An Epic Christmas Tale of Daring Do!

In my last post (last couple of posts, actually), I have been openly snarky about Brian Setzer and his so called orchestra. That is perhaps unfair; he's got great talent and, hey, it's Christmas. Nobody likes a Grinch, yeah?

Besides, Brian Setzer doesn't deserve my Christmas Carol acrimony. No, that honor goes to only one man: Neil Diamond.

Which brings us tonights story! Gather round kiddos, and I shall tell ye a tale of Christmas daring do that will make ye spine quiver!

Now normally I would present you with a total make-em-up. Not today. I didn't have the time to really make anything up. I got to admit: didn't really plan well for this holiday post-a-palooza. If I did, I would already have had something written. Sitting down at the computer and just writing whatever pops into the head just doesn't seem to work anymore.

So the truth is probably best here and here it is: Once upon a time my Mom bought Neil Diamond's Christmas Album (1992) and we listened to it a lot. A LOT. Now, we were by no means a wealthy family nor we were on the cutting edge of 90's technology, but we did by that time have a tape deck in the car so it was something the rest of us could not escape.

Truth be told, I don't remember much of the album, excpet that I found his rendition of the "Little Dummer Boy" to be...too much. Not too loud, nor too enthusiastic, but he tried to give it too much gravitas. Gravitas indded. They are Rump-a-pumps for goodness sake! It was a little funny at first, but after a month or so it got old.

So one day, after hearing a few too many Rump-a-pum-pums, I stole the tape from its place next to the stereo and I hid it somehwere. I beleive I fully intended to return it but I could never remember where I put it.

I can't say I was TOO sorry, but Mom got her revenge by buying Neil Diamonds "The Christmas Album 2", which, typical of sequels, was not as good as the first. Knowing better this time around, she kept in under lock and key.

As for the first album, we never saw it again. But some say that on moonlit Christmas nights a ghostly presence hanuts the homes near Price's Fork, and you might see a hint of a lone cassette tape in the road, just for a moment. But by the time you think "My God, was that a cassette tape? I haven't seen one of those in ages" and go back to look it's gone, replaced by a deep feeling of icy foreboding which curdles into fear as a soft (yet distinct) "Rump-a-pum-pum" meets your ear in the cold, dark winter air.

Wow. I'm certianly frightented. And as a post script I got to admit that my opinon of him considerably improved when Neil Diamond played himself in "Saving Silverman". I get the sense that old Neil probably doesn't take himself to seriously if he was willing to be a part of that comedeic feast, and that is a quality that I can admire in anyone no matter how I feel about their music.

Oh yeah: "Coming to America"? Not a bad song.

Commo-Nazis!

So...the MLS cup is on (Hey! It's Jurgen Klinsman!) Bryan Setzer has popped up out of rabbit hole to offer us some jazzy Christmas tunes and Fox News is accusing NPR of being Nazis. The air is crisp, cashiers at Wal-Mart are strengthening their defensive positions, and I am sharpening my credit cards.

*Shhhh!* What's that? Do you hear that? It's Christmas.

And that? It's the sound of Glenn Beck calling Mrs. Sally Shelmerston of Fascism. The reason? Eh, he doesn't need one.

Actually I guess I should offer a correction on the spot; Fox News beating on the Nazi drum doesn't necessarily mean its Christmas as it happens every day. But if Glenn Beck gets a big lump of coal in his stocking for...mmm...stretching the truth, don't be surprised if he has a special edition of his show on Christmas Day with a big dose of hot, stinking truth for you.

Santa Claus: Nazi. Even worst, a communist Nazi.

Think about it. Red is the color of communism. He distributes toys to every good girl and boy no matter what their socio-economic class. And just where was he between 1939 and 1945 when where those no Christmas? Some say that he couldn't fly his sleigh around due to the war, and that his elves swtiched from toy production to war production (they made socks for...guess who...THE USSR!), but Glenn Beck will no doubt note that Santa Claus wears black boots. Guess who else wore black boots? THE WAFFEN SS! Kris Kringle? Huh. Try Kristopher Kringlemann. Yeah, on Christmas Day 1944 Santa was sitting in a tiger tank advancing on Bastogne (he was lucky to survive that day, actually...the German column that penetrated the US defenses on was cut to ribbons).

