December 14, 2006

• svwX

  Do you remember the number I have done on Xmas the last couple of years (#12, specifically)?   If so, this may be the proper time to grin or groan, as the spirit moves you.  If not, then allow me to welcome you to my take on what a couple of millennia have done to the legend of the Christ Child.  Some of the entries will be brand new, others will be reposted unchanged, while still others will be edited reposts.  I am especially anticipating adding a lot of new info on the history of Christmas tree ornaments, which I researched last year and was prevented from posting by a hardware crash.

  With tongue lodged firmly in cheek, but in all seriousness nonetheless, here goes:

  This was the entry that started it all,
  on December 14, 2004.
  (edited repost)

  Turning svwX
  
  upside-down
  
  and backwards

  My plan is to turn Santa up and see what will shake out of the jolly old elf’s capacious pockets.

  As a starting point, I’m reversing the twelve days of
  Christmas. 
  Traditionally, they start at the Mass of Christ (December 25) and last
  until Epiphany (January 6).  Since childhood, when like most
  American children I was taught that Christmas is all about Santa,
  elves, reindeer, conifers hung with sparkly things, White Christmas and
  Jingle Bells, I have been irritated
  by the anti-climactic quality of leaving up the decorations and playing
  Xmas music on the radio after Santa Claus has already been and
  gone.  It was absurd then, and it gets more ridiculous with the
  passage of time. 

  Half a century ago, people generally waited until after Thanksgiving to
  put Christmas merchandise out in stores and string up holiday
  lights.  Now, they barely wait until after Halloween.  Out go
  the pumpkins and witches, in come the holly and mistletoe.  It’s
  carrying this Saturnalian bullshit too far in the name of commerce, I say.  So, on my
  first day of Christmas (timed to get all twelve of them out of the way
  by Christmas Day–including the big day itself, of course), I’ll go to work on that popular old
  memory-and-forfeit game in song:

  

  The Twelve Days of Christmas

  On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
  A partridge in a pear tree.

  On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
  Two turtle doves
  and a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the third day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
  Three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six
  geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans
  a-swimming, six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids
  a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds, three French hens, two turtle doves And a partridge in a pear tree.

  On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me
  Twelve drummers drumming,
  eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping,
  nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking,
  seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying,
  Five golden rings.
  Four colly birds,
  three French hens,
  two turtle doves
  And a partridge in a pear tree.

  With a lot of practice, and with one’s
  wits about one, it’s not too hard to remember the gifts and the proper
  ordering of them, so there’s not much challenge to the game. 
  That’s where the “forfeit” part comes in.  If perchance one does
  flub a line, then traditionally one must take a drink, or give a kiss,
  or remove an article of clothing, etc. — a forfeit.  That tends
  to get one flustered or schnockered, and then the flubs just
  snowball.  It’s a fun game, played under certain circumstances, with special people.

  There is an urban legend and internet hoax circulating about the song
  and game, which says the song was a way for Christians or Catholics
  (depending upon which version of the legend one hears) to secretly pass
  along their teachings in times and places where their religion was
  prohibited.  That myth is thoroughly and exhaustively exploded at snopes.com.

  Did you notice that my version of the song above does not say, “four calling birds?”  I reverted to the original wording here.  “Colly” means “black as coal,” and refers to blackbirds.

  If the “five golden rings” in the song conjure in your mind an image
  similar to this one, think again.  The first seven “gifts” are
  birds, and the last five are people engaged in various activities.  None of them is
  jewelry.  The “golden rings” in the song are golden ring-necked pheasants.
  
  
  And if you like that memory game, here’s one that’s even more challenging.  Save it for the New Year’s Eve party.

   One hen.

  One hen, two ducks.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five corpulent porpoises.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers.,

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers, seven
  thousand Macedonian warriors in full battle array.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers, seven
  thousand Macedonian warriors in full battle array, eight brass monkeys
  from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers, seven
  thousand Macedonian warriors in full battle array, eight brass monkeys
  from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt, nine sympathetic, apathetic,
  diabetic old men on roller skates with a profound propensity toward
  procrastination and sloth.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers, seven
  thousand Macedonian warriors in full battle array, eight brass monkeys
  from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt, nine sympathetic, apathetic,
  diabetic old men on roller skates with a profound propensity toward
  procrastination and sloth, ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens
  of the deep, who haul stones in and around the quarries of the Queasy
  of Key, all at the very same time.

