Festivus Read Online Free Page A

pretend-Superman-bend-the-rod-until-herniating not least among them), there is one primitive pole-based party activity that has lent itself perfectly to the spontaneous nature of Festivus. “My friend Dan always ends up starting a game of limbo,” says Sara King, 29, a psychology graduate student who hosts an annual Festivus party in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Dan Boudreau, a medical student, is the three-years-running Festivus limbo champion of Halifax.
    A warning: After limbo, the pole, now loose on the dance floor, cannot be trusted. “We used a coatrack one year,” Sara says. “It got smashed all up and ended up in bed with me. I passed out and I have no idea what happened. I woke up the next morning and it was all in pieces in my bed.”
    Basic Rules of Festivus Limbo, Halifax-Style
    S tart the music (recommended: “The Limbo Rock” by Chubby Checker: “Limbo ankolim-bonee / Bend back like a limbo tree . . . ”).
    Two players hold the pole at either end and the rest of the players form a line and try to pass under the pole without touching it.
    Players cannot have any body part but their feet touching the floor.
    The pole gets lowered with each round. The last player left who has not grazed aluminum is the winner.
    The champion receives a shot of Sambuca. Then everyone else does shots of Sambuca, too.
    NOT HAVING ONE
    On the evidence, not having a pole can lead to overintellecru-alization of Festivus. Scott McLemee, a Washington, D.C.-based columnist for
Inside Higher Ed,
filed this piece explaining his decision to go poleless. He requests that no one leave a comment on his blog ( www.mclemee.com ) telling him exactly where he can stick a pole should he choose to purchase one next year.
    Antidisestablishpoletarianism
    by Scott McLemee
    E ach year, my wife and I invite friends to gather around the aluminum pole—or at least the place it would be, if we ever got around to buying one—and discuss the True Meaning of Festivus. After long cogitation, I’ve concluded that Festivus is the post-modern “invented tradition” par excellence.
    In the premodern era, when people lived in villages, spring would draw near and everybody would think, “Time for the big party where we all eat and drink a lot and pretend for a few days not to notice each other humping like bunnies.” People didn’t say, “We do X because it is our tradition.”
    But then, starting maybe three hundred years ago, things got modern, and people started inventing traditions. In the nineteenth century folks started singing “traditional Christmas carols,” even though for hundreds of years they celebrated with regular church hymns.
    Postmodernism is what happens after you’ve been modern so long that being modern doesn’t seem special. You start putting things in quotation marks—I could cite stuff here about “the decline of metanarratives” and “the simulacrum.” I guess I just did.
    At Festivus, all the vague hostility of enforced togetherness gets an outlet. It’s hard to get sentimental about an aluminum pole, but as long as there are midwinter holidays, the spirit of Festivus will fill the air.
    SOUVENIR
    Guests departing from Krista Soroka’s annual Festivus bash in Tampa, Florida, take with them something to remember Festivus by all year long. Here’s how she does it.

    Mini-Pole Party Favor
    MATERIALS
    plaster of Paris
    container and stir stick for mixing plaster
    1-inch-tall terra-cotta (also known as unglazed clay) pot
    2-to 3-inch-long straight nail with a narrow (not flat) head
    toothpick
    paper
    glue stick
    marker
    INSTRUCTIONS
    Sign:
    Cut a piece of paper into a rectangle that is one inch by two inches. Fold it in half into a square. Write “Festivus Yes! Bagels No!” so that the folded edge is on top. Rub the glue stick on the inside of the folded paper, then fold it back over the toothpick and seal on both sides.
    Potting Mini-Pole:
    Follow the directions on the plaster of Paris box for mixing the amount of plaster you