The most iconic symbol of Halloween must be the jack-o-lantern. Both spooky and silly, this rotund orange goon highlights the mischievous nature of the event. But the festive disembowelment of pumpkins is a relatively recent phenomenon. Before that, there was another go-to item that haunted Halloween, one more ghoulish and unappetizing than our modern eyes dare handle. Feast your eyes on the true, hideous nature of the jack-o-lantern.
Originally, jack-o-lanterns were carved out of turnips, whose waxy skin and gaunt form offer much more of an undead panache than the relatively jolly pumpkin. The origin of this, as befits the holiday, comes from a scary story. In 17th-century Ireland, there once lived a fellow named Stingy Jack, who, true to his name, was a bit of a son of a bitch. One day, Jack met the Devil in a pub (this is an Irish story) and decided to trick him. Playing up on his frugal nature, Jack convinced Satan to transform himself into a coin in order to pay for their drinks. However, instead of plopping the demonic coin on the counter, Jack decided to pocket it right next to a silver cross. Weakened by the divine symbol, the Devil could not escape and had to make a deal with Stingy Jack, promising to leave his soul alone for 10 years. We can only assume the Devil had been drinking since early that afternoon and was no match for Jack’s deviousness.
When Old Nick reappeared to exact vengeance 10 years later, Stingy Jack once again tricked him by making him climb an apple tree that had a cross carved into its bark (the Devil was either drunk again or an eight-year-old boy). Again, the same deal was struck, but this time Jack died before the 10 years were up. When he arrived in Heaven, God told him in no uncertain terms that a man who spent his life deceiving everyone, up to and including the Father of Lies, was not welcome in paradise. For obvious reasons, the Devil wouldn’t let him into Hell either. So Jack was cursed to roam the Earth in eternal darkness, with a carved turnip lantern as his only source of light, because flashlights hadn’t been invented yet.
Black Friday: The day invented by people who sell things to lure the people who buy things away from their families on one of the only nationally recognized holiday weekends on the calendar.
To eat past the point of being full just because the food tastes good.
Here is a word that describes such a quintessentially American phenomenon it’s shocking that another culture came up with it first. After all, there are entire civilizations that have never heard of “never-ending pasta bowls” or “dessert pizzas.” Fortunately, the Georgians (the European Georgians, that is) devised a word to describe it exactly. “Shemomedjamo” is the act of eating to the point where your body says, “OK, we did it! We’re all done now,” and then muscling through another three steaks.
The giant prehistoric squirrel is slowly pumped full of life-giving gas. A muffled “MMMGHROORN” emanates from its pre-formed mouth.
Finally, the great beast has swallowed its fill of helium. The anxious handlers are quick to trap the behemoth in a net.
“Acorn,” it murmurs softly. “He’s awake!” a handler exclaims, grinning nervously. The handler’s smile falters. Scrat’s eyes have opened wide. “ACORN,” it bellows.
“It is time.” The overseer puts a steadying hand on Balloon Wrangler #13’s shoulder. “Are we sure we should … what about the children? Shouldn’t we –” The overseer sighs wispily, clipping the conversation short. “Forget it, kid. It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Release it.”
“ACORN,” it screeches. Newscasters faint. Balloon Wrangler #7 vomits. “ACOOOOORN.” It barrels down 77th Street. Children cry. Women scream. Men poop their pants.
First of all, Columbus wasn’t the first to cross the Atlantic. Nor were the vikings. Two Native Americans landed in Holland in 60 B.C. and were promptly not given a national holiday by anyone. Columbus didn’t see the enormous significance of his ability to cross the Atlantic because it wasn’t especially significant. His voyage wasn’t particularly difficult. They enjoyed smooth sailing, and nobody was threatening to throw him overboard. Despite what history books tell kids (and the Internet apparently believes), Columbus died wealthy, and with a pretty good idea of what he’d found – on his third voyage to America, he wrote in his journal, “I have come to believe that this is a mighty continent which was hitherto unknown.”
The myths surrounding him cover up the fact that Columbus was calculating, shrewd and as hungry for gold as the voice over guy in the Cash4Gold ads. When he couldn’t find enough of the yellow stuff to make his voyage profitable, he focused on enslaving Native Americans for profit. That’s how efficient Columbus was – he discovered America and invented American slavery in the same 15-year span.
There were plenty of unsuccessful, mostly horrible attempts to settle America between Columbus’ discovery and the pilgrims’ arrival. We only hear these two “settling of America” stories because history books and movies aren’t huge fans of what white people got up to between 1492 and 1620 in America – mostly digging for gold and eating each other.
I can best express my true feelings about Thanksgiving through a story a family friend told me as a kid. It’s about a family she knew who would stuff themselves on Thanksgiving, as we all do. When they couldn’t possibly eat another bite, they’d push their plates aside and fall asleep at the dinner table, like they were a royal family whose wine had been poisoned by a usurper. They’d sleep, digest, then wake up and keep eating.
That family represents the one thing that separates Thanksgiving from every other major American holiday. All year round, this family probably shames themselves for overeating the same way we all do, but for this one meal, they’ve tossed out all their anxieties and built a nap time and a Round Two into their Thanksgiving tradition. Their dinner table was a no-shame zone. They were going to recuperate and wake up intent on not having any leftovers and being the living embodiment of the words “I don’t give a shit.”
That’s the ideal I want my Thanksgivings to live up to. Not so much the part where everybody festively recreates the Jonestown Massacre as A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving plays in the background, but the joy of family (however you define it) coming together and collectively deciding we’re all going to be disgusting assholes for a bit. And then, because it’s the first rule of Thanksgiving, we’re never going to talk about the gluttonous atrocities we have committed this day. We’re all aware that what we just did secured our spots in Hell. No need to bring it up.
If you want to piss off an anxious person, just tell them to stay positive. Seriously, try it!
We anxious people get a lot of that stuff around the holidays, and I think we eventually just tune it out. Songs, platitudes, slogans on novelty sweaters. “Be thankful!” “Appreciate your loved ones!” “Celebrate the new year, for some goddamned reason!”
It’s grating to us due to an unspoken assumption that it’s all just another way of saying, “Ignore the shitty reality, pretend everything is great!” Like it’s a form of anesthesia, a way to numb yourself to all the bullshit. “Who cares if the world is going to hell in a fuckbasket? Be thankful for this turkey! Now let’s celebrate a native genocide and watch some huge men give themselves permanent brain damage.”
But, like lots of life’s unspoken assumptions, it’s both wrong and potentially fatal. Taking a minute to notice the positive isn’t about making ourselves feel better (though I suppose it can), it’s about something else entirely.
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