A Sandusky, OH, man decided to spend a Tuesday night relaxing with a few cold beers while watching porn on a computer.
There was a small problem, though. He was at the local library.
According to the Sandusky Register newspaper, at 7:15pm on February 4th, a resident alerted a police officer that they witnessed a man swigging back some beer and watching XXX material. Sure enough, after the office checked on the boozy book-lover, he found opened and unopened cans of Budweiser around the computer--with some extra cans stashed under the desk. Because you never want to run out once the party's started.
In the end, the man was charged with a minor misdemeanor count of having an open container in a public place and banned from the library for 60-days.
That's right. You, too, can go on a quick porn binge at the library and they'll invite you back in a couple months' time.
Some people steal cars, others jewelry. But the inner geek in some thieves has them gravitate toward their local bookstore for a little bit of Freddy Fast Fingers action.
According to The Guardian, British bookstores report that theft hasn't abated despite security measures, but yet they also accept book loss as a way of life. "[The thieves are] simply reselling them on eBay," says James Daunt, the chief executive officer of Waterstones.
Daunt believes Waterstones kleptomaniac clientele tends to be the high-minded, intellectual type, as they tend to steal the textual works of philosophers. "Whenever I’d go past Kierkegaard I’d make sure they and Wittgenstein were all there, but often the odd one or two would be gone and it always made me smile."
Elsewhere in the country, tastes vary. In the small industrial town of Walsall at Southcart Books, it's Anton LeVey's Satanic Bible being pinched as some light reading. In Oxford at Blackwell's, it's J.R.R. Tolkien (he taught at Oxford University after all) and George R.R. Martin's works going out the door unpaid. And at The Beckenham Bookshop in Beckenham along with City Books in Hove, both notice Beatrix Potter is a favorite freebie to be snatched.
But John Clepp of the London Review Bookshop recounts one thief who asked for some understanding for their thieving ways:
"We caught a gent last Christmas with £400-worth of stolen books in his trousers and elsewhere. We grabbed all of the bags back, but he returned about half an hour later to reclaim a half-bottle of whisky and his dream journal, which had been at the bottom of one of the bags of stolen books. As we showed him the door he told us: 'I hope you’ll consider this in the Žižekian spirit, as a radical reappropriation of knowledge.'"
Everyone appreciates sauces. Béarnaise, Béchamel, Worcestershire, soy, Sriracha--a thousand others--we all get lathered up over a favorite sauce.
Which might explain why the Avon Lake Public Library in Avon Lake, Ohio, has found over thirty empty bottles of A1 steak sauce hidden behind the book stacks on shelves since January 1st. Why?
[[[shrug]]]
But someone out there believes A1 and Hemingway are on the same level.
Anyway, according to Ralston, sometimes the library staff members find three or four hidden bottles a day. She worries it's some game and the library doesn't know the rules.
"Are we messing up the game by finding them and removing them from the shelf? I have no idea," said Ralston.
If so, this is the trippiest game of hide-and-seek anyone has ever played.
Today's public service announcements are all information and no imagination--but yesteryear's? Those were full of drama, plot lines, and cameos from B-grade celebrities, all wedged into one minute of absolute fantasticness.
Consider this a trip back in time to when PSAs were sometimes worth watching more than the Saturday morning cartoons.
Today: Taking an edge off.
Random Thoughts and Questions: 1.) Hey, it's 5 o'clock somewhere, amiright?? 2.) Wait--there was only nine million alcoholics in America in the 1970s? Nixon, alone, was worth a solid fifteen million. 3.) I like to think this gentleman is just trying to help the local economy. 4.) YOU CAN'T PROVE THAT'S ANYTHING BUT WATER HE'S DRINKING!!
It's time for the (semi-, sorta, kinda) annual analysis of the weird, the wonky, and the wacky. From Dean Martin drugging women to Santa's shenanigans with various mothers under the mistletoe, this is a recap of some of the previous songs covered in this space.
Holiday songs are supposed to be cheerful and charming. They can also be beautifully bizarre.
Song #1: Title: Winter Wonderland Written by: Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith Sung by: Everyone from Bing Crosby to Toby Keith
Nothing is more enjoyable than when someone starts asking questions before I even know them.
"Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane snow is glistening."
Cool story, bro. Are we all supposed to stop what we're doing when we hear a sleigh bell? Isn't that how northern Finland gets around--sleighs? How the hell do they operate as a society if they have to stop every five minutes because a sleigh bell has rung?
"Gone away is the bluebird. Here to stay is a new bird. He sings a love song as we go along, Walking in a winter wonderland."
The wannabe Audubon Society gets derailed pretty quickly in these lyrics. They're quick to tell us about the migratory patterns of the bluebird--but damned if they have a clue what this other bird looks like. What's a swallow look like? Maybe it's a chickadee? No rational bird flies north for the winter, whatever it is.
"In the meadow we can build a snowman, And pretend that he is Parson Brown."
