Things like this shouldn’t be allowed to happen

I’ve been listening to the Holly station on my Sirius radio pretty steady for the past few days.

It plays a nice mix of old standards and contemporary holiday songs. Not all the songs jingle my bells, the Ann Murray and the Manheim Steamroller could get toned down a little, but so far so good.

Until this morning.

As I dressed for work, I heard the sounds of a woman caterwauling the John Lennon protest song “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)“.

I glanced at my receiver to see just who was perpetuating this abomination, and gasped when I read the readout.

Celine Dion

How could this happen? Where are the controls to manage such things? It is not ok for the soulless and vapid Celine Dion to put her trilling note-running shriek on a song that is both moving and meaningful. And written by a talented artist and not some sham with a daddy-husband’s money to make her famous.

I was beside myself, truly.

Look, all you Celines and Josh Grobin’s and John Tesh’s and Yanni’s (and dare I say, Nelson Martinez’s) need to just stay back behind the very explicit WonderBread white line in the sand. You just commit your egregious crimes against musical taste and soul and leave the heavy lifting to those who are much more qualified.

Meanwhile, I had to cleanse my aural cavities with some holiday sounds from James Brown followed by John Lee Hooker.

It was the only way to get right after what I experienced.

There oughta be a law for such crimes against humanity.

(Aye God, can this woman not be stopped? Evidently her cover of AC/CD’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was voted worst cover song in a magazine survey.)

Please have snow, and mistletoe

Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Ok, so yesterday and today I have been listening to big time holiday music.

This morning as I drove in to work, singing along, I sang about snow while noticing the raging rainstorm pelting my windshield.

You know what…given where and how I was raised, and even where I live now, most of these traditional holiday songs are truly meaningless to me.

Rarely was there snow on the ground at Christmas in Albuquerque. If there was (once, I think) it was melted before the day was out.

No where in the collection of holiday songs is the singer lamenting for Christmas of their youth were it was 65 and sunny.

Or having tamales to eat on Christmas Eve.

Or plucking a piñon tannenbaum out of the pile for 15 bucks a piece at the flea market.

Or filling paper bags with sand.

No, the “east coast bias” that applies to sports seems to infiltrate the holiday as well.

Heck, in my new digs, Christmas is about rain. And crab (tis crab season, yum!).

Where’s the song for that?

Doesn’t exist!

I *could* feel bad that the east coasters get snow and fabulous Macy’s windows filled with displays and thus they get to understand the true meaning of the old standards.

But I don’t. I wouldn’t trade my own memories for all the Fa La La La La in the world.

What’s in a name?

The Good Man, being the very good man that he is, agreed to run my car into the shop today. So as such, he drove me to work this morning.

As we careened down the Bay Area highways, we were cut off by a Mercury Mountaineer.

I said to TGM, “The Mountaineer…that was never really a big hit, was it?”

TGM said, “No, it’s essentially a Ford Explorer anyway.”

Then I replied, “I always thought Mountaineer was a stupid car name anyway.”

Which tipped off a whole conversation about absurd car names…TGM was on a ROLL. I laughed my head off and in the middle of his rant, I said, “I foresee a blog entry.”

So here it is. The content below is mostly stolen from the brilliant mind of TGM.

Without further ado, my top five most absurd names of cars you’ll see rolling on the roads today:

5. Nissan Armada. “What, is the main feature that it sinks off the coast of England?” said TGM (A comment that had me laughing so hard I got a stitch in my side.)

4. Dodge Durango. What a wimpy SUV name. Have these people ever actually BEEN to Durango. I have. And what is it about the sleepy Colorado town that the car should evoke? Am I supposed to think snow? And mountains? No, I think tourist trap. Look at me in my rolling tourist trap.

3. Chevy Avalanche. “Now that name is appropriate, it is a disaster rolling down a hill.” (TGM was on fire this morning.)

2. Toyota Echo. “It’s bears a faint resemblance to a car, but isn’t actually a car.”

1. The winner and still the King: Ford Probe. “I sure as hell don’t want something made by Ford up in space,” said TGM. To which I replied “or up my butt”.

Yes, childish as I am…the Ford Probe makes me think of something more…medical. I don’t want to think of uncomfortable medical situations while driving to work every morning.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Anyhow…there were plenty more, but I was laughing so hard, I couldn’t make notes.

Special thanks to TGM for both his brilliance and for making the ride to work more fun.

If you drive any of the above automobiles, I’m sure it’s a *fine* car…just has a dorkish name! :)

*Poing*Plonk*Sprang*Plink*

Oh yes, ’tis that time of year again.

When holiday cards fill my mailbox at home.

And most of those shiny envelopes contain family cards where my fabulous friends enclose a photo card…a photo of their children and occasionally the children and the pet.

As I open all of these cards and see the children of my dear friends and how they’ve grown over another year, the gray hairs begin popping out all over.

Yesterday I opened a card from a really great friend from college. She is about ninety pounds soaking wet, full of energy, and full of fight.

Back in school, I had a devastating breakup with a boyfriend just before starting graduate school. I considered giving up, I was lost and just couldn’t care anymore…but she refused to let some guy screw up my whole life and career. She grabbed my hand and pulled me through.

She made me go to class. She made me study. She partnered with me on presentations and her charm, poise and fire were like a salve to a wounded soul. I owe her and the other two in our gang of four because without them, I’d never have completed my MBA. Truly.

Later, when she had an even more horrific breakup, and was on the verge, I turned around and took her hand and helped pulled her through, too.

This girl was a crazy person, and that’s what I loved most about her. One time in a near empty bar on a Wednesday night (pitchers of beer were buy one get one for goodness sakes!) she demonstrated, on the dance floor of the club, the appropriate form for sliding into second base. She rubbed a layer of skin off her legs, but damnit, we all learned something that night!

There was also the occasion where we had to pull her out of a fight with a group of drunk guys who wanted to use the pool table that she was unwilling to give up. Who cares if she was drunk and only chasing balls around the felt, hardly sinking a one. The girl was there first! Principles, people!

Anyhow, that amazing fighter of a crazy lady sent me her card this year. And her beautifully tiny blond porcelain doll of a daughter is now…uh…thirteen.

*ploing*sproing*bawannggggg*

I almost passed out. Really, I got woozy and had to sit.

How can it be that the distance between today and those college years that are so crisp and clear like they were yesterday are a whole human teenager away? (plus a few years, actually)

How can that be?

No really! How *can that be*???