Christmas Song of the Day: Feliz Navidad!

Feliz Navidad!
Feliz Navidad!
Feliz Navidad!
Prospero Anos y felicidad!

That song has been my favorite since I was 9 years old. And I think it’s a crime against nature if anyone other than Jose Feliciano, the Puerto Rican Stevie Wonder, sings it. Big ball of wrong.

Got some snow here yesterday in Northern VA. I had left for the office at 5:30 am, thereby avoiding all the commutie fun to zip into the gym. Bizarre time of year to start a running regimen, but I’m motivated and on the hook with a few people, so I have to keep it up or doom myself as the most miserable of failures.

This won’t become an exercise blog. I despise activity. My nature wars with itself; I would far rather sit on the couch, watch mindless slop and eat myself stupid. You don’t make many friends that way and your kids start to worry about your health. Anyway, I’m feeling good. Let’s see if I can make it stick. Maybe if I get on the hook with you too, it will keep me honest.

The joys of waking the dog. The crisp air. A starlit night. A new moon. 2am. 2 A – F***KING – M. I was not happy with Buddy, but he really did need to go out. I took teeny steps afraid to break an ankle on the icy sidewalks. He capers in the snow. At 15 years old, Buddy can still caper. Not so well; that right hind leg of his doesn’t like to bend anymore, but he still bounces around sticking his nose in the snow, snuffling all about. I enjoyed it at 7am this morning when I walked him again. I enjoyed the capering, the bracing air, even the color of the sky; a lovely periwinkle blue that I’ve only noticed in winter. That walk was good. The 2am one, not so much.

I’m re-reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy. It will likely take me several months since I only read in bed and invariably fall asleep after a few paragraphs. I started it two weeks ago and am only up to Tom Bombadil; a delightful character that did not make it into the movie. It helped me get back to sleep by 3am.

Holiday party at work today; further necessitating the trip to the gym. Trying to get my cousin to skip a work event this evening and shake us both up an emo-busting diet-enhancing low-calorie martini tonight. I’ll let you know if she gets sucked in.

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Christmas Song of the Day: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Now you know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen
Comet and Cupid and Donder and Blitzen
But do you recall
The most famous reindeer of all

This song is special because we would sing it with Dad whenever we were in the car with him. You know, he must have had worries and anxieties but when we were little, we never knew it. We thought that there was nothing more important in the world than us and he would sing Rudolph with us over and over and over and over. I wonder sometimes if it bored the crap out of him.

Guest Blogger is back!!!

It was the day I always hoped would never come. I knew it was inevitable, sure, but I hoped nonetheless.

Growing up in a family full of girls, I was never exposed to the secret world of males. A world where groin grasping is commonplace and flatulence is funny. No, these were things I only heard of and, naturally, scoffed at. Things that had no place in my life.

Until today. When my beautiful son broke the father/son code, by sharing with me a fun little game his father had taught him...

...pull my finger.

Best Phrase Ever

Christmas Song of the Day: Snoopy and the Red Baron

The Baron made Snoopy fly to the Rhine
And forced him to land behind the enemy lines
Snoopy was certain that this was the end
When the Baron cried out, "Merry Christmas, my friend"

This song always chokes me up. Mortal enemies, whose stated purpose is to kill, hold each other in high regard, and claim a brief truce on Christmas Eve. It recalls the true story from World War I.

"A spontaneous truce resulted. Soldiers left their trenches, meeting in the middle to shake hands. The first order of business was to bury the dead who had been previously unreachable because of the conflict. Then, they exchanged gifts. Chocolate cake, cognac, postcards, newspapers, tobacco. In a few places, along the trenches, soldiers exchanged rifles for soccer balls and began to play games."

This is sexist and I'm assuming it was only men in the trenches, but men are wonderful. If I weren't so bitter, it would almost seem wrong to continue with the rest of my blog today.

"Eat Shit and Die"

Isn't that just like the best phrase ever? I said it to my brother just now. Well, it was my advice to him to say to a woman he is attracted to. She's married, with kids, claims she's "unhappy" (they all claim that) but that she can't get out of the bad marriage (they all claim that too) is still intimate with her husband (you're getting the pattern here aren't you?) but wants to get nailed by my brother (well, who wouldn't?).

Last week I pointed out some of her flawed thinking. I guess he listened because he told her she needs to deal with her marriage first before coming to him. She's on instant message now wanting to talk to him.

I told him to tell the hose bag to eat shit and die.

He's talking to her. A big sister can only do so much.