Never mind the fact that communists and Fascists (god, it would really help make my case if I could spell Fas...that word) are opposing ideologies as can be seen on the Eastern Front (though it might not have mattered...Hitler (and Santa) hated the Russians), but such details are simply not important.

I'm watching you Santa....actually, I'm not watching you. But Glenn Beck is. So be careful...

Christmas Music

Veterans Day when I was growing up was not a day I used to pay a large amount of attention to, I'll be honest. That is certainly something that has changed over the last decade, but when I was a kid the only things that really mattered about Veterans Day where:

1. My Dad was (is -- he's not dead!!) a US Navy Veteran

2. I knew that Veterans Day was started as a way to commemorate Armistice Day which ended World War I, and on this day I would invariably think about how stupid it was that fighting continued right up to the armistice to the very last second. That hasn't changed, especially when this year my Dad sent me an article about the last known deaths of World War I.

3. For a while when I was a kid, the day after Veterans Day, 11/12, was the day on which it was acceptable for my Mom to start playing Christmas Carols around the house. She just loved Christmas so much. Still does (she's not dead!), but I think now she holds off until a more appropriate day after Thanksgiving.

I myself approach Christmas music with a little trepidation. I am an old fashioned kind of guy, so I tend to enjoy the good old Old World Hymns, being sung by choirs of quality. When I listen to "The Holly and the Ivy" or "In Dulci Jubilo" I find myself magically transported back to old England and the Christmases I remember from the many renditions of "A Christmas Carol" I have seen on television. And then I realize I am in a bad part of town, and the sky is black with soot from the boot blacking factories, and a strange figure has been stalking me for a few blocks, and Hey! Some dasterdly little ragamuffin has made off with my wallet! Maybe this time travel thing is not such a good idea after all, what what!...

So yes, the classic choir songs are great. But I also like the carols as sung by the men and women from the golden age of radio. The Bing Crosby's, the Frank Sinatras, the Nat King Cole's, the Women from the Golden Age of Radio's. I know they are nostalgic, but they sound really, really good. The sound like...dare I say it...yes, I will...Christmas. And Pavarotti singing "O Come all ye Faithful"? Melts my heart everytime. Everytime.

On the flip side of the coin, there is the music of today, which like an old man from a simpler time I can never get comfortable with becuase in spite of my efforts to be hip and with it I just don't understand becuase it frightens me. No, strike that, it doesn't frighten me, it simply annoys me.

Why? For one, I think everyone these days tries too hard. The classic versions of these songs are so well known that I think artists who try to make a Christmas album today go to great lengths to try and add something new, try to make it their own, and for me it usually falls flat. Sometimes the results are pretty funny (I love nothing more than to hear a singer give it their all on "The Little Drummer Boy" and indulge in a couple of over-enthusiastic Rump-a-pum-pums"), but often its just like "what the hell where you thinking?"

Second - Manheim Steamroller. Just tone it down a notch, fellas. Let us drink our Christmas tea in peace.

Third - Brian Setzer and his "orchestra", who really only pops up around Christmas to give concerts at Rockafeller Center like a little Christmas mole, only to be whacked down again by an unappreciative public.

A special meassage to my good friend Mr. Setzer: Don't worry, Brian Setzer. Santa may be dead to me but I belive in you and your swing revolution, though I can't dance for shit. 1997 was a great year. We'll get it back baby. We'll get it back.

So..You may be starting to think that I am a Grinch. That, perhaps, I have a heart two sizes to small. Perhaps you are right, but history (as captured in the rest of these posts) will have to judge that.

And that is going to have to about do it for this one. A little teaser for you: Keeping on the theme of Christmas Music, the next post is a daring tale of a little Christmas audacity that involves a special guest and long time friend of the Blog (not really, please don't sue me Neil), Mr. Neil Diamond.

Since I did note that Mr. Diamond is not my friend, I may as well make a full disclosure and say I am also not Mr. Setzer's friend, or rather he is not my friend. I am sure if we got to know each other, we would hit it off, except for the fact that in spite of what I said before I am a part of the unappreciative public that happily sends him back down the molehole on December 26th. In short, I lied. It is true that I can't dance though.

One time, one time my wife and I went to this place to learn how do to an Argentinian Tango (which if you can't dance is a really bad idea), and the instructor assumed we had some knowledge of the mystery of the Tango. I got paired up with this cougar who, after a few bars, refused to dance with me, didn't even want to stoop down to my level to try and help me out. The experience left me in tears, and my ballroom dancing days were over.

