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December 26, 2002 devo-id It turns out the Christmas tree I bought is something called a Medusa Spruce.  It's so dry and brittle the needles fall off if you look at it.  I've spent the Yuletide enjoying the festive tree by averting my eyes from it.  It reminds me of Invisible Boy from the movie, Mystery Men.  Invisible Boy could become invisible, but only if no one was looking at him. I get depressed every Christmas and, I'm happy to say, this year was no exception.  In keeping with tradition, the lowest point of the day was reached when I opened the present from my mother.  This Nativity Nadir, as I call it, is the cherry on top of a shit sundae.  It never fails to demonstrate the mind-blowing disconnect between my mother's vision of me, on the one hand, and the nonfiction me, on the other.  I admit I look forward to the moment I open her gift, but only in the way the neighborhood nerd eagerly awaits being the last guy chosen to play in a pickup softball game. This year, my mother surpassed previous benchmarks of cluelessness.  Try to imagine the outfit Dr. Evil wore in the Austin Powers movies; sort of Mao Tse-tung meets Devo apparel.  Now color it olive green and sew on the front a zipper running from the Nehru collar to the squared-off, Mexican Wedding Shirt-style bottom of the upper garment.  If that were not strange enough, the ensemble was purchased in large size, a size I am not.  I was awestruck and strangely thrilled to learn she had overlooked my smallish stature for 46 years.  Anyway, I tried it on and was seized by the impulse to goosestep while singing "Whip It."

©  2002 by the beastmaster