Vocabulary

Christmas Song of the Day: Deck the Halls

Deck the halls with boughs of holly!
Fa la la la la la la la la

Deck the Halls is a holiday staple. But my daughter and I, ever since watching the end of “A Christmas Story” sing it “Fa ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra!” Sort of like, instead of LOL (laughing out loud in chat-speak), typing ROR. If challenged, I am prepared with a song off of the “My Name is Kim Sam Soon” official sound track. Which is Korean and which will vindicate me completely. As if my clear affection for the Asian culture is in question here.

I hit a new vocabulary low today and I’m devastated.

I often hit audible lows. I have the mouth of a rednecked 18 wheel-driving tourette’s victim. Sometimes I work on this character flaw, sometimes I don’t. (I swore once in front of my Dad when I was in high school. Carefully rendering an amusing anecdote of the day, I told him “Blank” Hughes licked bird sh*t on a dare for $20. I said sh*t in front of the man who called cow waste “manure”. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole when I saw the disappointment in my Dad’s eyes. You think I would have stopped cursing after that.)

Sorry for the digression. But any time I get to mention Blank Hughes, I like to take the opportunity. Oh, and yeah, he really did lick bird sh*t for $20. I thought the man was a god.

I like to test my verbal acumen with some frequency. I have installed a little gadget on my iGoogle desktop to test myself on a daily basis. My ego will shamefully admit to you that I do it just to see how right I always am. I can be such an ass sometimes. (see? See??!). I don’t always get 100%, sometimes I get 80% and sometimes, I will admit that I go as low as 60%. No less than 60% though. Ever.

Until today.

40%. I hate myself. 40%! And I tried! (Sometimes I don’t try. Hence the 60%) I’ve actually used 8 of the 10 words or phrases that you will see – so how could I get 40%?

You have to match the words on the left to the correct definition on the right (or in blue because effing blogger won't put in effing tabs.)

Vacillate Revile

Vituperate Hover

Obviate Condense

Prevaricate Tergiversate

Inspissate Rid_of

I only got vacillate and vituperate right. The rest…wrong…all wrong. F*ck. (It’s a cry for help.)

Christmas Song of the Day: Happy Christmas (War is Over)

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun

Leave it to one half of Lennon/McCartney to write a Christmas song that has entered into the world’s songbook. I don’t like political Christmas songs but I never considered this one of those. I think it’s about hope and wishes and love for all mankind. And that’s what Christmas is. McCartney will show up on my top list later on. He’s higher up the ladder for other reasons.

Not a fan of the political “Do They Know It’s Christmas Time In Africa Where Babies Have Flies In Their Mouths So Buy This CD And A Portion of The Proceeds Will Go To Save The Babies! Yes!! A Portion!!” or of the “Christmas Shoes For Mah Dyin’ Momma Mister So She Cin Look Pritty Fer Jesus” songs. I find them manipulative and offensive.

If they spur someone else to an act of goodwill, then fabulous. They just piss me off.

Warm and Safe and Loved

Christmas Song of the Day: Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer

Now we're all so proud of Grandpa
He's been takin' this so well
See him in there watching football
Drinking beers and playing cards with cousin Mel

The first of my "favorite Christmas songs". I listened to Christmas music almost exclusively on the ride home from New York today. I remember when this song first came out. I thought that the line "They should never give a license to a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves." was frighteningly laden with meaning. For the first time, I was in on the joke. You know. The abnormally suggestive, he "PLAYS with ELVES."

I just finished watching my first episode of "Pushing Daisies". Overview: Young man Ned has a gift. He can touch dead people and bring them back to life. If he touches them for a second time, they die never to be brought back to life by any means. If he doesn't touch them the second time, someone else dies. For the most part, he will "wake up" a dead person, determine who or what killed them, touches them again to let them pass this mortal coil, and then collects the reward for finding the "real killers" (that's right, a la OJ!).

There are several interesting complications in the series, foremost is that of his lady love. Her name is Chuck. Well, her nickname is Chuck. Her real name is Charlotte. He loved Charlotte always, starting when they were young. Charlotte died. Ned touched her and brought her back to life. He can't touch her again, lest she die for good. That means they can't kiss, they can't touch, they can't anything. Sexual tension baby.

It avoids the whole "I Dream of Jeannie" jump the shark peril.

I have not watched "Pushing Daisies" from the beginning, though my daughter has urged me to do so. The show has an interesting geek vibe (we have already established that I am rife with geeky goodness) and has wrydry sense of humor.

The first episode I watched was about smells. Genius smellman author-type writes a book about the smell of success, attempts are made on his life, blah blah blah, twist twist twist, the end. I expected Paul Reubens to either be lead villain or the author of the adult "pop-up" books. He turned out to be the unexpected good guy...well, for now. Foreshadowing would indicate that he won't be a good guy for long.

