A Letter to Santa

Dear Santa:

Look, I realize this is a crazy time of year for you. After all, in addition to all those presents you have to bring to the world’s children, you’re also the patron saint of students, merchants, and thieves … and that has to make for one colossally busy December.

But, still, given that:

  1. I’m on your nice list (I think)
  2. I’m not asking for any presents; and
  3. I’ve never written to you before

I was hoping you might be able to take some time out from your busy schedule to help me out with a few things.

I’ve always been a huge fan of yours, Big Guy. Maybe it’s because the church I was shepherded to as a boy was actually named St. Nicholas. (Of course, being Ukrainians, they had the good sense to separate your feast day from the Christ Mass by a full month … none of this modern melding and muddling that began when Martin Luther started meddling.)  So, even though I’m no longer a card-carrying Christian, and have converted to Zen Jedi Phasmatia, I was hoping you might spare me some time anyway.

First of all, what exactly should I call you – St. Nicholas, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, or Kris Kringle? I know running a multinational operation in this day and age requires adapting your brand to local conditions, so if I were to stick to North American tradition (as recent and contrived as that might be) I guess I’m supposed to refer to you as Santa. However, and maybe it’s because I’m in the process of having a new novel published in which people’s names figure prominently (it’s called Flam Grub and it’ll make a great gift for people next Christmas, hint, hint) I’ve grown hypersensitive to the subject of names these days. Let me know whether you prefer to be called Nick, or Kris, or San Man, or Red, or whatever.

Secondly, I was wondering if you were aware that climate change is going to have a major impact on your manufacturing and distribution hub at the North Pole. I mean, from what I can tell on Google Earth, your whole place is just floating on the polar ice cap. Maybe you’ve been so busy and isolated (reading nothing but an endless slew of letters from whiny kids asking for presents) that you don’t know that humanity’s constant abuse of the planet, and our myopic and apathetic response to the resulting crisis, is going to cause some drastic melting and upheavals up there.

It’s bad enough that global warming will lead to rising ocean levels and subsequent catastrophic flooding in many places. Or that polar bears unable to hunt seals will be forced to move south, and live off garbage like other bears. But the thought that your whole Christmas complex might go plunging to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean and send all things Noël to hell, well, that’s scary. I’m sure you’re already working on a solution, being a Saint and all, but just in case no one’s brought it to your attention yet, I really think you should consider relocating to terra firma. I realize it’s important to be neutral, but there’s Canadian territory nearby, and we’d love to have you. Hmmm, now that I think about it, given our political climate change, you’d probably have to dye that suit of yours blue. And, it occurs to me, unless your elves have a couple of million bucks in their bank accounts, I’m not sure what Immigration Canada will say about them. You’ll probably have to sneak them in, then have them claim refugee status. On second thought, maybe you should just consider relocating to Greenland instead.

Finally, I was hoping to get your input on some new Christmas carols I was working on. Seems to me, sir, that most of the old tunes have lost their relevance. That rustic Currier & Ives shtick – one-horse open sleighs, boughs of holly, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and all that –  is so Twentieth Century. It certainly doesn’t apply to today’s demographic or lifestyle. Well, except for the “gay apparel” line – that was ahead of its time. Now, I don’t have all the words worked out yet, but I just wanted to get your white-gloved thumbs-up on the overall concept. I’m thinking it should start by singing about full body scans and cancelled flights at the airport, segue to some tramplings and mass lay-offs at the mall, then wrap up with the sterotypical modern Christmas scene – kids spaced out on the couch texting and playing video games, while the parents pop pills (he Viagra, she Effexor). For a big finish we can depict a monster blizzard of credit card bills after the holidays.

Or, how about this? Given the popularity of Hip Hop, maybe we can go with something with more of a gangsta rap feel to it:

‘Twas the night before Two Five and all through the flats,
Weren’t nothin’ stirrin’ except for the rats,
The kids were all covered by a mattress on the floor
In case drive-by shooters pumped slugs through the door,
While up in my crib my wifey and I,
Were jukin’ it up and feelin’ real fly,
When out in the alley I heard this big crash,
And go over to see who’s kickin’ whose ass …

Well, you get the idea. What do you think? You could perform it yourself – we’ll dub you Daddy X  – and we’ll thow it up on YouTube. I bet it gets a gazillion hits. Alternatively, there must be a bagful of rappers who’d be willing to do it just to get on the naughty list. Seriously, any feedback or help you can provide would be welcome. If you’re willing to take a meeting just say the word and I’ll be there with jingle bells on. I don’t mind sharing the royalties … especially with you. Holy holly, you’ve earned it.

Alright, Santa, I won’t up take any more of your time. Good luck with this year’s gig, and don’t step in any reindeer shit.

Sincerely,

Advertisements