Ri-i-i-ght. Because whenever I build a snowman I always equate cold, lifeless beings to clergy members.
"He'll say, 'Are you married?' We'll say, 'No, man! But you can do the job when you're in town.'"
Man, this Defense of Marriage Act crap has even moved into the snowman realm. The minute this snowman comes to life he's peppering questions about your married life. Soon snowmen will be trying to ban gay marriage and limit adoptions to only heterosexual couples.
"Later on we'll conspire as we dream by the fire, To face unafraid the plans that we made Walking in a winter wonderland."
Just goes to show you how scary marriage is. You need to dream about being unafraid to face it.
Song #2: Title:We Need A Little Christmas Written by: Jerry Herman Sung by: Angela Lansbury originally, and later Percy Faith, Johnny Mathis
The holiday season can be very stressful. It can be even more stressful when you're on medication.
"Haul out the holly. Put out the tree before my spirit falls again."
I'm no doctor, but this sounds like manic depression. Super-amped highs followed by pronounced lows. What other symptoms can we decipher? "Fill up the stocking, I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now."
Deck the halls--again? You mean you already did it and you're going to start from scratch? Let's tack a little obsessive-compulsive disorder onto this diagnosis.
"For I've grown a little leaner, Grown a little colder, Grown a little sadder, Grown a little older."
Uh-oh, it appears we're coming off another high, folks. They've stopped eating and they're growing sadder. On top of that, they're growing colder, too. They've got hypothermic shock or a rare blood disease. Sounds like a visit to the emergency room is on tap for Christmas Eve.
Song #3: Title: Run, Rudolph, Run Written by: Johnny Marks and Marvin Brodie Sung by: Chuck Berry, then covered by anyone looking to sound "rocking" with their Christmas songs.
Rudolph is always being asked to do more than his fair share, and here it's no different.
"Out of all the reindeer, you know you're the mastermind. Run, run, Rudolph, Randalph ain't too far behind."
I don't know who this Randalph character is, but he can't be pleasant if Rudolph needs a heads-up by Chuck Berry to watch out.
"Run, run, Rudolph, Santa's got to make it to town, Santa make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down."
What we learn from this is that Santa is a deadbeat who is perpetually late for everything if it weren't for Rudolph. But the real question here is why isn't Santa taking Santa Claus Lane to get where he needs to go? Is there traffic on it? Is the freeway quicker? But what about tolls? Does Santa have an EasyPass for those?
"Said Santa to a boy child, "What have you been longing for?" 'All I want for Christmas is a rock and roll electric guitar.' And then away went Rudolph whizzing like a shooting star."
Possibly the only reference to "whizzing" in a Christmas song. But what's of note here is that Santa apparently doesn't bring the toys with him on his sleigh. Instead, he operates like a layaway at Kmart, with Rudolph fetching the merchandise.
"Said Santa to a girl child, "What would please you most to get?" 'A little baby doll that can cry, sleep, drink, and wet.' And then away went Rudolph whizzing like a Saber jet."
Why, who wouldn't want to spend 24/7 with a doll that is crying and urinating on itself? Put me down for two of those. It's like having a real baby, without the potential of social services getting involved once you inevitably get bored from the whole experience.
Song #4: Title: It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas Written by: Meredith Willson Sung by: Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Johnny Mathis
Modern songs are so politically correct. Thankfully, Perry Como comes through with this gem. If there's anything that's been missing in Christmas songs, it's references to handguns. Amiright?
"A pair of hopalong boots and a pistol that shoots Is the wish of Barney and Ben"
I like how Barney and Ben don't mess around with their wish list. Toys? Bo-o-o-oring. They don't want some pistol that's just for show. They want the real deal. Stealing lunch money will be so much easier this way.
Song #5: Title:Do They Know It's Christmas? Written by: Bob Geldof and Midge Ure Sung by: Endless British and Irish musicians and singers, with Bono being the highlight and Phil Collins rocking the drums.
Ahh, nothing like singing about famine to make you feel guilty for the fourth slice of pumpkin pie on Christmas night. Here, Band Aid tries to raise awareness about famine in Africa and does a bang-up job about it.
This song's lyrics are fantastic for the clinically depressing angle we all hope to see in a Christmas song.
"There's a world outside your window. And it's a world of dread and fear."
Well, that's a tender image to paint. The agoraphobics listening to this must appreciate that little nugget.
"Where the only water flowing Is the bitter sting of tears. And the Christmas bells that ring there Are the clanging chimes of doom."
Quite possibly the only reference to "doom" in a Christmas song. It sounds like a post-apocalyptic society is ready to bust out of this song. Any minute now, Mad Max is going to show up and steal my gasoline, and then we're all going to burn some books and roast chestnuts by the fire.
Then Bono jumps in with the best line of all: "Well, tonight thank God it's them instead of you."
That's right. Let's throw a little xenophobia into our Christmas song. Those starving Africans this song was supposed to raise money for? Screw 'em! Thank God they're the ones starving and not us!
