There is something manufactured about the holiday spirit. It is presented to us in the form of sales and incessant music that begins earlier and earlier each year. As I write this, I’m listening to Christmas music, but even that is an attempt to conjure up some warmth and good will rather than an expression of actual cheer.
The whole season feels rather like the moment in A Charlie Brown Christmas when Lucy conspiratorially whispers: “It’s all run by an eastern syndicate, you know.”
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