Years ago I DJ’d part time at a local radio station (which figures into my novel Radio Red). I happened to be working when the boss decided it was time to start the Christmas season with the Gift of Music.

He produced a card file and a stack of CD’s. On each card in the file (no computers -- it was that long ago) was the name of a Christmas song, which we shuffled into randomness. As soon as I saw what happened to fall as the first one, I had my intro.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to get the holiday season under way with WLNB’s selection of Christmas music, and I’ve been chosen for the honor or starting it out. I’m perfectly okay with that, as long as I don’t have to play ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’. Now, let’s see what’s on top of our play list ... no. It can’t be. Not that -- anything but that!”

Ah, but it was. And so I started out the Gift of Music with a redneck song about a reckless driving Santa Claus murdering elderly pedestrians.

I never said I was a good part time DJ. Note that I’m no longer employed there.
 
 
 
 
Santas got run over by a fire truck?



I like to be the best combination of Scrooge and Grinch that I can possibly be. For the uninitiated, Scrooge is the old time British fellow who gets scared by ghosts into loving Christmas. The Grinch is the green guy who goes down to Whoville to steal Christmas, but ends up returning everything when the Whoville people start singing happy carols. This begs the question: if the people in Whoville were happy anyway, why didn’t the Grinch just keep the stuff, and sell it on Ebay?

Yep -- two great stories, two bad endings. Just call me the Scrinch. Or Grooge, that would be okay.
 
There are other books, you know.
 
 
 
 I base most of my attitude on either out of control commercialism or people who, themselves, act like Grinches. Yes, I get upset when I see giant plastic Santas on display at Wal-Mart -- in September. But don’t we all get mad when some scumbag burglar steals the Christmas presents right from under someone’s tree?

Christmas all year round might seem like a good idea, but in reality it would make the holiday cheap and ordinary. Put a friggin tarp on the decorations until mid-November, okay? I once went shopping for Halloween, and turned the corner to discover a plastic Frosty giving me a ... well, a frosty look.

As for stealing gifts, vandalizing decorations and such ... not that I haven’t wanted to vandalize decorations, but only when they're lit in October. For everyone else, a public whipping on New Year’s Day should beat the holiday spirit into them.

My point is this: Although I get as angry as everyone else when “Let it Snow” starts playing in the store while people in shorts and tank tops stumble in, wiping sweat from their brows ...
 
I don’t know if I should say it. It might ruin my reputation, and where am I without that? Next thing you know, people will discover I really like animals. But ... okay, complete honesty, here:

I love Christmas music.

People may never look at me the same way again.
 
 



Christmas is the only thing I look forward to through the months of bitter cold, with nothing but driving snow and black, dead foliage. I hate cold, I hate snow, I hate heating bills, I hate bulky clothes that never warm me up ... but I love Christmas. Colored lights shine through the dull twilight of winter. People actually cheer up a little. Well, some people. And of all the things about Christmas, I love the songs the best.

It doesn’t matter if they’re old or new. Sure, the barking dog Jingle Bells thing grates on me, and I’ve heard versions of “Santa Baby” that make me want to hurl down a chimney. But from Frank Sinatra to Christina Aguilera, nothing perks me up more. What they’ve done elsewhere in their lives, or what other people think of them, doesn’t matter -- I’ll listen to it if it’s Britney Spears, or Barry Manilow.

Old or new? I love “Carol of the Bells” and “The Hallelujah Chorus”, which my choir sang in high school. They didn’t have new Christmas Songs back then. But I’ve got songs in my Christmas library by Faith Hill, the Trans Siberian Orchestra, the Eagles, and, yes, Hannah Montana.
 
 
 


Type of music? It’s all Christmas to me. Doesn’t matter whether it's the Bryan Seltzer Orchestra, Jessica Simpson, or Andrea Bocelli. Or that other fella, Tchaikovsky, and his Nutcracker thing. Still, nothing will ever beat the classics, and Bing Crosby is the king of the classics. I may not like white winters, but “White Christmas” will always be close to my half-frozen heart.

So that’s it --  my big confession. I love Christmas music ... almost all Christmas music. As long as the lyrics aren’t being “sung” by pets.

I don’t even mind that great tribute to holiday violence, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”.

Much.

 
 

 

Got Christmas Money? A New Kindle? Take a Look At Our Books:

 

·        Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

·        Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

·        Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

·        Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

·        Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

·        Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

·        Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

·        Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

·        Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

·        Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

·        Substack:  https://substack.com/@markrhunter

·        Tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

·        Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

·        Audible:  https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

 

Remember to have a Merry Christmas!


ozma914: mustache Firefly (mustache)
( Jan. 6th, 2024 12:31 am)

(Bonus points if you can identify all the TV shows referenced.)

