The holidays are almost upon us.

Well, actually, Hanukah has come but not yet gone; New Year’s is still a short while off; and Kwanzaa remains quietly lurking in the shadows, threatening to pounce the moment we dare to admit that despite our many years of multicultural education, we still don’t know exactly when (or what) it is. But Christmas is almost upon us and out in the real world, and it’s rather hard to overlook that fact. The moment Halloween passes, CVS has festooned its aisles with garish green-and-red tinsel and lined its shelves with Santa-themed bric-a-brac. A few weeks later, the supermarkets start playing “Winter Wonderland “on endless repeat and Salvation Army volunteers take the streets by storm, punctuating their “Merry Christmases” with loud bell-ringing to emphasize just how merry they really are. I’ve found Swarthmore often obfuscated the spirit of the season, perhaps recognizing that students toiling to complete three final projects during reading “week” might not appreciate jolly elf statuettes smirking at them as they walked from Parrish to Sharples. The real world clearly has no qualms with such displays of ostentatiousness.

Yet despite all this holiday hullabaloo, I’ve had a hard time mustering my usual cheer this winter. In the days of yore, I could buoy myself for weeks with visions of Lego sets and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures wrapped and piled under the Christmas tree. Now, off on my own, I find myself asking for boring, practical, home-oriented gifts: furniture, kitchenware, and the like, all the while knowing that however functional and durable and it might be, a colander will thrill me far less than, say, the gift of a (sadly, far less durable) rapid fire foam disc shooter once did. Colanders do not produce captivating whirring noises. They cannot launch airborne projectiles at one’s annoying younger siblings. In a pinch, maybe they could provide percussion in a makeshift kitchen band or serve as trendy, avant-garde headgear. Maybe. In all, excited as I will certainly be to liberate myself from the tyranny of straining pasta without appropriate cookware, I’ve had to acknowledge that my colander simply will not provide the same raw, unbridled entertainment that presents past once did. And so it is with many of the items on my wish list. A cheese shredder is no match for the Shredder. Assembling a living room chair won’t be the same as assembling a pirate ship.

I wonder sometimes whether my excitement will ever return for the presents under the Christmas tree. Whether once more firmly in adulthood, I’ll find myself sincerely agog over home furnishings or electronics. I can’t help but suspect that this is a mere fantasy, a suburban legend confined to the world of Best Buy ads. And honestly, would I even want to live in that saccharine world depicted in holiday advertisements? Where, when not mesmerized by the allure of HD TV, I’d be doting all over my wife, trading diamonds and cars for heartwarming smooches? It all seems so phony. How many wives actually awake on Christmas morning to find perfect new luxury sedans parked in their driveways? Wouldn’t they sometimes grouse over the paint color, the interior, or the selection of special features? And where ever do their husbands go to pick up those twenty-pound novelty bows? I can’t believe that even if this idealized world actually existed, it would restore joy to the gift-giving portion of the holiday season.

And yet I must admit, while the promise of neither drying racks nor electronics, furniture nor fondue sets, leaves me all a-tingle with excitement, I still find myself counting down to Christmas all the same. Last week, I bought a large bunch of bananas, one fruit for each day till I returned home for the holidays. Now I can’t help but feel a slight tinge of anticipation each time I peel one over my morning cereal. One day closer to family and Christmas trees and stockings and warm gingerbread! It’s like I’ve got my own yellow, mushy Advent calendar.

Thus, here I am, rolling my eyes at the ubiquitous Christmas kitsch (try saying that three times fast) and yawning at the presents under the tree, yet still looking forward to the holiday all this same. It’s almost as if—brace yourselves for this dramatic revelation—there’s some DEEPER meaning to the holiday than the material goods that defined it in my youth. Who’d have thunk it? For so many years I’d assumed those cheesy, moralistic Christmas specials were just propaganda to mollify kids who were getting crappy toys. Now I’m thinking otherwise.

