This year I've got the Bob Cratchit shift here at La Bloga – Christmas Eve. I could just wish you all some merriness, but with all the hysteria and political turmoil sweeping over the planet, guaranteeing that the coming election year will be one of the weirdest ever, I feel the need to say a few things.
Here in my surrounding neighborhoods (I could say “barrios,” but we also have a lot of back people, some women wear colorful hajibs, and the remaining caucasians are getting nervous) in the Wild West of the Metro Phoenix Area, the shrines to the Virgin of Guadalupe have been touched up and festooned with Christmas lights since December 12, Guadalupe Day. The Christmas lights are thick this year. I think I can see Coatlicue shining through.
Pagan traditions and symbols from Europe and colder climes dominate even down here in Center and Lower Arizona. Plastic snowmen and styrofoam snowflakes gleam in the desert sun, next to the cactus. It's like an alien invasion has forced us to pretend we're living in the world of our conquerors.
Our consumer economy runs on a Black Friday/Christmas cycle. The publishing, and other industries would be casualties of a war on Christmas. Most money for a lot of retail businesses is made during the mad, December rush. Santa Claus, the Wild Man dressed up as a Christian saint so he can hijack Western Civilization, rules.
Jesus Christ and his message of universal love does get lost in the shuffle, but then, without the constitutional separation of church and state, America would be a Puritan dystopia. Some Americans would like that, the ones dreaming of living in an anti-terrorist police state with closed borders.
You didn't think you could have closed borders without a police state to enforce it, did you? Some people will believe anything.
Some Mormons believe that Jesus was Quetzalcoatl on a post-resurrection tour of Las Américas. Then some Aztláni believe that it was Quetzalcoatl who disguised himself as Jesus. Other folks believe that it was Buddha doing the feathered serpent act. Maybe I should ask the Buddhas hanging out with the tikis, sacred skulls, and reptiles in my backyard.
More grist for the recombocultural/rasquache mill, the Chicano thing to do.
Meanwhile, be merry, cabrónes! Visit and call your loved ones. Eat some tamales. Soak up some Christmas cheer. May the blessings of Xochipilli alter your consciousness, if needed.
The madness will wait until the new year.
Ernest Hogan is an All-Purpose Heathen Devil guided by the crazy stuff Tezcatlipoca chatters into his ear. He claims to be a writer and artist.