Christopher Platt
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Christmas Ain't What It Used to Be
This is typically miserable of you, Mr. Brizzolara, but I heartily concur. Christmastime, for me, is something to be endured. It is this horrible capitalist machine that the American Christmas has become that hurts me so terribly. I suspect that Jesus Christ views it with great disdain, too. I have been following T.G.I.F. for a long, long time...John Brizzolara writes from the same place of gallows humor to which I often resort to get through life. I, too, am a member of a secret club designed to help drunks and dope fiends. I feel a kindredness to Mr. Brizzolara on many levels. Years ago, I read a book of essays by Kurt Vonnegut, one of my favorite authors. In one of his essays, he talks about a very strange correspondence he received from an entire sixth grade class. Apparently a very progressive schoolteacher had made the class read one of Mr. Vonnegut's novels. The letter from the class was short and to the point: "Dear Mr. Vonnegut, we love you. Please don't commit suicide." My dear Mr. Brizzolara, I echo to you the sentiment of this class of sixth grade innocents. Try not to commit suicide, and I'll try not to, either. Merry Christmas, you magnificent cynic.— December 21, 2010 2:23 p.m.