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Homo fop the holidays
Tis the season melancholy
all me Scrooge, but 1 friggin’ hate Christmas.
There’s something wrong with a day where
you’re made to feel like a loser if you’re not
heading over the river and through the
woods to Grandmother’s house we go.
Never mind that Grandma’s a lush and
Grandpa’s a lech— just get in the sleigh and
shut up.
I’ve felt this way since I was 12, and my
mom took off, leaving my dad custody of the
kids and Christmas. Chase didn’t know how to
make eggs, let alone eggnog, so we began the
tradition of avoiding our lonely, empty house
by going to the movies instead.
Nowadays movies do big business on
Christmas, but back in 1978 the theaters were
practically empty, save us and a smattering of
Jews with nowhere else to go. It was fun, actu
ally— almost subversive.
Then when I was a 20 I married a Jew myself,
who taught me the ancient Hebraic custom of
ordering Chinese takeout for Christmas dinner.
Since then I’ve experimented with different
coping mechanisms. Despite my antipathy for
the day, I’m still good company, so I would
accept invitations to other people’s family cele
brations. Warning: Unless you enjoy watching
other people walk away with more merchandise
than Winona Ryder in Saks, never ever do this.
Now we stick with the movies. For weeks
Floyd and I pore over reviews the way kids look
through the Toys “R” Us catalog, carefully
choosing a double feature to fill the day. Some
times friends join us, but there’s no compromis
ing: It’s our tradition, so we choose the movies.
But in case the cinematic solution doesn’t
work for you, I’ve asked those on my mailing
list for holiday survival techniques. More than
40 readers provided a pretty comprehensive
cross section of opinions.
For starters, there are those who actually like
spending time with their families on holidays.
Yeah, I know, whatever. Moving o n ....
Then there are those who still do the family
thing but make sure they pop a couple of Xanax
first. The winner of this year’s Most Dysfunc
tional Family Award goes to my friend CM, a hi
woman who told me how she went to her holi
day gathering expecting a confrontation with
her psycho Christian sister (the one who thinks
Dubya is too liberal) but instead had a blowup
with her hi sister, who revealed she had slept
with the woman CM was dating. “She has no
sexual identity other than ‘greedy,’ ” CM says.
O f course there are those queens who sim
ply use the season as an outlet for their creative
energy, madly decorating their homes like
THE GOSPEL
ACCORDING
TO MARC
by M arc Acito
Martha Stewart on speed. Jesse of Atlanta
went to an enormous amount of trouble one
year, only to have his mother develop an aller
gy to his Christmas tree and swell up like Cher
before the collagen settled. (Note to self: Try
this the next time Mom visits for the holidays.)
A surprising number of people came out to
their families at Christmas. (Now there’s a gift
they weren’t expecting.) 1 can just see it— the
whole brood gathered around the old Pianola
while the pretty son with the sweet voice sings,
“O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum, I’m dating
Adam Tannenbaum....” Or if they’re celebrat
ing Hanukkah, “Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel,
I’m Jewish and I’m gay....”
One woman chooses a Christmas book the
way Floyd and I choose Christmas movies.
“Christmas I often spend alone. By choice,”
wrote Anna. “I read a novel (cover to cover).
And I walk the beach at sunset.” Sounds a lot
better than listening to Uncle Phil’s story
about Scotchgarding his tent, doesn’t it?
(I’d like to add that Anna furthers demon
strates enormous good sense by choosing to see
her family on the Fourth of July instead, based
on the sound principle that it’s easier to escape
when you’re already outdoors.)
But the happiest of all seem to be those who
truly make the yuletide gay. J from L.A. (I’m
not being coy here; that’s his name) told me he
always gets together with friends. They play
games and swap stories to see who’s endured the
most monotonous phone call home.
“The best part is how we laugh,” he said.
“Loudly. Infectiously. Honestly.... We spend a
dozen hours together and wish there were more
to be had.. .together with people who love you
unconditionally. My family loves me uncondi
tionally, too, in their own way— with that
grain of regret, silently asking me to try once
more to be who I am not.”
So here’s to having a homo Hanukkah, a
kweer Kwanzaa, a sissy solstice and a very Mary
Christmas.
And that, my friends, is The Gospel
According to Marc. JH
To get on M a r c A ciTO ’s mailing list, an te him at
marcacito@atthi. com .
Q tq
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