Welcome to Maid Spin, the personal website of iklone. I write about about otaku culture as well as history, philosophy and mythology.
My interests range from anime & programming to mediaevalism & navigation. Hopefully something on this site will interest you.
I'm a devotee of the late '90s / early '00s era of anime, as well as a steadfast lover of maids. My favourite anime is Mahoromatic. I also love the works of Tomino and old Gainax.
To contact me see my contact page.
Merry Christmas readers of Maid Spin, and welcome to this month's edition of needless overanalysis of the current annual event, sponsored by my ongoing contractual requirement to write 1000 words of blog-post per week. This time we're going to talk about the most wonderful time of the year, Saturnalia! The annual week of wholesome veneration for our child-devouring demon overlord Saturn we all know and love. To celebrate his awe-some power we like to take it upon ourselves to flip the normal rules of society upside-down, and let the sweet blanket of tartarus tuck us into a week of debauched chaos.
This year like always my family decided it would be hilarious to bring a tree into the house and let it live inside for a while, that's right, inside the house like a person. It's been squatting in the living room for the last few weeks, but more than that they decided it would be even funnier if they dressed the tree up in fancy clothes, unfortunately the three piece suit wouldn't fit so they've had to make do with coloured orbs and bits of glittery string. Apparently some people like to use plastic trees instead nowadays, which i get is meant to be some meta-joke but it's too postmodern for my liking.
As we all know the height of Saturn's terrible power comes when the light of his sun, sorry son, Jupiter is at its weakest; that being the winter solstice which these days is on the 21st of December. It's around this period of the month when we reach the ceremonial crescendo of Saturnalia. Once we've all listened to enough terrible music we would never normally put up with, and spent money on gifts for people we don't even like, we've dazed our minds into such a fervourous disregard for normality that we all just stop functioning. We refuse to go to work, most functions of the state and private sector just refuse to run, and we all relax into a week or so of bacchanalian celebration of... something or other, it doesn't seem to matter. All that matters is "Christmas", nothing else.
By the 24th things have gotten fully out of hand. Children are nailing their comically oversized socks to the wall, leaving mince pies (without any mince in them) out overnight for some trespassing gnome to enjoy. Parents put presents under the weird person-tree like they've fallen from its boughs, and prepare a "turkey" for dinner, a bird never even considered for the other 364 dinners of the year.
In doing these things we hope that Saturn will find some vague amusement in our actions and let the sun return next year. His accompanying entourage of carpentry-elves and whatever the "grinch" is meant to be buggering off with him. Fortunately it seems he enjoys cracker-jokes, or at least enjoys the schadenfreude of watching us contort our faces into mock groan-laughs around the kitchen table. Soon the New Year will whisk him away once more to his planetary-prison bound in by its golden ring. The sun will come back once again, and conversation of obese red gnomes and flying deer will be confined back in the mad-houses where they belong.
The foolishness of such a holiday is plain to see, and rhe fact we retread it every year must truly be one of the great wonders of the world. But try and buck the great ritual and you will find everyone is secretly perfectly lucid under their glib paper crowns. You must enjoy Christmas. You have no choice but to drown yourself in yuletime delirium. If not the uncaring glare of the masses will be aimed at you. Nobody can be permitted to break the illusion. Saturn must be convinced lest the world be cloaked in eternal darkness. Let the lord of chaos devour all those who speak ill of the holy ritual, and cast their bah-humbug souls like yulelogs into the hearth of Christmas cheer.
Good Saturnalia to all, and to all a good night.