Fall and Christmas Chat

Sundays the room fills up with people openly complaining that Christmas lights are already up at the mall. "But we haven't even gotten past Halloween!" Elena jokes, always connected from her place in Granada with a hot chocolate by her side. A lot of people agree with her, though others admit they're halfway through their gift list and have already snagged some ugly sweaters. It's the daily bread in Fall and Christmas Chat: that mix of complaint and anticipation that only hits right if you live through these dates with the same intensity. She herself admits that despite the complaints, she's already thinking about what new decorations to buy. There's no way out.

Here you debate everything from the best place to buy lottery tickets without standing in an infinite line, to whether Mariah Carey's Christmas songs should be declared humanity's heritage (people are split). Someone always asks for dinner ideas that aren't the typical turkey, and of course, the annual battle over whether Three Kings cake should have candied fruit or not comes up fiercer than ever. There's no shortage of nostalgic debates about "Christmas back then" and how kids today don't value the same kinds of gifts. Dark humor about in-laws and those awkward questions at family dinners shows up too. The tone is usually a mix of laughs, some complaints, and lots of camaraderie.

What you won't find anywhere else is the annual obsession with the "advent calendar of shame," where everyone confesses the weirdest chocolate or most useless little gift they got. It's almost a ritual. And no, there's nowhere else where people take as seriously the question of whether it's okay to put up the Christmas tree before Constitution Day. The veterans have their nicknames, their inside jokes, and basically an unofficial schedule: Monday afternoons, the general complaint about getting back to work and the excesses of the holiday weekend is practically mandatory. You catch the codes pretty quick if you jump in.

You can hop in without registering, with whatever nickname you like, from your phone or your old PC. ChatZona's still IRC, old school, since 2007. Click, type a name, and get in. The room's open, waiting to hear if you're the type who sings Christmas carols at full volume or if you lock yourself inside until it all passes. It'd be weird if nobody answered you in the first two minutes.