Song #7: Title:Bedtime for Toys Written by: Orlando Murden and Ron Miller Sung by: Stevie Wonder
Are you a child hoping for Santa to come visit on Christmas Eve? Well, too bad. Because Stevie is giving you a heads-up that there's a 50/50 shot Santa will blow you off. Stevie is just giving it to you straight.
(speaking mid-song):
"Ya know, every Christmas Santa Claus goes all over the world with his reindeer, sled, and a big bag of toys, and he'll come to your house this year, too.
But sometimes, just sometimes, he doesn't have enough time to see every little boy and girl because the world is so big. So maybe we should sing a song for all the children that Santa didn't visit."
Screw the whimsical side of Christmas. I like Stevie's straight-forward approach here. Buck up, kid! You were on the Santa's nice list, but sometimes life's unfair! This sense of youthful misery will evolve into schadenfreude by the time you're thirty.
Song #8: Title:The Christmas Shoes Written by: Leonard Ahlstrom and Eddie Carswell Sung by: NewSong
The gift that keeps on giving: "The Christmas Shoes."
We've got a kid, maybe 10-years old if we're lucky, shopping by himself on Christmas Eve. According to the lyrics:
"Standing right in front of me was a little boy waiting anxiously, Pacing 'round like little boys do, And in his hands he held a pair of shoes. His clothes were worn and old, he was dirty from head to toe, And when it came his time to pay, I couldn't believe what I heard him say."
"I need a bath"?
"I smell better than I look"?
"Listen, don't call Social Services until you hear me out"?
Regardless, it sounds like even Pigpen from the Peanuts gang needs to buy gifts. Charlie Brown is a deadbeat friend.
A few questions immediately come to mind: Where is this kid's dad? The boy is out shopping by himself on Christmas Eve (what a procrastinator!)--Mama is laid up sick, we get that--but Daddy is apparently at a liquor store or a bar throwing a few back, since he's nowhere to be seen.
"Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please. It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size. Could you hurry, sir? Daddy says there's not much time. You see, she's been sick for quite a while, And I know these shoes would make her smile. And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight."
If you ask me, nothing says "practical Christmas gift" for those dying quite like fashionable footwear. But where does Jesus get off requiring people to have stylish footwear as a requirement to swing into heaven? Last time I checked, Jesus hiked through the hillsides of the Middle East wearing sandals. And we're not even talking Birkenstocks. We're talking Wal-Mart-esque variety sandals.
Not only that, but Jesus apparently needs Mama to look smoking hot upon arrival. I didn't know heaven was like a Miami or Vegas night club. St. Peter must be a bouncer. Jesus is turning out to be the George Clooney of spiritual deities. Who knew??
Song #9: Title:Santa Claus Got Stuck In My Chimney Written by: William D. Hardy and Billy Moore Jr. Sung by: Ella Fitzgerald
Ella Fitzgerald enjoys a good metaphor.
Did you know this song was banned from radio airplay for decades by Ella herself because she felt horribly about the metaphorical imagery? True story. What's so bad about it? Let's see...
"Santa Claus got stuck in my chimney... There he was in the middle of the chimney, Roly-poly, fat and round, There he was in the middle of the chimney, Not quite up, and not quite down."
Yeeeaah, I'm just going to let you figure this out on your own. I don't think you need me to hold your hand on this one.
Song #9: Title:I Saw Three Ships Written by: Unknown, but first published by William B. Sandys Sung by: Nat King Cole, Sting, The Boston Pops, Sufjan Stevens, and countless others.
You think the holiday season is busy for you? Imagine if you're in the shipping business like this song tells us about.
"I saw three ships come sailing in On Christmas day, on Christmas day."
Import/export businesses never take a vacation day, even on Christmas day. This must be what it's like to work for UPS.
"And what was in those ships all three On Christmas day, on Christmas day? And what was in those ships all three On Christmas day in the morning?"
Sounds to me like we've got an illicit smuggling operation on our hands. Is this song taking place off the coast of Miami? Are the three ships high-powered speed boats, being driven by men with smoldering good looks, sunglasses, and lots of gold chains around their necks? Is Don Johnson in hot pursuit? "The Virgin Mary and Christ were there On Christmas day, on Christmas day. The Virgin Mary and Christ were there On Christmas day in the morning."
So I guess Mary and Jesus are dock workers now. No word on where Joseph is during all this. If it follows the plot to On The Waterfront, he's taking bribes from union officials in a seedy underground diner somewhere.
"O, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day, on Christmas day. O, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day in the morning."
Song #10: Title:The Little Drummer Boy Written by: Katherine Davis, Harry Simeone, Henry Onorati (original)
Justin Bieber and Busta Rhymes (new, additional raps) Sung by: Justin Bieber and Busta Rhymes
"The Little Drummer Boy" trips the light fantastic on its own merit. A wandering hobo child shows up, uninvited, to play the drums around a newborn baby that should be sleeping? Sure. Sounds like a good game plan, kid.
