Me? Oh My!
It's Gift (or is it pronounced Jift?) Season once again and we've dispatched the Pigeon of Peace from her Coop of Concordia to contact critical master E. Basil St. Blaise for some suggestions. Whether placed beneath an ample tree or a sparkling menorah or a statue of the horned goat god Baphomet, we know you'd like to leave a token of your affection that will enrich and enlighten the recipient. We also know St. Blaise can't help you with that, although he will identify affordable items that can be easily returned.
Our bird located St. Blaise's mobile HQ in an RV park outside of Hammond, Indiana and marked the spot all over his windshield. It was the hometown of folksy humorist Jean Shepherd and the basis for the fictional town of Hohman in his holiday classic A Christmas Story. Sipping a Red Ryder cocktail while reclining on his fold-out hide-a-bed with his faithful Affenpinscher Josef snoring astride his belly, St. Blaise shared his picks.
"I dismissed the 1983 film A Christmas Story as 'Shepherd's pile.', but still thought I'd pay a visit to the Indiana Welcome Center for the exhibit "A Christmas Story" Comes Home. I had appreciated the somewhat poignant yet undeniable assurance on their website, 'If you have never been to this spectacular display, then you don’t yet know what you’re missing!' Indeed. I can now report that I have been and can precisely. Nada.
Even by snake-belly low Welcome Center standards it failed to impress –– it made the flying saucer at the recently-burned-down UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, South Carolina seem like an all-expense-paid trip to Mars. I would've preferred the standard WC items behind glass –– a stuffed beaver, some pottery shards and an arrowhead.
With the fictional family in mind, I declared of the dismal display, 'No see Parker.' To be fair, the water fountains refreshed, and the toilets flushed robustly.
I'd concocted this Red Ryder cocktail for the occasion and named it after the air gun Ralphie incessantly whines about in the movie. Shots of B&B over cherry heering and a touch of eggnog will trigger wistfulness even as it blurs one's aim.
Now for this year's selection of self-regarding books that recount lives meant to make one's own seem a tad inadequate. These memoirists are eager to have us press our noses like Tiny Tim against the panes in the windows on their souls. And the pains, so as to reassure us that their success, no matter how damned wonderful, came at a price. For unenviable envy and insufferable suffering you can share some of these.
Mememoirs
Comedy Nerd: A Lifelong Obsession in Stories and Pictures by Judd Apatow –– Fan dunce.
Book of Lives by Margaret Atwood –– Atwood be enough.
Listening to the Law by Amy Coney Barrett –– Then ignoring it.
Bon Jovi: Forever by Jon Bon Jovi –– Endless.
The Royal Insider: My Life with The Queen, The King, and Princess Diana by Paul Burrell –– Offers rebutle.
Heart Life Music by Kenny Chesney –– That beat's all.
The Uncool by Cameron Crowe –– Hip don't lie.
Vagabond by Tim Curry –– Wanderklutz.
You Thought You Knew by Kevin Federline –– You think I care?
I note the number of males in this year's round-up, with a testostironic volume of TMI that some of these macho men might have considered a feminine foible like PMS. As with the well-worn jokes about women wanting their men to share their feelings until they do, I sincerely wish these gents had laid off the keyboard and instead hit a nail, the gym or the bottle.
Unplugged by Tom Freston –– TV dimmer.
Eternally Electric by Debbie Gibson –– Light out.
My Mom Jayne by Mariska Hargitay –– Jayne minesfield.
107 Days by Kamala Harris –– VP crawly.
Unscripted by Cheryl Hines –– Hines catch-up.
We Did OK, Kid by Sir Anthony Hopkins –– Hannibal lecture.
What Happened to Your Hair? by Matthew & Gunnar Nelson –– Needs trimming.
I’m Not Trying To Be Difficult by Drew Nieporent –– Nobu for you.
Last Rites by Ozzy Osbourne –– Ozdeade.
