substitute: (xmas)
Today I spent four hours in a Starbucks in Temecula, California.

Temecula is one of the New Suburbs here. There's an Indian casino and a crapload of little box house development, all new. It's inland and too hot. All of the white guys look like cops here, and all of the nonwhite guys look like gangbangers. I thought I saw an independent bookstore but it was a mormon bookstore.

I drove Bob down there to get dental work done, so I went to Starbucks and paid their ridiculous wi-fi tax and worked for a while. Various gang members, trophy wives, and sad-sack strip mall employees went in and out. Old people sat near me and had earsplitting conversations about real estate prices and their medical problems.

I got work done, and then I read some good fiction. (I can do that now again because the Adderall is working.) But I experienced pain. Let me share my pain with you. My pain is: THE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS MUSIC.

We all know that there are two types of Christmas music in the U.S. One is the usually religious but musically acceptable set of Old Carols. Almost all of them talk a lot about God or use noninclusive phrases like "born is the king of Israel." However, the music is old and good.

The second type is the pop music about Christmas written in the second half of the twentieth century. It's sometimes sentimental, occasionally romantic, rarely theological, and full of the kind of plastic whimsy one sees in Disney films. Little drummer boys and cotton candy snowmen come out of fucking nowhere and the kids are all eating and the grownups are all having snuggly winter sex. The music itself is uniformly emetic.

The management at Starbucks has chosen to play all of the modern pop Christmas music as performed by the following classes of musician: whiney Garrison Keillor country folk artists; breathy little indie girls; assholes with mandolins; safely dead old black guys; that guy from that one old movie; and Paul McCartney. I could almost swear I heard Bright Eyes doing "Frosty the Snowman" and Arlo Guthrie belting out "Let It Snow." And I'm way serious about the mandolin guys. They are major assholes.

So if you're somehow in a Starbucks this "holiday season," enjoy your CinnaNog Blatte or Caramel Mestizo or whatever, but put in earplugs. You might think this is funny, but school's out when you're stuck in line and Dave Matthews is scat-singing through "Do You Hear What I Hear."
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I post or at least read this every year.

From this high midtown hall, undecked with boughs, unfortified with mistletoe, we send forth our tinselled greetings as of old, to friends, to readers, to strangers of many conditions in many places. Merry Christmas to uncertified accountants, to tellers who have made a mistake in addition, to girls who have made a mistake in judgment, to grounded airline passengers, and to all those who can't eat clams! We greet with particular warmth people who wake and smell smoke. To captains of river boats on snowy mornings we send an answering toot at this holiday time. Merry Christmas to intellectuals and other despised minorities! Merry Christmas to the musicians of Muzak and men whose shoes don't fit! Greetings of the season to unemployed actors and the blacklisted everywhere who suffer for sins uncommitted; a holly thorn in the thumb of compilers of lists! Greetings to wives who can't find their glasses and to poets who can't find their rhymes! Merry Christmas to the unloved, the misunderstood, the overweight. Joy to the authors of books whose titles begin with the word "How" (as though they knew!). Greetings to people with a ringing in their ears; greetings to growers of gourds, to shearers of sheep, and to makers of change in the lonely underground booths! Merry Christmas to old men asleep in libraries! Merry Christmas to people who can't stay in the same room with a cat! We greet, too, the boarders in boarding houses on 25 December, the duennas in Central Park in fair weather and foul, and young lovers who got nothing in the mail. Merry Christmas to people who plant trees in city streets; merry Christmas to people who save prairie chickens from extinction! Greetings of a purely mechanical sort to machines that think--plus a sprig of artificial holly. Joyous Yule to Cadillac owners whose conduct is unworthy of their car! Merry Christmas to the defeated, the forgotten, the inept; joy to all dandiprats and bunglers! We send, most particularly and most hopefully, our greetings and our prayers to soldiers and guardsmen on land and sea and in the air--the young men doing the hardest things at the hardest time of life. To all such, Merry Christmas, blessings, and good luck! We greet the Secretaries-designate, the President-elect; Merry Christmas to our new leaders, peace on earth, good will, and good management! Merry Christmas to couples unhappy in doorways! Merry Christmas to all who think they are in love but aren't sure! Greetings to people waiting for trains that will take them in the wrong direction, to people doing up a bundle and the string is too short, to children with sleds and no snow! We greet ministers who can't think of a moral, gagmen who can't think of a joke. Greetings, too, to the inhabitants of other planets; see you soon! And last, we greet all skaters on small natural ponds at the edge of woods toward the end of afternoon. Merry Christmas, skaters! Ring, steel! Grow red, sky! Die down, wind! Merry Christmas to all and to all a good morrow!