  One hen, two ducks, three squawking geese, four Limerick oysters, five
  corpulent porpoises, six pairs of Don Alfonso’s tweezers, seven
  thousand Macedonian warriors in full battle array, eight brass monkeys
  from the ancient, sacred crypts of Egypt, nine sympathetic, apathetic,
  diabetic old men on roller skates with a profound propensity toward
  procrastination and sloth, ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens
  of the deep, who haul stones in and around the quarries of the Queasy
  of Key, all at the very same time, eleven neutramatic synsthesizing
  systems owned by the seriously cybernetic marketing division shipped
  via relativistic space flight through the draconian sector seven.

  

  ---

  [EDIT (2005 & re-edited in 2006)]
  pipsqueak, for reasons at which I can only guess, left this comment in 2004:

  “‘and save us all from Satan’s power’ – Good King Wenceslas”

  to which I felt it only fitting to
  reply in the following way, since the whole purpose of this series
  of entries was to correct some of the more common misconceptions  –

  two song lyrics for you:

  

  Good King Wenceslaus

  Good King Wenceslaus looked out on the feast of Stephen.
  When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.

  Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel,
  When a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

  Hither page and stand by me if thou knowst it telling
  Yonder peasant, who is he, where and what his dwelling?

  Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,
  Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes’ fountain.

  Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pinelogs hither
  Thou and I will see him dine when we bear them thither

  Page and monarch forth they went, forth they went together
  Through the rude winds wild lament, and the bitter weather.

  Sire the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger
  Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.

  Mark my footsteps my good page, tread thou in them boldly
  Thou shalt find the winter’s rage freeze thy blood less coldly.

  In his master’s steps he trod where the snow lay dinted
  Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed

  Therefore Christian men be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
  Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.

  God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
  
  
  God rest ye merry, gentlemen,
  Let nothing you dismay,
  Remember Christ our Saviour
  
  Was born on Christmas Day;
  
  To save us all from Satan’s power
  
  When we were gone astray.

  O tidings of comfort and joy,
  Comfort and joy,
  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  In Bethlehem, in Jewry,
  This blessed Babe was born,
  And laid within a manger,
  Upon this blessed morn;
  To which His mother Mary
  Did nothing take in scorn.

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  From God our Heavenly Father,
  A blessed angel came;
  And unto certain Shepherds
  Brought tidings of the same:
  How that in Bethlehem was born
  The Son of God by Name.

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  “Fear not,” then said the angel,
  “Let nothing you afright,
  This day is born a Saviour
  Of a pure Virgin bright,
  To free all those who trust in him
  From Satan’s power and might.”

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  The shepherds at those tidings
  Rejoiced much in mind,
  And left their flocks a-feeding,
  In tempest, storm and wind:
  And went to Bethlehem straightway
  The Son of God to find.

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  And when they came to Bethlehem
  Where our dear Saviour lay,
  They found him in a manger,
  Where oxen feed on hay;
  His mother Mary kneeling down,
  Unto the Lord did pray:

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.

  Now to the Lord sing praises,
  All you within this place,
  And with true love and brotherhood
  Each other now embrace;
  This holy tide of Christmas
  All other doth deface:

  O tidings of comfort and joy,

  Comfort and joy,

  O tidings of comfort and joy.
  
  
  My posting the old memory-and-forfeits song “inspired” Greyfox to create the following:

  The Twelve Days of Christmas, redux
   (reductio ad absurdum, actually)

  I will spare you all twelve verses–the last one  goes as follows:

   
  On the last day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

  Twelve Hummers rumbling,

  Eleven snipers sniping,

  Ten voyeurs peeping,

  Nine faggots prancing,

  Eight ‘tards a’drooling,

  Seven snowmen melting,

  Six crips a’gimping,

  Five yoyo strings!

  Four stinky turds,

  Three French whores,

  Two sur-GI-cal gloves,  and

  The latest Partridge Family CD!   

   

  (And yes, I wrote it myself.  I take full credit, responsibility, and blame.)

  [Greyfox (AKA ArmsMerchant) takes responsibility, that is, in case there is any doubt or confusion.]
  

  

  

  • 6:40 pm
  • 21 Comments