saw a christmas ad last night, and its not even fucking september. it was a drive safely ad, but still.
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I heard the first ad for Christmas parties in June.saw a christmas ad last night, and its not even fucking september. it was a drive safely ad, but still.
Bad tidings
In the tiny town of North Pole, Alaska, it's Christmas 365 days of the year. Santa is king, schoolchildren are his 'little helpers' replying to letters from around the world - good cheer is a civic duty. So why did six pupils plot a Columbine-style massacre last April? Jon Ronson investigates
- The Guardian,
- Saturday December 23 2006
It is a Monday in late October and I'm standing inside a smoke-filled shop in the tiny Alaskan town of North Pole, population 1,600. This shop sells only two things: cigarettes and Lotto scratchcards. Chain-smoking gamblers sit at the counter and demolish mountains of scratchcards. They have names like Royal Jackpot, Blame It On Rio and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It's a pretty desperate place.Outside, people are going about their business on Frosty Avenue. Friends are chatting on Kris Kringle Drive. A gang of hoodies are slouched against the candy-cane striped streetlights on Santa Claus Lane, having just emerged from the Christmas-themed McDonald's. Everything in North Pole is Christmas-themed. It is Christmas Day 365 days a year. The decorations are always up. It never stops being Christmas here. Never. Wherever you are in the world, if you write a letter to Santa, and address it simply "Santa, North Pole", your letter will most likely end up in this tiny Alaskan town.
Actually, specifically, your Santa letter will end up right here, in this smoke-filled scratchcard and cigarette shop. It's late October, and boxes of them are already piled up on the counter near the fruit machine. They're automatically forwarded here from the post office. I pick up an envelope at random. It has only one word scrawled on it, in a child's handwriting: "Santa." It's postmarked Doncaster.
I get talking to Debbie who works here, selling scratchcards to the gamblers. Debbie is herself achain-smoker, a blousy strawberry-blonde with a tough, good-looking face. She says she can frequently be found alone in here in floods of tears having opened yet another heartbreaker. "Just before you got here," she says, "I opened one that said, 'Dear Santa. All I want for Christmas is for my mother and father to stop shouting at each other.' I just fell apart."
"We get a lot of, 'Could you bring my father back from Iraq?' " says Gaby, the shop's owner.....
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that's how the first packet of mincers go normally, and maybe even the second packet, but the third packet will still be sitting there half-eaten, come next marchI bought a packet of mince pies on Sunday. They lasted about 20 minutes instead of the 2 or 3 days I hoped for.
Incorrectthat's how the first packet of mincers go normally, and maybe even the second packet, but the third packet will still be sitting there half-eaten, come next march
same, but walking through town last night it was like a winter wonderland. On nov 12th. Decorations up everywhere.Still haven't heard an Xmas song
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