Mister Faded Glory | www.misterfadedglory.com

Well, it’s the day before Christmas Eve, which, in my humble opinion, is the real holiday, anyway.

Don’t have much to write, except an apology to both of my readers that I’ve neglected to post with any regularity. Unfortunately, the official job of Mister Faded Glory has been swamping and oppressive lately. (?) Instead of this faux, cynicism-rampant, little-better-than-sarcasm, usually list-driven blog, I’ve been focusing my creative efforts on my novel (note: Not titled The Official Novel of Mister Faded Glory, but considered.) and on The Simpsons:Season Five, which I highly recommend. (The DVD, not the novel.)

So, I’m going to spare everyone any more holiday wishes, forgoing that for one, just one, minuscule rant.

If you’re like me, and the winter quarter is a blitz of holidays upon holidays (My birthday … Dad’s birthday …. Mom’s birthday …. Thanksgiving …. Brother’s birthday …. Parents’ anniversary …. Christmas …. My anniversary), you do a lot of shopping for greeting cards.

Now, I know it’s far from macho or masculine to admit that I enjoy shopping for greeting cards, but I do. It interests me to see any kind of design work done well — or poorly — and also, I’m satisfied when I stumble upon one that accurately expresses my thoughts. Maybe it’s the faux-graphic-designer in me, or the mediocre bard. Whichever, I enjoy it.

So, when, pray tell, did all greeting card companies decide that it was no longer necessary to leave any sentiment to one’s imagination? When? Each card I open up features only a glued-on double-paper thing (sorry for the bad description) with line after line after line of schlock and drivel and meaningless banter, usually totaling a short novel or a soliloquy, whichever is longer. And, to top it off, it’s always in a terrible, unreadable font.

I can handle lame designs and overdone gold scripts on the fronts, that’s fine. But I don’t need to tell my mother that a butterfly sings every time she breathes on ther birthday. I don’t need to tell my brother An eagle crows whenever you dare to soar higher… and I certainly don’t need to go on and on and on about the meaning of my first anniversary as it pertains to Jesus, birds singing, waterfalls interlocking and kittens cooing.

For crying out loud, I can handle the expression of my sentiment myself. Because that’s just it. It’s mine. I may need help, but I don’t need a complete and total mind-revision. I just like a little thoughtfulness and perspective, and professional design to top it off, that’s it. I don’t need a sonnet, I need a catch-phrase.

But there are none. Except for cards with kittens (Felix Navidad!) or puppies (Happy Bark-ukkah!), every greeting card I open up features a lengthy, syrupy message. Is this how far we’ve fallen as a society? As writers? As expressionists? Am I so starved for time that I need to depend on Hallmark or Blue Mountain or Maxine to express each and every sentiment that I might have the capacity to feel? I don’t need that, and no one else should, either. Should they?

At any rate, I consider myself a fairly good writer, and somewhat effective at expressing myself, so the whole phenomenon is disheartening to see. On the plus side, if you made it this far into my post, you would — no doubt – encourage me to look at this trend in a different light …

Perhaps long-winded nonsense writers are en vogue. Hmmm….. is there a market for cards with excessive italics?

Have a good Christmas, and for crying out loud, if someone tells you ‘Merry Christmas,’ they mean it. Don’t expect or require a rhyming soliloquy. Likewise, if you’re dishing out wishes, keep ‘em simple. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Anniversary, etc.

Have a good one.