 

           Santa Claus had a ritual, one he followed every year after delivering gifts for all little boys and girls. It involved whiskey.

           His main elf assistant, Evergreen Iciclepears, poured him a shot, and started to walk away with the bottle. Santa snapped his fingers. “Keep ‘em coming, Iciclepears. I just delivered 1.4 billion presents.”
 
           (Evergreen Iciclepears’ real name was Charles Anders. But Mrs. Claus, who was always sound asleep when Santa got home from his big business trip, had renamed all the elves to make them sound more festive. The Elves accepted this because North Pole work paid well and had great benefits – including dental – but privately they called Mrs. Claus Cranberry Cuddlecane.)
 
           Alcohol was not all of Santa’s routine, of course. After taking care of the reindeer he plodded to his big easy chair, pulled off his boots, and stuck his aching tootsies in a tub of hot Epsom salt water.
 
Then he took three ibuprofen, which always waited for him on a tray full of other items, brought by Nutmeg Sugarlights and placed right by his chair. (Her real name was Josephine Hendrickson.)
 

 
 
The other stuff including soothing eye drops, because the screaming wind dried his eyes out. Then there was a cough drop, for similar reasons, and some antacid, because in the space of twenty-four hours he’d eaten approximately 423,000,000 pieces of candy and cookies.
 
Once Santa settled, Forest Tinselstockings came in with the anti-static brush. (His name actually was Forrest – Forrest Gump, no relation. Since that Tom Hanks movie came out he kind of liked his new name.)
 
Santa delivers all those presents by means of a space-time wormhole tesseract, a device given to him in 1032. At the time Santa, using his magical reindeer, could easily get around and deliver gifts to all the good children. Just the same, a strange man arrived at Santa’s home in the Forest of Burzee – literally inside his home, materializing in a small blue box and calling himself The Doctor.
 
The Doctor informed Santa that he’d someday need time saving devices, and gave him a Bag of Holding (which proved to be bigger on the inside) as well as the tesseract. All he asked in return was for Santa to make him a power tool that could open doors and make routine physics calculations, but that would still fit in his pocket.
 
I asked one of those AI sites to give me an image of The Doctor ... and I have to admit to being a little freaked out. There are at least three Doctors mixed into the results.

 
 
Santa came to realize he’d need those items. First, he didn’t have the heart to give toys only to good kids, despite the protests of his Chief Naughty Judge, Toadstool Chocolatecake. Soon out of a job, Toadstool moved south to England, where he fell upon hard times and took a servant job after changing back to his original name, Dobby.
 
Second, Santa could not predict the ability of the human race to … shall we say, expand. He originally served a population of a 250,000,000, which seems like a lot until you subtract adults and bad kids. The Viking kids almost never got presents, but up north they appreciated the coal.
 
As a result of the devices, Forest – Forest Tinselstockins – had to use the anti-static brush every December 26th. It not only helped static, it also removed tachyon particles that became attached to Santa’s wool clothing and beard during the trip. If not for that treatment, at random intervals Santa would find himself flung to a very hot planet circling the star 40 Eridani A, where absolutely no one believed in Santa and his jolly nature was seen as quite illogical. Getting back to Earth was a pain.
 
My point is that Christmas was a stressful time for Santa Claus, even more stressful than for anyone else. At least Santa had a team, led by the trusted Merry Toffeebaubles, to get the lights untangled and strung up. (Merry’s real name is Mary; she considers herself lucky, especially since her last name used to be Weirenkawoski.)
 
"One light goes out and they all go out!"

 
 
So he had his Jack Daniels, his over the counter meds, his foot bath, and his combing. He relaxed with a couple of glasses of the good stuff while listening to gentle, soothing songs sung by Blueberry Embercane (previously known as Elvis). Planning for next Christmas started on December 27th, so the relaxation time was very important.
 
Later he’d be checked over by Dr. Gingercane, who had a degree, maybe ironically, from The University of Hawaii. Santa always had various scratches, bruises, and the occasional burn, and dog bites weren’t out of the question. He hadn’t been seriously injured since Saddam Hussein tried to shoot him down in 1989, and that was just a little shrapnel.
 
“Merry Christmas, Santa!” said Evergreen Iciclepears after Santa had, shall we say, warmed up a bit. “Preliminary indications are that it went very well this year.”
 
