Black Friday

Who thought up that name for the shopping maniac's official start to the Christmas rush? It had to be an accountant, right? As in "black ink" and a company being "in the black" as opposed to the dreaded red that precedes bankruptcy.

I guess a little black dress is nice. And Black is Beautiful. And Kharma's BFF, the black lab. Mostly black makes me think of funerals and mold and things that only Stephen King would like.

But Black Friday--it does nothing to get my shopping engine revving. Au contraire, it makes me want to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep.

My sympathy to the retail folk who are on the receiving end of the corporate brainstorms that produced 4 a.m. specials this year. That's certainly what I'd want to be doing on the day after my system was flooded with tryptophans, carbs, high-fructose corn syrup, and (possibly)enough liquor to be able to tolerate Great-Uncle Elmer's views on politics. I'd just love to drag myself out of bed, put on my work clothes, drive in pitch black to work and open the doors at 4 a.m. to a mob of crazed shoppers who proceed to celebrate the Prince of Peace by clubbing one another over the last remaining cheap digital camera whose warranty ends as it leaves the store. The only thing that could make that experience better is the thought of my CEO and his entire ad department sleeping in while I toiled.

I'm sorry. I know I should be doing my part to strengthen the dollar and prop up the Dow. If civilization as we know it crashes, you can blame me. I'm content soaking up the sunlight pouring through the bedroom window and wondering what movie we'll rent tonight.