But where you see a quaint story of a homeless musical child channeling his inner Keith Moon, Justin Bieber and Busta Rhymes see things getting sexy up in that stable.
We know the original lyrics. So let's dive into Bieber's additional rap, in all its Auto-Tune glory:
[Bieber] "Rum pa pa pum, rum pa pum pum pum pum. Yeah I'm on the drum, yeah I'm on the snare drum. Yeah I'm on the beat cause the beat goes dumb. And I only spit heat cause I'm playin' for the Son. Playin' for the King, playin for the Title, I'm surprised you didn't hear this in the Bible. I'm so tight, I might go psycho. Christmas time, so here's a recital. I'm so bad like Michael, I know I'm still young but I go I go. Stupid stupid love like Cupid, I'm the drummer boy so do it, do it."
Bieber's right. How could we NOT hear this in the Bible? Maybe he's referring to the Whore of Babylon or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Both are very similar to his music.
This verse is also the first known reference to anyone being 'psycho' in a Christmas song. Imagine all the tender-hearted images of a knife-wielding murderer in Alfred Hitchcock's film, but with more holly and mistletoe.
[Busta:] "Lemme get straight to it. Yo. At the table with the family, havin' dinner, Blackberry on our hip and then it gave a little flicker. Then I took a look to see before it activates the ringer; Came to realize my homie Bieber hit me on the Twitter. Then I hit him back despite I had some food up on my finger, Sippin' eggnog with a little sprinkle of vanilla, Even though it's kinda cold, pullin' out a chinchilla, Bieber hit me back and said, "Let's make it hot up in the winter." I said, "Cool." Ya know Imma deliver; Let's collaborate and make the holiday a little bigger. Before we work I gotta get this off, See the other family members and drop gifts off. Then I'm headed to the studio cause ain't nothing stopping how You know we bout to turn it up and really get it poppin' now. People everywhere and all our Twitter followers, 'Merry Christmas, Kwanza, Happy Hanukkah!'"
Couple of things here:
a.) Twitter gets two shoutouts?
b.) Poor Busta. He uses a Blackberry.
c.) I don't think vanilla is a sprinkable product usually.
d.) It's best we stop pretending this is about "The Little Drummer Boy" anymore.
e.) Busta would rather be in the studio than with his family on Christmas. Frowny face.
Back to Bieber on the mic:
"If you wanna give, it's the time of year. JB on the beat, yeah yeah, I'm on the snare. It's crazy how some people say, say they don't care, When there's people on the street with no food; it's not fair. It's about time for you to act merrily; It's about time for you to give to charity. Rarely do people even wanna help at all, 'Cause they warm by the fire, getting toys and their dolls. Not thinking there's a family out hungry and cold, Wishin' wishin' that they had somebody they could hold. So I think some of you need to act bold; Give a can to a drive, let's change the globe."
You heard it here first from Justin Bieber: A can of peas to your local food pantry will change the world.
Song #11: Title:Christmas Tree Written by: Lady Gaga, Rob Fusari, and Space Cowboy Sung by: Lady Gaga
Christmas Tree by Lady Gaga is exactly like Luciano Pavarotti belting out O Tannenbaum, except picture Pavarotti gyrating half-naked in a meat suit and suggesting you want to get sexy with him and his angel.
To the lyrics:
"The only place you'll wanna be Is underneath my Christmas tree. The only place you'll wanna be Is underneath my Christmas tree."
Because I'm like the family house cat? Mr. Whiskers is a menace under the tree. Don't let his purring deter you--Mr. Whiskers is a nuisance.
"Light me up, put me on top, Let's fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la, la. Light me up, put me on top, Let's fa-la-la-la-la, la-la, la, la."
Put her on top of the tree. The tree. Get your mind out of the gutter!
"Ho-ho-ho, under the mistletoe, Yes, everybody knows We will take off our clothes. Yes, if you want us to we will."
She's nothing if not accommodating. It is the season of giving after all--so if you feel like gettin' nekkid, Lady Gaga will oblige.
And it's okay to have your mind in the gutter now. I take back what I said.
"You oh, oh, a Christmas, My Christmas tree's delicious, Oh, oh, a Christmas, My Christmas tree's delicious."
Uhhhh.
Your mouth is going to get pretty full of sap if you do that.
"Here, here, here, the best time of the year, Take off my stockings we're Out spreading Christmas cheer. Yes, if you want us to we will."
Admittedly, stockings can chafe. But just a heads-up: Rashes from spreading cheer might require antibiotics.
Song #12: Title:Back Door Santa Written by: Clarence Carter and Marcus Daniel Sung by: Clarence Carter
If you're a sweet, wide-eyed innocent type, pretend that the title alone just suggests Santa uses back doors instead of chimneys.
The rest of you--yeah. This is about booty action.