So now I head home for the holidays happy, trusting that my faith in Christmas is not misplaced and that somewhere in the frenzy of gift-wrapping and caroling and milk-and-cookies, its true meaning will emerge and warm my heart. I will learn the joy of celebrating Christmas with the family as a mature, responsible adult. And if not, at least there’s always the ol’ foam disc shooter to break out.

Till next time, Happy Holidays good luck on finals,

Swattie Emeritus

Had a job interview the other day. Faced the usual lot of questions about my triumphs past and told the same tired tales that show what a remarkable problem-solver I am, full of initiative, determination, and, of course, spunk. I remember these being quite the novelty when my job search first began. “You mean you want me to sit and here brag about myself for half an hour?!” (Well, twenty-eight minutes, I suppose, after you factor in the inevitable “What’s your greatest weakness?” question) But now I’ve actually gotten sort of bored with myself. There’s only so many times you can tell the story of how you took the reins of downtrodden Student Group X and transformed it into a campus-storming juggernaut before the whole thing starts to feel a little stale. I’m thinking next time out maybe I should spin a fresh yarn or two—invent some new story paying tribute to my superb leadership, fortitude, and/or interpersonal skills. Nothing too dramatic or outlandish. (“Well, Mr. Johnson, I’d say my greatest accomplishment was wrestling a crocodile to the ground, skinning it alive, then salvaging its hide to fashion prototypes for my own line of designer leather handbags.”) Just a different cliché-ridden adventure to liven up the ol’ back-and-forth a bit.

Now, I don’t actually condone using interviews as opportunities to hone your storytelling skills (unless, I suppose, you’re looking for work as a storyteller). At the same time, I think it can be tempting to head down that path just because the job search process is so full of half-truths, misrepresentations, and doublespeak. And I’m not even talking about the scammers on every career website offering opportunities for HOME TELEMARKETING / EZ -- NO COLD CALLS / BIG $ NOW. (Heck, for all I know, those folks could be on the up-and-up. I haven’t actually tested out their offers yet). I’m talking about the culture of not-quite-saying-what-you mean that permeates every step of the traditional job search.

Take career networking, a discipline that’s all about saying one thing ("Law is such a fascinating domain!") when you mean another ("Please give me a job at your firm now"). (In this regard, “Could you give me some advice on how to enter your field?” is definitely the “Would you like to come upstairs for a cup of coffee?” of networking). Or job interviews, where you’re expected to flatter your previous boss even if he was a neurotic kleptomaniac with unresolved hygiene problems. (In job interview-speak, these are known as “professional differences”). Not to mention rejection letters, the ultimate illustrations of corporate doublespeak and hollow praise (“We have taken note of your diverse and extensive skills and abilities, but are unable to continue employment discussion with you.”). In this environment of half-truths, it’s only natural to start viewing your past as a somewhat malleable entity.

In a sense, though, it sort of is. You don’t want your interview anecdotes to be fictitious, but you want them to be sculpted and pruned so that they cut to the very heart of how gosh darn amazing you are. You want to make sure that your stories are concise and to the point, even if you have to omit details—negative or positive—that seemed important at one time. And it’s wise to figure out in advance which details these are. Heading into an interview, don’t just know what anecdote best demonstrates your problem-solving skills. Know its back story, its dramatis personae, its narrative arc, exactly as you plan to present them. In theory, the best way to accomplish this is by practicing these monologues in front of other human beings. In reality, I know a lot of people (myself included) would find this substantially more embarrassing than just throwing in the towel and regaling your interviewer with tales of crocodile wrangling. (At least when you embarrass yourself in front of an actual interviewer, you’ll probably never have to see her again). Even so, I’ve found I still like rehearsing my responses somehow, whether it be mentally, in front of a mirror, to a trusted teddy bear, whatever. There’s nothing worse than having the perfect answer for a interview question and botching it because you stumble over the details.

That’s my advice for this week. Further questions about job hunting are entirely welcome, though, as there’s plenty more I could say on the matter.

Till next time,

Swattie Emeritus