we come!) We'll be pouring through the border — To hell with law and order! We'll be pouring through the border when we come. If you're ranching near the border when we come — (Watch out, chum!) Best lock up your wife and daughter when we come. (Don't be dumb!) And don't go to fix your fences — There's no point in such expenses! We'll just break 'em down and burn 'em when we come We'll be filling up your clinics and your schools (All your schools!) We don't care about your pettifogging rules ('Fogging rules!) When to pay your tax you're straining Think of all your nation's gaining! What's the point of more explaining? You poor fools! Being brown and poor we make the lefties swoon (Lefties swoon!) If you grumble, that's just "racist," they'll impugn. (Leave the room!) If you protest, you're a bigot — So just open up that spigot! And we'll have you talking Spanish pretty soon! Sure, a lot of us come here to practice crime (Practice crime!) In your prisons we're a dozen for a dime. (Doing time!) But a prison cell in Utah Beats a farm in Pitiquito — And your prison guards can use that overtime! In any case this country isn't yours. (No! Not yours!) Just remember all those cruel and unjust wars. (And racist laws!) Your forefathers stole our nation — This is just repatriation! We've come here to stay, and also settle scores! You know what this song reminds us of?  Yes, the widely-emailed "Illegal Immigrant's Poem" (which, as we noted before, a poster at the white nationalist site Stormfront claimed credit for introducing in America).  Here's a portion of it to refresh your memory: I cross border, poor and broke, Take bus, see employment folk, Nice man treat me good in there, Say I need to see welfare. Welfare say, "You come no more, We send cash right to your door." Welfare checks, they make you wealthy, Medicaid it keep you healthy! By and by, I got plenty money, Thanks to you, American dummy. [...] American crazy! He pay all year, To keep welfare running here. We think America darn good place! Too darn good for the white man race. If they no like us, they can go, Got lots of room in Mexico! We're not accusing Derb of plagiarizing, of course, just of being an obnoxious prat.   (And yes, also a racist.) P.S.  While I didn't dare try it, per NRO, you can Hear Derb sing his carols here. [MP3] Bonus NRO pundit -- Who Said This? I was then a foreign correspondent, and before Christmas I spent a desperate day trawling the airport in Nairobi trying to find someone who could fly me into Somalia, where the U.S. Marines had lately landed and into which no commercial flights dared venture.I began bearding every man in epaulets, then every white man in epaulets, and eventually every white man, looking for a pilot. Okay, since you'll never guess (due to the absence of an adorable conservative message uttered by Bethlehama, Pointsettia, Gloria in Excelsis Deo, or Dreidel), let me just tell you that it was: 2:01:41 AM