"They call me Back Door Santa I make my runs about the break of day. They call me Back Door Santa I make my runs about the break of day. I make all the little girls happy While the boys are out to play."
So Santa is sick of working the third shift--you can't blame him. Working nights isn't for everyone, you know? And so what if he hates little boys? I was once a little boy, too. Little boys are punks.
"I ain't like the old Saint Nick, He don't come but once a year. I ain't like the old Saint Nick, He don't come but once a year. I come runnin' with my presents Every time you call me dear."
So Clarence is just a very giving man all year round. He comes often, and with presents! That present might be a positive pregnancy test or herpes, but, hey, beggars can't be choosers with gifts.
"I keep some change in my pocket in case the children are home. I give 'em a few pennies so that we can be alone. I leave the back door open so if anybody smells a mouse And wouldn't old Santa be in trouble if there ain't no chimney in the house?"
This went from zero-to-creepy in about three seconds flat. It's not often you get a Christmas song about soccer mom booty call action--but now add in hush money for the soccer mom's kids who were watching Sesame Street before this song started.
Song #14: Title:Christmas Is A-Comin' Written by: A nursery rhyme adopted as a Christmas carol. Sung by: Bing Crosby, then other fringe musical acts.
I've always said that Christmas songs need more allusions to homeless begging. Finally, Bing Crosby came through with my request.
"When I'm feeling blue, when I'm feeling low, I start to think about the happiest man I know. Now he doesn't mind the snow, he doesn't mind the rain, But all December you will hear him at your window pane."
Oh, lord, call the cops! The homeless man is clawing at the window again!
"Christmas is a coming, and the egg is in the nog. Pleased to give a friendly man a friendly little dog. If you haven't got a friendly dog, a friendly cat'll do, If you haven't got a friendly cat may God bless you! God bless you, gentlemen, God bless you! If you haven't got a friendly cat may God bless you!"
Is this the kind of gift friendly people get? Do we dish out pets indiscriminately? How do we make the leap in logic to hand over Mr. Whiskers? And since when did Mr. Whiskers become a secondary citizen to a dog? It sounds like the cat is a lovely parting gift for the losers on Wheel of Fortune.
"Christmas is a coming, the lights are on the tree. How about a turkey leg for dear old me? If you haven't got a turkey leg, a turkey wing will do. If you haven't got a turkey wing may God bless you!"
Thanks for reminding me that I'm so poor I can't afford a turkey wing. I want to be reminded of my poverty at the holidays. Thanks for that. Really.
"Christmas is a coming, the cider's in the keg. If I had a mug of cider I wouldn't have to beg. If you haven't got a mug of cider, half a mug will do. If you haven't got half a mug, may God bless you!"
Now you're guilt-tripping me, Bing. "I wouldn't have to beg if I had a mug of cider!" Yeah, well I wouldn't have hunger pains if I had a turkey wing, so we're all losers here.
Song #14: Title:Baby, It's Cold Outside Written by: Frank Loesser Sung by: Dean Martin...and any musical act looking for a cheap way to make a buck.
Nothing warms the heart quite like listening to a budding sexual assault. Now, I don't mean to claim Dean Martin is a budding predator, but the lyrics make it sound like he's two minutes away from having a police sting bust through the front door.
"The neighbors might think (baby, it's bad out there) Say what's in this drink? (no cabs to be had out there What's in this drink? Sounds to me like rohypnol, lady. Roofies! Get out while you can! Deano isn't going to take no for an answer. Get an Uber or Lyft, stat.
"I ought to say, no, no, no sir (mind if I move in closer?) At least I'm gonna say that I tried (what's the sense in hurtin' my pride?) I really can't stay (oh baby don't hold out) But baby, it's cold outside."
The only thing more frigid than the weather is this woman to Deano, and rightfully so. Dean Martin should be the focus of a Dateline NBC predator sting.
Song: #15: Title:I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus Written by: Tommie Connor Sung by: The Jackson Five, Perry Como, the flavor of the week on the radio.
Sure, you say it's a case of mistaken identity. Santa Claus is just daddy, right? Well, where's your evidence??
Our only evidence is the eyewitness testimony of the singer of the song. His lyrics seem pretty concrete to me. He wakes up on Christmas Eve. He stumbles downstairs to see what's going on. Next thing you know, he catches an eyeful of Mommy and Santa getting frisky under the mistletoe. The little boy even sings:
"She didn't hear me creep Down the stairs to have a peek."
Clearly Mommy is swooning under the allure of Santa Claus that she doesn't even hear her son eyeballing the action.
No one comes out of this song looking like a choir boy. We've got infidelity in the form of Santa Claus, who's stepping out on Mrs. Claus while he whisks himself around the world. He's like the Tiger Woods of the holidays. Then we've got this here Mommy, who clearly is cheating on Daddy while Daddy is probably fast asleep upstairs.
In the Jackson Five version of the song, the little boy claims he's "going to tell my dad." Clearly, this is a child of high moral standing. If you ask me, you don't snitch on Santa Claus if he's bringing you free toys, kid.
