Internet! Hello, and welcome to what could really only accurately be described as a desperate, last ditch attempt to get back on the nice list. Recently I’ve written a blog lambasting a beloved (if misinterpreted) Christmas movie (Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer) AND wrote a long sarcastic post about Christmas Trees. (Though I did record a youtube video in which I angrily defended the rights of Christmas songs everywhere by attempting to banish Let It Go and A Few of My Favorite Things from Christmas CD’s everywhere.
While that was no doubt a heroic effort for Christmas’s everywhere I still do feel like I’m behind 2/1 in the old Grinch vs. Cindy-Lou rankings so here is what basically boils down to a long essay on Santa in the hopes of getting something for Christmas.
Micah’s History of Everything: Santa
Santa or “Old Santy Ta Ta” as his friends called him, was originally born to two Greek parents back in Greek Times when everyone ate Greek Salads, Greek Yogurt, and the finest of cured Greek Sushis. His parents whose names were (and I’m not making this up) Epiphanius and Johanna, named young Santa “Saint Nicolas” because they thought it was all cool and hipster but didn’t know that everyone back then was naming their child “Saint” kind of like naming your child “Khaleesi” or “Katniss” today, except less lame. Anyway, a bunch of stuff happened to Santa but it was probably a crap ton less exciting then some of the made up stories that people have (according to some very important historians) made up entirely out of thin air.
Like this one!!!
So, it seems that once upon a time some orphans came to a butchers house asking for “some more” and that butcher (being a butcher) butchered the more-asking orphans and then put them in barrels so he could sell them as ham. (because that’s what Butchers do!!!) Then jolly old Saint Nic came along, instantly recognized the opportunity to make a Sweeney Todd spinoff, and resurrected those little more-asking orphans. Though for the rest of their lives those orphans smelled of ham and could never shake a pathological desire to climb in barrels and be in Tim Burton films.
In other Santa news, there’s the story of that one time that a father had three daughters but couldn’t afford for them to marry because he didn’t have any dowry. A dowry (of course) is basically paying a man to marry your daughter because (At the time) women had roughly the same social rights as a musky kitten. Nowadays if anyone pays a dowry it should be men. Sure we still have jobs and things but these days women can vote, have jobs, have kids, and don’t spend hours watching football and consuming alcohol. Think about it ladies, this is your time.
So anyway, Old Nic heard about this fathers’ problem and decided to lend a hand. There are a few different versions of how he did this, I’ve decided to go with this one because (to be entirely honest) it was the funniest. Santa came to the house at night and threw a bag of gold into the house the night before the mans first daughter came of age. Santa did the same thing the next year for the man’s younger daughter, but when he came to deliver the gold for the third daughter he saw that the favor was watching to see who this mysterious gold throwing man was, and to determine if he could start a story about a goose and some golden eggs or something. So Saint Nic (not wanting to risk his Sainthood by under forming) climbed onto the mans roof and threw himself down the chimney— Wait wait… oh, threw the GOLD down the chimney… that makes more sense. Unbeknownst to Santa the farmers daughter had placed her stockings by the fireplace to dry and when Santa threw the gold down the chimney, it melted in the raging fire and was lost forever— I mean landed in the stocking. Yeah… that one.
And then Saint Nicolas died and (you’ll never believe this) they made him a saint.
But wait, cause that’s not all. Really that’s only half of the whole Santa gig, because while Saint Nic was great if you needed someone to piece the bodies of orphans together like the worst puzzle in the world, he looked (and I’m putting this delicately) like a dried up prune moments after it’s hit with a mac truck.
What Christmas needed was a face, and not that face. It needed an adorable old man face because that somehow makes a stranger breaking into your house and eating your cookies okay. And the marketing geniuses who came up with the Easter Bunny, a rodent who has nothing to do with Easter, found their face in the warm comfortable wrinkles of a guy named Sinterklaas.
Believe it or not Sinterklaas is not the name of a Russian Missile manufacturing company, it is the name of this guy.
Every year Sinterklaas roles into various European town throwing candy at children and generally screwing with traffic, while young European children sing (and I’m not making this up) traditional Sinterklaas songs. Songs with words like:
Sinterklaas, good holy man!
Put on the Tabard, best you can,
Go, therewith, to Amsterdam,
From Amsterdam to Spain,
Where apples bright of Orange,
And likewise those granate surnam’d,
Roll through the streets, all free unclaim’d
Yeah, you weren’t ready for that were you?? Let’s take a look at this song and really learn to fully appreciate Sinterklaas a man of whom it must be said: has the worst theme song ever.
The first question we must ask ourselves is what the heck is a Tabard? The answer (according to Webster’s Ye Olde Dictionarye) is “a sleeveless jerkin consisting only of front and back pieces with a hole for the head.” So basically the second line of this song is “Hey put on your shirt!!! But don’t stress to much about it, just do the best you can. As long as you get at least one arm through a hole and your eyes aren’t covered, you’ll be fine.” Cause nothing says Christmas like telling an old person not to worry about how they’re shirt looks.
The next to lines are basically directions. And not even super specific directions, basically just “Go to Amsterdam, then Spain you creepy old person.” Apparently we really don’t trust old Sinter to handle himself very well.
The next couple lines makes zero sense. “Where apples bright of Orange and likewise those granate surnam’d.” What??? I’m pretty sure that one line literally tries to compare apples with oranges. And I don’t even think granate is a word. The only way I can justify those two lines is that maybe the Sinterklaas sings them in sort of the “crazy old person” part of the song that makes no sense at all.
No idea on that last line either. Something is rolling through the streets, if I had to place a guess it would be that it’s Sinterklaas.
So umm… that didn’t turn out as Christmas positive as I had suspected. Saint Nicolas was pretty a’ight which I guess is why we took his story and gave it to Sinterklaas who (let’s be honest) probably doesn’t remember much about his life anyway. So thanks for reading Internet, Merry Christmas, and we’ll see you next week.