Wednesday, December 1, 1999

The month of December brings one indelible thought to mind: the holiday season is upon us. If I could, I'd completely skip December, and repeat October. I really enjoyed "Freaky Fridays," where I got to play a ton of gothic music on WAIH for the coming of Halloween. December finds me having to broadcast Christmas music (and that one Chanukah song by Adam Sandler). At least I have two standbys to play which will snap people out of their jollies and back into reality: "Father Christmas" by The Kinks and "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon.

Up until yesterday, when I emailed it to her, my mother had been bugging me to write up a Christmas list. I really didn't want to bother with it. As a matter of fact, I'd like to treat Christmas the same way I treated my birthday this year - all but ignore it.

Anyway, what really gets me is that she was harassing me to write up a list of things I wanted. Wasn't the spirit of Christmas that of giving? They must have changed it to make sure your relatives know exactly what to get you, so you'll smile for the snapshots that will grace the photo album.

In the end, I did make up a list. Since I know my relatives are going to buy me clothes (despite my telling them not to on many occasions), I vehemently told them what not to bother with. Over the years, my chest of drawers has been a graveyard for brightly colored items, and pieces with huge fucking logos (you know the type that make you into a billboard for mainstream corporate America). I also listed a few choice albums (Dire Straits, Counting Crows and Pink Floyd should be easy to find...The Sisters of Mercy and Rosettastone probably won't be) and some "toys" for my computer.

The Tall Guy and the British Goth chick are now an item (at least until she leaves, which is very soon). Sometimes there are moments that present a truth so blatantly, you are unable to ignore it. That truth came tonight in the form of a kiss on the lips between the British Goth chick and The Tall Guy. I resigned myself that what would happen would happen, it did, and now all is as it should be.

In lieu of this new development, I've decided to treat women like cats. My pursuit of a female is not reaching the desired conclusion, so I'm going to let them come to me (please stop laughing). Things may end up turning out better on my side if I don't appear to want the girl. Then again, maybe I should opt for celibacy.

The new live Violent Femmes album came into WAIH, and yours truly got to review it. Repeat after me: the Violent Femmes live kick fucking ass!