"Then I saw mommy tickle Santa Claus Underneath his beard so snowy white. Oh, what a laugh it would have been If Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night."
Oh, yeah, what a knee-slapper of a laugh. Dad catches mom doing a little slap-and-tickle with the fat man delivering gifts. Endless chuckles to be had once fisticuffs break out!
Song #16: Title:Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella Written by: Uncertain, but most likely Marc-Antoine Charpentier Sung by: Anyone looking to dive deeper into a holiday music catalog.
Originally written a couple hundred years ago, the lyrics are regularly modified today to a degree--a verse kept here, a verse deleted there--but it always starts with a mob mentality.
"Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella! Bring a torch, to the stable run!"
Because if there's one place where you want open flames, it's around a newborn resting in a bed of straw.
"Christ is born. Tell the folk of the village. Jesus is born and Mary is calling."
Wait, so if the village knows this is Jesus--THE Jesus--you know, the whole son of God Jesus thing--then why the cold shoulder? No one in town has a spare room? A fold-out couch? They can't bump some straggler from the local inn? Since when did the Bethlehem Inn become more stringent on room reservations than a Ramada?
"Who is that, knocking on the door? Who is it, knocking like that? Open up, we've arranged on a platter Lovely cakes that we have brought here. Knock! Knock! Knock! Open the door for us!"
This is the pushiest condo board ever. It's late at night, we've got young girls brandishing lit torches and adults hammering on the door FBI-style to share some Little Debbie snacks. I wouldn't answer the door either.
"It is wrong when the child is sleeping, It is wrong to talk so loud. Silence, now as you gather around, Lest your noise should waken Jesus."
The catchiest Christmas jingles are always those admonishing people. Maybe if folks stopped banging on the door we wouldn't worry about needing our indoor voices.
Song #17: Title:Up on The House Top Written by: Benjamin Hanby Sung by: Gene Autry
How generous is Santa this year? Let's see.
"First comes the stocking of little Nell. Oh, dear Santa, fill it well. Give her a dolly that laughs and cries, One that will open and shut her eyes."
Creepy-eyed dolls with bipolar issues--sounds delightful.
What else you got, Santa?
"Next comes the stocking of little Will. Oh, just see what a glorious fill. Here is a hammer and lots of tacks, Also a ball, and a whip that cracks."
Whip-wielding small children! Now the holidays have gotten interesting. You always want to start them young with weaponry, too, so they can build up their wrist strength. How do you think Santa keeps the elves in line? Exactly. Cracking backs.
Song #18: Title:Pretty Paper Written by: Willie Nelson Sung by: Roy Orbison, and later Willie Nelson
If there's anything a Christmas song needs more of, it's descriptions of destitute people being shunned.
"Crowded streets, busy feet hustle by him. Downtown shoppers, Christmas is nigh. There he sits all alone on the sidewalk Hoping that you won't pass him by."
What's the matter--a detailed analysis of homeless people in a soup kitchen just didn't feel right?
"Should you stop? Better not, much too busy. You're in a hurry, my how time does fly. In the distance the ringing of laughter, And in the midst of the laughter he cries."
There we go--outright sobbing. A miserable, weeping, possibly homeless man being ignored by a mass of humanity that's too busy flaunting their money in front of him. Poverty and depression: the true meaning of Christmas.
Song #19: Title:Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk This Christmas) Written by: John Denver Sung by: John Denver, later Alan Jackson
You read that title right, and this isn't even a Christmas novelty song. John Denver sees Roy Orbison's weeping homeless man, and raises the stakes by bringing us alcoholic daddies and crying mommas.
"Please, Daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas. I don't want to see my Momma cry. Please, Daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas. I don't want to see my Momma cry."
If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times--nothing's worse around the holidays than an eggnog hog.
"Just last year when I was only seven, Now I'm almost eight, as you can see, You came home a quarter past eleven And fell down underneath our Christmas tree."
The greatest gift of all is that Daddy made it home at all! He could have nursed the bender off in an alley or behind the wheel of his pickup, but he staggered home like a good drunken dad. That's quality parenting right there.
"Momma smiled and looked outside the window. She told me, 'Son, you better go upstairs.' Then you laughed and hollered, 'Merry Christmas!' I turned around and saw my Momma's tears."
Well, drunken Daddy is at least festive. He could have hollered a whole list of inappropriate things, hurled insults, berated the wife and kid--but he kept it classy. Those might be tears of joy from Momma for all we know.
Song #20: Title:River Written by: Joni Mitchell Sung by: Joni Mitchell
Joni Mitchell is just a speedball of lyrical depression by default, so she's right in her wheelhouse here.
"I wish I had a river so long, I would teach my feet to fly. I wish I had a river I could skate away on. I made my baby cry."
There's more crying in holiday songs than a Jodi Picoult book, but it pretty much reached its depressed zenith in the decade between 1963-73. For Joni Mitchell though, this is known as Tuesday.
