It is NOT, usually, the song, per se (except for the Chipmunk atrocity; playing THAT song should be a felony, and hearing it grounds for an insanity defense in court), it's the incredible squalor of the ARRANGEMENTS, of the PERFORMANCES that really makes me want to jab a sharp instrument into my eardrums.

My Christmas music season these days would begin with "The Nutcracker" and end with "The Messiah." And that's IT! So far nobody's managed to really contaminate those two. That, and one playing of Stan Freburg's classic "Green Chri$tma$"...

Hey! You! Spirit of Christmas Present! Wake up! Put you to sleep again, did I? Bored you to tears with my carping and complaining, right? All right, do your thing, and get the hell out of here!

And the Spirit opens his robe like a subway flasher, and there between the boxer shorts with little wreaths on them and the garters holding up his tube sox are two children, wretched, abject, frightful, hideous. And the Spirit says, This boy is Ignorance, and this girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all— Oh, stuff it up your figgy pudding, I say. The girl is Greed and the boy is Excess, and you know it.

Have it your own way, says the Spirit, and stalks off in a pout.

And now here comes the skeleton dude. I ask, Am I in the presence of the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come? He doesn't answer. The fughead never does. I go on, You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us, is that so, Spirit? I don't know why I bother. In this recurring nightmare, the Spirit in Black never speaks....

Christmas Yet to Come? Well, through a series of misadventures including a blown transmission and the snow and ice descending on the mountain passes south of Medford and north of Redding, Lee and I were not able to get this god-dang trailer moved down to California like we'd planned. Looks like we'll be spending the winter right here... and why is it that when I write that: "Looks like we'll be spending the winter right here," ... I am always reminded of the Donner