“Well, I got back with all the reindeer,” Santa replied. “So yes – Merry Christmas, indeed. Is breakfast almost ready?”
 
“Oh, absolutely. Partridge Emberwine is cooking up all your favorites. So, do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”
 
Santa paused to think. “Well, back in 1914 I resolved not to give gifts to bad kids anymore, but I just couldn’t stick with it. In 1964 I resolved to lose weight, but the wife wouldn’t allow it. ‘The kids expect a fat Santa!’ she kept saying. Who could foresee this health craze? Now she wants me to get a Wii Fit.”
 
Leaning back, he sighed. “I guess I’ll just resolve to keep going … and maybe, someday, if they come to understand giving enough, more of the bad kids will become good kids.
 
“Now, let’s get to that breakfast – I’ve got my early massage scheduled.”
 
The annual appearance of Emily's Wreath Of Kahn

 
 

Remember, reading books in January is far safer then sledding, whether you have reindeer or not.

 As all fourteen of my regular readers know, I've always had this thing about putting up Christmas decorations, or in any way mentioning Christmas, before Thanksgiving.

By "thing" I mean seeing anything Christmas related before mid-November would send me into a murderous rage. That's how I got banned from Wal-Mart.

 
I thought, and still think, starting Christmas while people are going down with heat exhaustion cheapens the holiday, and makes it overstay its welcome. I was okay with putting outside lights up early, mind you--as long as they weren't turned on until Thanksgiving weekend.

So I asked my State and Federal representatives to open a new hunting season: Any lit (or inflated) Christmas decorations seen before Thanksgiving would be open season. Shoot to darken!

That's how I used to feel.

Not this year. This year I'm a happy little friggin' elf.


 Why? Because 2023 has been crap. In fact, it's been the crappiest of the 2020s, which has been the crappiest decade of the century. I know we're not that far in, but let's face it: A stream of horrible years doesn't make the most horrible less horrible. Someone get me that on a t-shirt.

Deaths, health scares, politics, extremists, the Kardashians are still around ... our dog died and our car broke down. That's a country song, man.

So, as the song goes: We need a little Christmas, today. Get started. Brighten up everything--make those electric meters spin. We need the color, the lights, the cheer, even the songs. Yes, I know Christmas is too commercial these days.
 
But so what? You don't have to be commercial. I mean, yeah, you should buy books to give out as Christmas presents, but otherwise don't worry about it: Just kick back and relax some between now and the 25th (of next month). Make the time. Watch a Christmas movie, curl up on the couch listening to Christmas music (ahem--while reading a good book, or one of mine), do whatever it takes to bring down the stress level a little. There's no law against it. I know, because my Representatives wouldn't return my calls.

Merry Christmas! Party early, and keep those lights on after the holidays, right up until the Santa Mafia shows up to get you committed.

The Santas are just grumpy because they have to work through the holidays.




 Remember: Every time a book gets rung up, an author gets his wings.
 


 

 T'was the night before Christmas when I met my partner, Mary Darling, for our Christmas Eve shift in the City of Angels. "Merry Christmas, Darling." The squad room's halls were decked.

"Feliz Navidad," replied Darling, who's been taking Spanish lessons. "Looks like we'll have a white Christmas."

"Maybe it'll be quiet, and we can spend the night at the station, rockin' around the Christmas tree."

But our wonderful Christmas time was interrupted by a radio call.  Darling listened to the dispatcher, then turned to me. "Do you hear what I hear?"

"Yeah," I said. "Grandma got run over by a reindeer. Looks like somebody's going to have a blue Christmas."

We took a sleigh ride to Candy Cane Lane, where we found Grandma under the tree, being treated for facial injuries. "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth," was all she'd say, but we had two witnesses: her granddaughter Noel, and Noel's boyfriend, a rap singer who went by Little Drummer Boy.

"It was a burglary," LDB started to say, but Noel wanted to be the first.

"It was Santa, baby," Noel said. "I saw it, too. I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus. When Grandma caught them she chased him, but she hadn't put on her Christmas shoes and he got away."



"So the reindeer didn't run her over?" Darling asked.

"No, she tripped and fell into the holly and the ivy. You can see how her white gown now has greensleeves, and forget the Christmas shoes; she fell so hard her slippers are up on the housetop.  Just ask Frosty the Snowman, he was there."

But Frosty had gone home for the holidays, and I began to suspect there was more to this than what could be put into the morning pretty paper. "Noel--Noel? Did you hear anything before the attack?"