"He tried hard to help me. You know, he put me at ease. And he loved me so naughty Made me weak in the knees."
Hey now, this just took a turn to sexy town. This isn't quite the same way Santa imagines children being naughty.
"I'm so hard to handle. I'm selfish and I'm sad. Now I've gone and lost the best baby That I ever had."
Somewhere in here the lyrics just veered head-long into a Sylvia Plath poem.
And nothing channels the meaning of the holiday season like Sylvia Plath in a depression funk.
As another week concludes, we end with a random poem. Famous poets, obscure poets, amateur poets, whatever poets--just a poem to cap off the week.
Like this one:
Be Drunk, by Charles Baudelaire
You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it—it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
"Write an amazing essay, win a multi-million dollar propety!" has been trendy the past few years as a means to generate interest in otherwise quirky and expensive properties.
The latest comes deep from interior Maine, where a bed & breakfast is "calling all dreamers, writers and entrepreneurs" for their best 200-word essay and $150 entry fee for the chance to win the Freedom House B and B.
Located in Dover-Foxcroft, ME, two hours northwest of Portland, deep (no, like deeeep) in the woods of the Maine, the building is old and historic, but the location is rather--umm--remote? Thankfully, out of the ten questions on the FAQ section of their website they tackle the most important topic:
Does Freedom House B and B have a liquor license?
No it does not have a liquor license.
Well that settles that then. Looks like we're blowing the $150 essay fee we just saved on a night out drinking somewhere in civilization.
The Bureau of Labor Statistics states that the median salary for an average newspaper reporter in the United States is $36,360. A reporter's average salary usually maxes out at roughly $81,580--and that's not for any old reporter. That's for a Scoops McGee type person, someone with the fifty years' weight of misery, shame, and newspaper ink holding them down. Cigars, high-waist khakis, and a pocket full of back alley sources are their M.O. And Scoops still has to own a 15-year old, 250,000 mile Chevy Impala on his salary.
Tim Kawakami is one such writer. He works at the San Jose Mercury News covering sports, and recently recounted on a podcast how he made a joking bet that the San Francisco 49ers' billionaire owner Jed York wouldn't have the team's new stadium built by a random 2014 deadline. A chuckly ha-ha was had by all.
Except the stadium was built by 2014. Except Kawakami still agreed to buy dinner. Except York wanted that dinner. Except York was bringing his wife along, too. Except everyone agreed to go to The French Laundry for the dinner.
[[[pause]]]
If you don't know, The French Laundry makes for a once-in-a-lifetime dining experience. It is also like pouring kerosene on your life's savings and smoking feverishly around the fumes. Reading the wine list alone will take the rest of your afternoon to cover. Looking for that casual $50,000 bottle of wine? It's there, my friend. "Screaming Eagle Vineyards." Hotkey search that. Then double-check your credit limit. [[[end pause]]]
The problem Kawakami had with the whole situation wasn't that he paid off the non-binding bet, but that York didn't seem to register the impact of such a meal on a measly sportswriter income, at The French Laundry no less. As Kawakami recounts:
"If I thought Jed [York] was sticking it to me, I’d almost be okay with it. I don’t even think he knew. I don’t think he knew what $2,100 means to a sportswriter who didn’t inherit a billion-dollar team."
That's right. The 36-year old York is a billionaire because grandpa was one, and such stacks of cash get passed down two generations. And, as I told you, check that wine list out. It's $310 a person for food The French Laundry. Three people = $930. (Service is included.) York cranked out another $1,200 on Kawakami through drink, but was oblivious.
Maybe York was oblivious that there was a $50,000 bottle available on hand. Things could have snowballed so much more rapidly.
It's Saint Patrick's Day, which means many old and young alike find a reason to imbibe to obscene levels, all in the name of Ireland and something something something--hey, I love you--look! A beer!
Ireland has been the home to dozens of famous writers over the centuries, but that doesn't mean they're the type you'd want to hang around with to have a drink.
So, with today being the holiday and this being a blog that involves books, here the twain shall meet.
It's time to judge whether you'd want have a drink with the Irish writer...
Samuel Beckett:
The weathered face suggests a man who doesn't mind life's finer pleasures.
That's also the weathered face of a man who's judging. You never want to drink with a judger.
Verdict: God, no.
James Joyce:
The next photo you ever find of James Joyce smiling will be the first photo you ever find of James Joyce smiling.
James Joyce is depressing enough. You don't want to drink with a depressive.
Verdict: If you have to ask, you deserve what you get.
Seamus Heaney:
I'm pretty certain he's already had a few by the time this picture was taken. Who falls asleep upright in a photo?
Verdict: He might doze off, but that never hurt. Yes!
Jonathan Swift:
You don't develop that supple chin action and ruddy complexion unless you know about tippling back a few.
Meet Swift at the wig parlor room for a whiskey.
Verdict: Duh.