Merry Christmas back to you, E.B. Some of those points sadly must be made again, but the good things are here too.
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Christmas music made tolerable by the madness of Pee-Wee's Playhouse and a very special guest:



Via Ernest Hardy's Blood Beats
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From '87, when they were at their height. I saw them a few times in these years and I'm glad. Yeah, this is a cheesy song, sentimental, Christmasy, and about perfect.
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I elfed myself, and the results are on the elf yourself site here. My first try was a pretty boring Internet joke, so I decided to go back and do it for real.

If that link doesn't work, I put the video online. Streaming is here: http://www.masculinehygiene.com/elf.html and download is here: http://www.masculinehygiene.com/d/m/elf.mov
substitute: (lamers)
Subject: Camels, Toilets and Other Funusual Gifts from Oxfam!

FUNUSUAL?

I immediately hear Tom Jones singing "It's not funusual to be starving in a waaaar..."
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It's got to be that time again. The crisp air, the evergreen smells, the approaching drums of advertising... Could it be, already? Is it upon us so soon? Why yes! It's time once again for the annual

WAR ON CHRISTMAS!

santa

chaaaaarge
substitute: (wombat)
Among an assortment of nice gifts I got a 12 CD set of Alan Watts and two books on Buddhist Art.

I used to listen to Alan Watts late at night on KPFK when I was a kid. He's probably not the most sophisticated or accurate guide to Asian spirituality, but he's both entertaining and instructive for me. And I can look at Buddhist art all day long.

HEADING EAST NOW!
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Santa Claus Uses Handgun to Protect Children From Terrorists

Here's the Christmas card sent out by the Citizens Committee to Keep and Bear Arms:

blam

I have some concerns. First of all, Santa is not using an approved grip or stance for handgun shooting. One-hand shooting is not recommended, and the loose grasp he has on the firearm is going to result in instability, poor aim, and possibly total loss of control.

Second, although he has the children pushed behind him, there is an infant directly below the handgun. Not only could a terrible mishap occur if his gun somehow went off while pointed down, but raining hot brass from an autopistol on infants is very poor form.

Third, the terrorist does not appear to have any firearms himself and is soletly armed with explosives. Santa is not only risking everyone's life in that room by pointing a firearm at the explosives, but he's missing the opportunity either to shoot the bomber directly in the head — thus ending the terrorist mission — or to physically assault the bomber and remove him from the area so that he cannot demolish the tree or kill the children. Merely threatening him with the firearm may result in far worse results than either shooting him in the head or tackling him. Since the terrorist is very clumsily using dynamite sticks with fuses, there is unlikely to be any dead man's switch or trip wire that would frustrate this attempt, and a terrorist taken alive is far more valuable to the international community than a corpse.

Therefore I cannot support arming poorly trained Santa Clauses. Even though the threat to Christmas may be very serious, reflexively arming previously unarmed sectors of society is likely to result in more harm than good.

A bigger version of the card is available from the url above; I resized it.
substitute: (grinch)
If I get one more of those GIVE THE GIFT OF DEATH & DISMEMBERMENT INSURANCE! or LAST CHANCE TO SHOW YOU CARE WITH AN ARBY'S GIFT CERTIFICATE or ORDER TODAY FOR CHRISTMAS DELIVERY OF NO-LEAKS-MLADY BEDPANS I may... just... become...

... a little less Christmasy.

I do understand that people who sell children's bicycles or fine chocolates or sex toys are going to be advertising a lot this time of year, and I can make my peace with that. The inappropriate products and services sold as "holiday gifts" are astounding, though. All services have gift certificates and all products have special Gift-Pak stupidity.

I salute the energy and inventiveness of advertisers, but come on: prepaid oil changes? donations in your name to contentious and controversial nonprofits? A subscription to the Arthritis Health Letter? A new garage door opener? A genuine Third Reich swizzle stick! A dream date with Paul Williams in knee pads! A BABY'S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE
substitute: (matchbook)
angelThere's a touch of frost in the air, it isn't quite Halloween, and we're all flat broke. Therefore it's Christmas Season, and I'm delighted to be the first to inaugurate it here on the LJ. I know some of you are going to say it's too soon, but if you really thought about it, you'd realize you want it to be Christmas all the time. Sure you do. Anyway, that magical time of year has come in which Santas on TV sell you subprime mortgages and inflatable pools, out-of-work actors in Dickensian clothing serenade you with faith-neutral carols outside the Chick Fil-A in the food court, and HR emails you jingly-bell clipart that blows up Windows.

To kick things off properly, I'd like to remind everyone that He knows when you are Good or Bad, so be Good for Goodness Sakes. (Crude Flash, ~9 meg) Or you will suffer beyond your wildest imaginings.

Wassail, wassail!

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