Gosh, that was personal. And since we are telling the truth, I don't know if the woman I was dancing with was necessarly a cougar (i.e. a woman over 40 seeking sexual relations with a man (or woman?) at least 8 years her junior). If she was really a Cougar though, she certainly wouldn't have had me based on the thought that perfomance on the dance floor is often considered indicative of one's sexual prowess. That may have been the most painful thing of all.

Is it still called prowess if you are a man? That makes no sense to me.

The World Turned Upside Down Part II

What?? Gwyneth Paltrow is now a country singer, and is going to be performing at the CMA music awards?? Seriously??

The world turned upside down indeed! How long was a I underwater for? Did I surface in some sort of alternate reality? And what would happen if I met "Bizarro Nick", who I assume is an Englishman with decidedly American tastes? Would we both simply cease to exist, or would we be hurled into another dimension where we would join forces in battle against the Dark Lord Katulu and save the Universe?

So many questions, one simple answer: Paltrow plays a country music singer in her latest movie, and I guess performing at the CMAs is a way for her to generate buzz or simply show us once again while she is so awesome (and she really is, I think she's a great actress). According to the very, very little I have actually read about this (which fully qualifies me to talk about it on the blogosphere), she actually learned to play the guitar and took singing lessons and is ready to rock the awards show with a performance.

So good for you, Gwyneth Paltrow. And good for me too, becuase it seems as though I am still safely in the world I know and, for the most part, love.

...Or am I?

The World Turned Updside Down

As I boarded the submarine (yes, I was on a submarine...won't say which one, won't say where it was going, won't say what I was doing there. But I was on a submarine. God's honest truth) I took a look at the dark cloudy sky and wondered: what is the world going to be like when I disembark?

Will it be a world where the Giant's won the World Series? Would the republicans win the day? Would we surface to nuclear winter, realize we are the only people left alive on the planet, and be saddened by the slow realization that it will be impossible to carry the species forward becuase the Navy doesn't allow women to serve on submarines (a short sighted policy, that)? Or would we arrive back in port under the banner of heaven, world peace proclaimed, and Christ himself there to say thanks, but our services are no longer required?

The answers: yes, yes, no, are you serious?

So yeah, I wasn't around to watch the republican wave sweep over this country. Am I sad by this? Eh, a little. I take a little consolation from the fact that O'Donnel and Angle didn't win...but I don't see a good two years ahead. The fact that I tuned into the Glenn Beck program on the way home today and he had already stopped gleefully clucking over the election and was instead complaining about Obama's entourage that is accompanying him to India...well, it just feels like this period of intense partisanship is never, ever going to end. I am so, so tired of it.

Oh yeah, and apparently it's Christmas. The holiday decorations are up in the Target, the Christmas cups are out at the Starbucks, and channel 952 is playing non-stop Christmas carols on Music Choice.

Now, good people, do not worry. I am not going to get up on my soapbox and beat my breast and tear my robes about the fact that Christmas (or simply "THE HOLIDAYS" if you prefer) come earlier and earlier every year. No. I've done that before, and it didn't do any good.

But I am sorry that I missed halloween.

Except for a few years in middle school where I was too old to trick or treat and to young to go to actual halloween parties, halloween has always been pretty good. When I was a kid my Dad would take me around trick or treating and I would come back with a pillow case full of candy that would last until Easter. When I was in college I would attend the annual unofficial LSM halloween party. And now my daughter, while she doesn't really quite understand the concept of trick or treat yet (I think), apparently still had a really good time walking around the neighborhood with Trish and a bucket full of candy. I wish I could have seen it.

Halloween maybe is the last true "holiday". Back in the day, at Christmas, the social order inverted itself and conventions of good behaviour flew out the window. Servants became masters, tenements demanded the best ale from their Lords, and merriment generally flowed in a time when life was hard and joy was in short supply.

Halloween sort of captures that spirit. We flaunt FDA recommendations and gorge ourselves on candy. We watch ridiculous zombie movies. We get drunk at costume parties. Women wear tawdry costumes. All of this flies in the face of convention - Though I suppose there is nothing to stop us these days from eating poorly, dressing sluttily, or drinking large quantities of alocohol at parties. But the spirit of the thing seems to make it a real holiday. We relax our mores, don our costumes, and for one night the dead walk the earth. The world is turned upside down.