I found the intro most appealing. The narrator talked about young Ned. Ned's Mom baked pies. Wonderful pies that would fill the house with their comforting aroma. Ned's Mom died. Ned saved her. Ned's mom came in to give him a kiss goodnight not long after that. She touched him, and the second kiss killed her for good. Macabre really (which intrigues me), and our young hero can't stop dreaming of his Mom. Wanting her back. Aching pathos. Young Ned in the orphanage sneaks into the kitchen, brings some rotten apples back to life and bakes a pie. Pie smells like his Mom. He's finally able to sleep. He is warm and safe and loved.

Utilizing his amazing gifts, besides going after all manner of twisted killers, Ned is the owner operator of a desert specialty shop. He calls it "The Pie Hole".

Interesting time of year to have that episode on. Thanksgiving. The start of the Christmas holiday. Scent transports. Turkey baking in a 325 degree oven all morning. Stuffing. Apples. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Dough. Thyme. My clean sheets. The furnace is turned on. The smell of heat. My daughter's hair. Pine needles. Pumpkin pie. New clothes. Snow. Fallen leaves. My mom's musky perfume. My Dad's neck.

Scent, like music, transcends space and time. I am five years old again. Mom is chopping onions, cooking giblets, snapping at us not to touch the black olives until dinner (we each of us sneak 10 and pretend we are e-vil monsters clawing our way out of the depths of hell). My Dad is still alive, there are seven of us siblings, and we are care free. Someone meets every one of my needs without my even having to think about it. My greatest challenge and my greatest accomplishment is remembering to yell "I CALL IT!!" before I jump out of the easy chair assuring my prime spot while watching Johnny Whittaker in "The Littlest Angel".

I am warm and safe and loved.

Happy Thanksgivings

Bee Gees Song of the Day: I Can't See Nobody

I cant see nobody...no, I cant see nobody.
My eyes can only look at you...you.

Ahhhh, it’s a fabulous day! Traffic was blessedly light. I have a hot cup of decaf coursing through my veins. No executives in the office to speak of. The promise of apple pie later in the day. The weather is dank and gloomy. Spooky when it’s dark out; with all the leaves swirling around one’s feet. It’s autumn and it’s beautiful. And it’s Thanksgiving.

I’m driving to New York to have a few days with my kids. Talk about thankful.

I’ve had some very good Thanksgivings. Mom used to just go all out at Thanksgiving and Christmas. The house would smell of turkey and stuffing and rutabaga and good things. Mom is the best cook ever. Gramma would send over pumpkin, blueberry, cherry, apple, and mince pies. We’d watch the Macy’s Day Parade on television all morning, a few cartoons thrown in for good measure (Popeye, Bullwinkle, Bugs Bunny, Tom & Jerry). Later, we would play outside – there was almost always snow up on the hill where we live. We'd build snow men and women, dig tunnels, carve out snow caves, jump on them and eventually crush them. Then we would come in wet, dirty and exhausted. We’d lay down on the floor with Dad and we would fall asleep curled up by the heating vent watching football.

There was the year my Virginia cousins came up for Thanksgiving; probably the first Thanksgiving after Grampa died in 1978. It is notable because Salem’s Lot was on. My cousin and I recognized in each other a certain loutish behavior; an instant and lasting camaraderie was struck. We still share it. It’s crude and insensitive, and I’m not going to go into detail. But it still makes us laugh.

Lots of wonderful Thanksgivings during my marriage. The men would go hunting, the women would stay back and cook. All the cousins would play together – remarkably little blood shed; we all have such good kids they all got along - and still get along - so well.

One year, one of my boys had made a loaf of bread in school. It was the size of his fist and was about as light and fluffy as a hockey puck. We placed it on the table prominently, we all had a piece. It was awful, but it made my son so happy to have contributed something for dinner. And we ate it.

Then there was the last Thanksgiving I had with my Gramma. I had invited everyone over to my home for dinner. 30 people, little ones all over the place, it was wonderful. Gramma had alzheimers, but she was still communicative, very innocent. I sat on the floor next to her and asked if I could get her anything, tea, more potatoes, anything. “Nope!” her eyes shone, “Evie says that if I eat all my dinner, I can have pumpkin pie!” I smiled, “That’s right Gramma! You can!” We talked a few more minutes and Gramma said, “If I eat all my dinner, I get pie!” “That’s right Gramma, you do! Eat up!” We talked some more, I tended to the rest of the family. As I passed Gramma again, she showed me her plate, “May I have some pie now?” I don’t think I can think of anything more beautiful.

Wow, this is making me cry actually. A piece of pie. A loaf of bread. A stupid joke. Would that we all could find joy in small things, in small moments and keep them with us. I’m so glad I have that memory. And you know what? I don’t think I can type anymore.

Happy Thanksgiving :)