C.S. Lewis:
He might try to convert you to the Church of Ireland over a few, but at least you'll know he'll have a few.
Added bonus, he might make you a character in his next book. Sure, you might end up being a lion or a donkey or something, but something is something. Verdict: All the religion talk will quiet down after awhile. Yes.
William Butler Yeats:
No.
Frank McCourt:
He looks like your grandpa. And all grandpas drink, at least a little. Unless they're an alcoholic, and then you never know. They might always sip on a ginger ale while quietly wishing it was a beer.
So, it might be better to never ask.
Verdict: I'm sorry, grandpa. I didn't mean anything by asking. I, just, oh, I...
Maeve Binchy:
It's almost impossible to find a photo of this woman and not see her smiling. If she didn't drink, I just so badly wish she did.
Verdict: Please?
George Bernard Shaw:
This is like Samuel Beckett if Samuel Beckett could at least seem pleasant after downing some scotch.
Shaw was cantankerous--but, damnit, you just know with a face like that after a night at a pub he'd lighten up.
Verdict: C'mon, pops.
Oscar Wilde:
Oscar Wilde famously drank champagne and took opium up until the day he died.
Or, as he once said, "I drink to separate my body from my soul."
A career in writing will lead to premature aging and a healthy dose of personal humiliation. But science and medicine is where you'll make money, fame, and the respect of your parents. As a result, we might as well pay attention to what they're doing in those fields.
So if you've put down your Jane Austen and William Faulkner for a moment, it's time to take another peak at anything going on in the world of science and medicine this week.
Starting off with: Lassie and Rin Tin Tin were onto something.
And both Fido and your significant other are, to be honest, a little tired of you.
A study from the University of Helsinki (the Harvard of Helsinki) finds that dogs' social gazing behavior is similar to humans, preferring to look at a person's eyes to figure out their mood. Moreover, dogs are most responsive to tense, threatening faces than they are to any other emotion.
You know when you mistakenly walk into a biker bar with a ton of guys with prison tats who just got out of the slammer for involuntary manslaughter, and they give you "that look"? Happens to the best of us. But, yeah, it's kind of like that for Fido. It's believed to be an evolutionary response, as being able to detect a threat, real or imagined, allowed for survival.
What does this all mean then? Take your dog if you want to avoid a biker bar, I think.
Sure, the pick-me-up favored by investment bankers and second-rate Miami speedboat enthusiasts has been around for ages--but research now says the drug can cause your brain cells to eat themselves. I believe you see that happen to Tony Montana in a deleted scene from the director's cut of Scarface.
In essence, researchers knew cocaine wasn't good for the brain (gasp!), but wanted to know specifically why. A team at Johns Hopkins University performed a study which resulted in learning that the activation of a pathway involving nitric oxide (a gas that cells use to communicate) and an enzyme called GAPDH, which nitric oxide can modify the activity of, resulted in cell destruction.
Cue the coked-out mice!
As if mice didn't look hyped-up on a good day, a range of cocaine doses was administered to the mice. Researchers then dissected the mouse brains and found a series of markers to cell-death pathways revealed. Called autophagy--literally "eating oneself"--it entails, as IFLScience explains, "packaging bits of the cell, such as debris, into membrane-bound sacs and then fusing these with acid-filled compartments that degrade the contents." Or, you know, eating itself.
Being addicted to heroin never looked so appealing!
First a little nose candy, now we have rodents addicted to the sexy, sexy thrill of casino gambling.
Scientists at the University of British Columbia have published an article in the Journal of Neuroscience stating that when they administered flashing lights and music mimicking a casino to rats, the rats became "problem gamblers."
Trained with sweet treats and given an option to "gamble" on receiving that treat, the rats typically avoided risk. But once researchers flipped the lights on and pumped up the club beats, the rats were down for some hot gambling action apparently. I assume it wasn't long until an ecstasy-fueled quickie wedding to a showgirl named Honey occurred for the rats.
The researchers point out that when they gave the rats a drug to block a certain dopamine receptor, the gambling jones wore off, and the rats went back to a boring, meaningless life in the suburbs driving a station wagon.
Always at the forefront of revolutionary scientific and superhuman advancements, one of North Korea's leading media outlets, The Pyongyang Times, is reporting scientists from the country have created a hangover-free alcohol. Party at Kim Jong-un's house, amiright??
Distilled to a range of 30-40% alcohol (because you always want a wide range on your finer spirits), the Times reports, "Koryo Liquor, which is made of six-year-old Kaesong Koryo insam [ed: a type of ginseng], known as being highest in medicinal effect, and the scorched rice, is highly appreciated by experts and lovers as it is suave and causes no hangover.”
If there's anything I know, it's about being suave--and nothing channels my inner globe trotting gentleman of leisure quite like thoughts of those sun-kissed beachesski chaletspenthouse suites prison camps of North Korea. The Times article also reports that the alcohol "exudes national flavour," which I assume is a delicious blending of despair and the tears of weeping mothers.