"Yeah, I heard someone say "Here comes Santa Claus! Then I heard jingle bells, and I figured Santa Claus was coming to town."

"Did your mom say anything?" Darling asked.

"Just 'Santa, Baby'." Then they saw Grandma come in, and Santa went running out the door. The last thing I heard was him yelling 'Run, Rudolph, Run!' Then I went out and saw Grandma got her jingle bell rocked."

Little Drummer Boy put his arm around Noel. "Let's go in--baby, it's cold outside."

But she shrugged him off. "let it snow. I saw you flirting with our neighbor, Carol, under the silver bells. I heard you offering to bring Joy to the world. You just want to be the man with all the toys."

"No, baby--all I want for Christmas is you."

"Yeah, I bought all that when you gave me silver and gold last Christmas. But it doesn't have to be that way."

I couldn't believe it. Do they know it's Christmas? Well, there wouldn't be any peace on Earth tonight.

I'd walked out into the silent night, to where Grandma had been found in the snowfall. But there were no other footprints in the snow, or sleigh tracks. Santa Claus may be back in town, but he hadn't been here.

But Little Drummer Boy was wearing a red parka. "I don't think you're telling me the whole truth about Santa, baby." Reaching out, I drew the parka hood over his head. "Noel, does this look familiar to you?"

She gasped. "Hey--Santa!"



Under the tree, Noel's mom shoved away from grandma and growled, "Fine, you caught us ... the Little Drummer Boy was giving me a holly jolly Christmas, all right? I didn't want to be all alone for Christmas, and he was on my grown-up Christmas list."

I shook my head. "But don't you see that Santa Claus is watching you?"

"Yeah?" She smirked at me. "Well, he's seen a lot, if he's been watching the last twelve days of Christmas."

"Mom!" Noel gasped. Then she turned around and slugged LDB in the mouth, right under the mistletoe.

"I hear bells," LDB said as he faded out. It would be a silent night for him.

Later, after we filled out the paperwork, I asked Darling, "Mary, did you know?".

"Oh, I knew LDB must be Santa." Darling took a drink of eggnog (non-alcoholic--we were on duty), and added, "He really got his halls decked."

"Yeah, I'll bet he harked the herald angels sing."

It looked like LDB and the mom had something else in common: They wouldn't be home for Christmas. For the rest of us, it's the most wonderful time of the year. But for them?

Well, I figure they got nuttin' for Christmas.

For the rest of the shift we got our one wish--no more Grinches. As for the rest of you: We wish you a merry Christmas!

ozma914: (Dorothy and the Wizard)
( Jan. 1st, 2014 06:40 pm)

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

 

            Santa Claus had a ritual, one he followed every year after he finished delivering gifts for all little boys and girls. It involved whiskey.

            His main elf assistant, Evergreen Iciclepears, poured him two fingers, and started to walk away with the bottle. Santa snapped his fingers. “Keep ‘em coming, Iciclepears. I just delivered 1.6 billion presents.”

            (Evergreen Iciclepears’ real name was Charles Anders. But Mrs. Claus, who was always sound asleep when Santa got home from his big business trip, had renamed all the elves to make them sound more festive. The Elves accepted this because North Pole work paid well and had great benefits – including dental – but privately they called her Cranberry Cuddlecane.)

            Alcohol was not all of Santa’s routine, of course. After the reindeer were taken care of he went straight to his big easy chair, pulled off his boots, and stuck his aching tootsies in a tub of hot Epsom salt water.

            Then he took three ibuprofen, which he always found waiting for him on a tray full of other items, brought by Nutmeg Sugarlights and placed right by his chair. (Her real name was Josephine Hendrickson.)

 

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

 

T ’was the week before Christmas,

and I have to admit:

I wasn’t feeling the spirit;

not one little bit.

 

The stockings weren’t hung,

I didn’t know where they were!

This weather’s not festive.

It just makes me say “brrr”.

 

The world’s done crazy,

bad guys in control

and the good guys are lazy,

so we’re left in a hole


that would make the Grinch happy

with his heart way too tiny.

He’d think that this world

would be his kind of shiny.

 

Now, I’m not a Scrooge,

so don’t be mistaken;

I’ve just been so busy

my spirit was taken.

 

There hadn’t been time

to put up a tree

and entertain the family

(when it falls on me).

 

To save electricity

we hadn’t strung lights

to bring us some comfort

on those long winter nights. 

 

.

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags