Slice of Life: A Festivus for the rest of us

What with the “Feats of Strength” and the “Airing of Grievances,” Seinfeld’s George Costanza had plenty of good reasons to hate Festivus. But he’d probably have been no happier at this time of year in a number of other countries where peculiar Yuletide practices prevail. Here’s a broad sampling from various Internet sites.

In Austria, they’ve got a character named the Krampus, a demon or incubus, who may be Santa’s evil twin. On Krampus Night, people dressed in demonic getups — horns and scales and such — roam the streets armed with bundles of twigs with which to chastise children who have misbehaved during the year. In a similar spirit, in Norway, they hide their brooms on Christmas Eve so that witches and demons won’t take them out for a joyride.

Sundry European nations have a Christmas tradition called mumming or mummering. People disguise themselves, sometimes wearing animal masks, and go from house to house where they sing and dance to scare away evil spirits. If they do a good job, they’re invited inside for food and drink — in Latvia, it’s sausage buns and ale — and a game where the householders try to guess the identity of each mummer. Our own mummers, the Philadelphia marching band with the turkey feathers and xylophones, may or may not have anything to do with this, but I’ve always wondered if they do weddings.

And speaking of weddings, shoes and feet figure prominently in Eastern European Christmas activities. In the Czech Republic, a single woman stands with her back to the front door and throws one of her shoes over a shoulder. If it lands heel towards the door, she can expect to remain unattached for another year while, if the toe points at the door, she should start making wedding preparations.

In Yugoslavia, in the weeks before Christmas, children rush into their mother’s bedroom, tie her feet to a chair and cry, “Mother’s Day, Mother’s Day, what will you pay to get away?” The mother then either gives them gifts to secure her release, or calls in the Krampus.

And the strange eating that goes on. In Portugal they celebrate with a huge meal, or consoda, on Christmas morning, with place settings at the table for the departed. If you’re not dead already, a meal of Greenland’s kiviak ought to do the trick. It’s a raw auk wrapped in seal skin and placed under a rock to age. It’s been described as tasting like blue cheese. No such exotica for the Japanese, though. In Japan, on Christmas Day, you might have to make reservations to get a table at KFC. Fried chicken is Japan’s holiday meal of choice.

Possibly the origin of the food fight, the head of each Slovakian household takes a spoonful of loksa (a traditional Christmas dish made out of bread, poppy seed filling and water) and throws it up at the ceiling. The more that sticks, goes the tradition, the richer his crops will be the following year.

Spain’s answer to the Yule log, el caga tio, is a hollow log with legs and a face that gets filled with candies, fruit and nuts. On Christmas Day, you put it in the fireplace and beat it with sticks (there’s that stick-beating thing again) until it releases the goodies. Our own Yule Log, by the way, shown blazing merrily on WPIX each year, was filmed originally at Gracie Mansion, but was moved elsewhere after an unfortunate carpet fire.

Ever wonder how Chia Pets got started? In Lebanon, Christmas is celebrated early with the planting of chickpeas, lentils and beans, which get watered every day until Christmas, at which time they have sprouted, and the greenery is used to decorate manger scenes. And don’t bother bringing a sled if you plan on spending Christmas in Caracas, the capital of Venezuela. On Christmas Eve the roads of the city are closed to cars, so people can roller skate to Mass.

And there you have it. Don’t forget you got it here.