364 Days
There's this song by Murder City Devils called 364 Days. It's really good I tell you, a valid metaphor for the human condition even if it centers upon Santa himself. I mean he had been a historic Bishop afterall. So before he gobbles up the cookie we left him on the mantle, his folkloric red suit unnoticed through the darkness of the room, he's supposed to deliver all us grandiloquent consumptionists the gift goodies we think we deserve. Saint Nicholas aka Father Christmas or plain old Santa would probably feel more at home if we asked for peace of mind and strength to endure whatever life brings but this is a McArthurGlen Athens Christmas packed post so we'll delve into more secular-sartorial matters albeit without extra philosophical extensions.
Maintaining and reinforcing commercialism, I am adamant I'd wait for Santa cotton clad in the most iconic reference to Americana: Levi's plaid shirt. If that wouldn't make Santa happy I don't know what would. I also conjured up imaginary conversations while treating him with cold milk and more Oreos and he would gleefully let me in on the mechanics of fitting his bellyful of milk through stick thin chimneys. Pure celestial feelings in the air more so because Levi's made it happen: Keeping Santa genuinely perky is no easy deed but plaid cottons, a fine pair of classic 501 pants and a heartfelt chitchat are the substantial bequest delivered to him. I truly bet, he could use some gifts for a change.
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