Coming Up Short: A Memoir of My America by Robert B. Reich –– Lil’ weigh-in.
It does make one ponder –– which of these alternative lives might I have been tempted to lead? Handmaiden Mama? Poor Man's Springsteen? Dr. Frank-N-Furter? Mr. Britney Spears? Mrs. Bobby Kennedy Jr.? Hawkeye Pierced? Tiger Blood Boy? The Trump Spare?
Trapped in a vintage motor home with 8 pounds of perro loco on a frigid night as the snow begins to fall never looked so darn good.
My Next Breath by Jeremy Renner –– Plow shares.
Truly by Lionel Richie –– Richie rich.
Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy –– Mom's the word.
The Book of Sheen: A Memoir by Charlie Sheen –– Charlie whores.
Bread of Angels by Patti Smith –– Crusty.
Cat on the Road to Findout by Yusuf/Cat Stevens –– Scratch Cat fever.
Under Siege: My Family's Fight to Save Our Nation by Eric Trump –– Idiot son set.
The Man of Many Fathers by Roy Wood Jr. –– Not out of the Woods.
Finding My Way by Malala Yousafzai –– Malala… I can't hear you.
Tinsel Ears
I still feel some obligation to include a few reviews of newly-released, but anciently-produced Holiday Albums. Aside from shut-ins with their TVs, radios and computers on the fritz, I have trouble picturing the audience for these. What demographic isn't already inundated with this cloying fare from barely-past All Hallows' Eve to well past New Year's Day? Name me the individuals who have not been ba-dum-pum-pum pummed, fa-la-la-la-laed and glo–aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw-oriaed to within an inch of their sonic lives? Well, for you Midnight Masochists out there, here's a sampler in no particular order.
It’s Christmas / Eric Benét ––Wintry mix.
The Greatest Gift of All / Stryper –– Candy Stryper.
Feels Like Christmas / Mickey Guyton –– That numbness?
Greatest Hits Christmas / LeAnn Rimes –– Hits it hard.
Snow Globe Town / Brad Paisley –– Nothin’ shakin’.
Peace, Love, & Cowboys / Lainey Wilson –– Which don’t fit?
Christmastime / Trisha Yearwood –– Ear wood.
I mean, really. How in the name of St. Nick's low-hanging sack can you Noel-nothings stand it? Little Josef is over there atop The Chess Records Christmas Album Blue Frost LP spinning on the hi-fi and wildly howling for it to stop. I wrote of that platter, 'Your move!' sarcastically, but there are some genuinely danceable oldies on it and even my half-deaf dog has had enough.
But you –– sitting there watching You, Me & the Christmas Trees ((2021) –– Boughs out.) that you recorded off the Hallmark Channel followed by Santa Inc. ((2021) –– Animated corpse.) that you recorded off of Max (HBO Max? HBO? Netflix? Paramount??) followed by God-knows-what seasonal effectively disordered mess –– you really want more?! Very well…
On This Winter’s Night (Volume 2) / Lady A –– A nightmare.
Christmas in the City / Pentatonix –– Twee lighting.
Holiday Road / Straight No Chaser –– On the skids.
Christmas Was Better in the 80s / The Futureheads –– Everything was before you got together.
Christmas Time Is Here / Herb Alpert –– The nurses tell me.
Verve // Remixed Holiday / Various –– Jazzer sighs.
A Chuck E. Cheese Christmas / Various –– Chucky cookies.
That oughta' do it –- I'm certainly caroled out. I'll slip some surf music on the hi-fi just to break the Hexmas spell. And always remember Gimel (take all) beats Nun (none) when spinning a dreidel. And that it is better to give than receive especially when it comes to infectious diseases.
Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas and best wishes to all regardless of your chosen Choliday!
Previous St. Blaise Holiday Samplers:
I's Capades
Advent Horizon
En Pointe of Purchase
Bells & Wassails
Gift Rapt
The Gift of Grab
Stocking Suffers
