The Job that Stole Christmas

"Are there no prisons?"

"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

"And the Union workhouses." demanded Scrooge. "Are they still in operation?"

My friends, just a quick hello. Nycityman is still among the living. I so want to be writing and so want to be posting. I have much to say about Barack Obama's constant capitulating to those whose only stated wish is to destroy his presidency; and the resulting undying government devotion and dedication to the wealthiest top 2% at the expense of the remaining 98% percent of the wonderful American population (with the obvious exception of the heroic Bernie Sanders.) I want to continue to expose and ridicule the sadistic, shameful, mean, malicious, callous and cruel nature of defenseless animal slaughterer and media ho (how pleasant and holiday themed) Sarah Palin (oh, how I wish caribou and moose had carrying permits so at least it would be a fair fight.) I've been remiss in my recognition of Bobby Darin and, horror of horrors, I even forsook the commemoration of the anniversary of old blue eyes' birth (I suddenly feel so reprehensible, and somewhat dirty.) I'm not on strike, nor on a work-stoppage from this non-paying blog job - but, alas, the multi-national corporation by whom I'm employed is reticent to recognize the joyous nature of the holiday season. Parties have been canceled, vacations have been postponed and the labor we all toil under has only been increased many times over while the powers that be twirl their waxed mustaches, tie defenseless young women to train tracks, snap their whips and throw their heads back and cackle demonically at our sad yuletide plights. I've been desperately trying to embrace the Christmas spirit since the Thanksgiving weekend, while simultaneously the media conglomerate to whom I dedicate my daytime (and now nighttime) hours has been desperately trying to quash those very same festive feelings. I've yet to partake in my yearly Christmas traditions - no South Street Seaport Singing Chorus Tree, no store windows, no Rockefeller Center tannenbaum, not even a viewing of my all-time favorite TV series Christmas episode from "Good Neighbors" ("The Good Life" to our friends across the pond - "Yuletide felicitations" "shoes, Jerry," "Christmas doesn't come in a van.") Time is rapidly running short, but the towel has not yet been thrown in. After all, Christmas is a time of miracles. I maintain sincere aspirations that Dickens-esque seasonal specters will shatter the solemn seasonal slumber of those who control the fates of us in the labor force, and I dearly hold on to the hope that the holiday will not escape them, and soon enough the spirit will encapsulate us all. Although my employer will not allow us to add more coal to the stove we, like Bob Cratchett before us, will all overcome and not only properly discover, but even generously share, that which is the true meaning of Christmas (Linus: "lights please.") So, much appreciated blog perusers, until we meet again, I wish you the best the season has to offer and hope we will be communicating much sooner than later.