Monday, December 29, 2003


It would come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I don't like music very much. Very rarely do I hear a song and like it immediately. Rare exceptions have been La Bamba (movie version), Sleepy Jean (the Monkees), American Pie (Don Maclean), Sex and Candy (Marcy Playground), Dream On, Cryin', Pink, and Amazing (Aerosmith), Fancy (Reba McEntire {she had me at "the outskirts of New Orleans"}) and embarrassingly, I Touch Myself (the DiVynals) and Staycy's Mom (Fountains of Wayne {erg!!!!}). There are a few more, but it is hard to come up with them on short notice. With a minimum of analysis, one could easily come to the conclusion that I am more of a fan of melody and less of a fan of lyrics. "I Touch Myself" should draw you to that conclusion pretty quickly. The melody is what actually means something to me. Words mean little to me, even in poetry (again there are exceptions). However, some whiny pop star's pseudo-philiosophical non-poetry set to music is not my idea of a winning combo. However, if the music is good, or at least has a nice harmony, I can blissfully ignore the lyrics.

All my dislike of lyrics, however, does not mean that I spend hours in elevators.

Perhaps I don't have time to listen/study music as much as I would like, but I am reasonably sure that the gutter sludge I'm forced to hear between listening to news and traffic reports is not the best humanity has to offer.

Sunday, December 28, 2003

Thoughts on the Holiday Season

Had myself a mellow little Christmas. At least it was mellow compared to Christmases past. I have eight sisters, so present buying was, as always, a chore. But it was fun. Next year though, I am buying everything online months in advance. While I would love to be a contributing factor in the annual Christmas boom, I am afraid the economy will have to do without my cash during the Christmas rush.

Probably only the liquor stores will see any honest-to-goodness Christmas patronage. With half of my sisters being of age and 2 more drinking anyway, a lot of booze goes a long way.

Now in my family, because there are so many of us, we do KKs or Secret Santas and exchange gifts. This means that someone inevitably gets the shaft. My sister, oh let's call her Winnie, seems to get it most often. The first year we did secret santas, she got a little box full of holy medals and necklace charms that had been sitting around in the bathroom drawers for years. The poor sister who gave it to her was too young to get herself to the mall and wouldn't have had much money if she did. She has been mercilessly teased and has overcompensated each Christmas since then. The sister who gave the holy medals that year got the shaft this year, receiving a M'Bop Hanson CD. I think she got something else too, but everyone will remember the CD.

My two daughters made out like bandits, not that they should have. Two naughtier children I have never seen. By the rules of naughty and nice, my kids should have received chains, switches and coal in their stockings, but somehow Santa forgave them and brought them dolls and games, a basketball hoop, a little karaoke machine, a Dora backpack, and a trumpet. Not that my kids wouldn't have had just as much fun with chains, coal and a switch. They are ridiculously easy to please. It almost takes the fun out of it for me. But it was cute to see them ripping open their presents with gusto and then fighting over them.

My husband is gyrating in front of me, wiggling his limpness, probably hoping I will do interesting things to it. It is strangely seductive in an Old Elvis kind of way. Think I'll go give it a shot. Sorry if I have offended, but this is my blog. Onward and Upward.

Hopefully with the Christmas season behind me, I will have a little more time to write. Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukka, Brightest of Solstices, Good Kwanza and a Jubilant Festivus (couresty of the Costanzas) to all.