What Was and What Should Never Have Been

2021 What Was and What Should Never Have Been

 

Season’s Greetings from balmy suburban Tulsa.  Like clockwork, or that damned Mariah Carey Christmas song, we dutifully offer our holiday communiqué and festive family photo.  You’ve likely heard this before, but 2021 hasn’t been like ordinary years.  Since we don’t have a physical address, we’re relying on our IP address to spread the word of joy and prosperity though our understanding of either is a big foggy at the moment.

We’ll start this year’s recap with the in-vogue topic, COVID status.  We all got it.  Simultaneously.  In February.  During the snow.  Kristen got the worst of it, Sloane barely felt it, and Steve didn’t know he had it until he was over it. 

2021 was the year we finally took on the daunting task of remodeling our home of the past eighteen years to sell.  The old Wilson Place was given a full makeover, with construction beginning in earnest early in the year.  During the snow.  While we all had COVID.

Nick Easter played Eldin Bernecky to Kristen’s Murphy Brown, and became an honorary member of the family.  There are not enough accolades to describe the job Nick did, and Kristen should also be lauded for her role as project manager.  We’d be remiss without lauding the Eastern Bloc window installation team.  Between distance learning, work from home, Zoom calls, and a major renovation, our small house was a lot smaller for much of the late spring and winter.

The project was completed by early summer, and three days later the house sold.  This was great news.  The unfortunate aspect of a seller’s market is finding a place to go.  In the interim, Kristen’s parents graciously offered to be our billet family.  Occupying the second story of the house lent an All in the Family aesthetic to our housing situation.  The little girl was back home with the overeducated, underachieving, and opinionated Meathead. 

Our annual vacation took us to Yellowstone National Park, which was spectacular.  We saw parts of Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming.  We also spent enough time at DFW to qualify for absentee ballots.  In Idaho we stayed in St. Anthony, in the middle of Napoleon Dynamite territory.  Though we were tantalizingly close to the Dunes, there were no ATVs and no one broke his or her coccyx.  

It’s really impossible to overrate Yellowstone.  It is the most postcard ready place I’ve been since San Francisco.  Plus, with Yellowstone, we didn’t have to crop out the denizens defecating on the sidewalks. The wonders of nature were abundant, and the weather was a beautiful reprieve from the July heat.  The three of us had a wonderful time and can’t wait to go back.

After seeing five years of language immersion flushed in mindless bouillabaisse of distance learning, mandatory days off, and abbreviated Zoom calls, we decided we’d had enough of Tulsa Public Schools (like countless others) and transferred Sloane to Jenks.  After a difficult goodbye and summer of recurring trepidation, her transition was seamless, and she loves her new school home.  Kristen of course, is proud to have a Trojan daughter.

Sloane’s obsession with volleyball has only intensified in the last year.  She rarely goes anywhere without a ball, and is often in full uniform—pads included, and always ready to play.  She has just started practicing with her new team and will begin a busy tournament season in early January.  Sloane loves her teammates and her coach, and continues to play with confidence while improving constantly.

 

In the autumn we found the perfect house.  Optimal location, great space, ideal price point, air conditioning unit the size of a refrigerator.  We made an offer, but the seller selected another buyer.  Shortly thereafter, that deal was off, and our offer was accepted.  It was meant to be.  Happiness and excitement reigned.  Plans were made.  The new address was committed to memory.  Territorial squabbles broke out. 

A week before closing, the seller went AWOL.  Her representation changed from real estate to legal.  After unsuccessfully trying to deter us, she found a loophole and was able to torpedo the contract with impunity.  Suddenly we were back to step one.  The high hopes of Christmas in our new home plummeted like Congress’s approval rating.  Buying a home is difficult enough and is only exacerbated when your seller is on the spectrum.

Steve addressed this on Facebook at the time.  Because, as when Bud kicked Sissy to the curb early in Urban Cowboy, her only choice was to shack up with the antagonist.  He tried to handle it with all the dignity a jilted bride could, though it was like having my parole overturned as I was claiming my watch, belt, and wallet.

Prior to Thanksgiving, we took a road trip to Austin, Texas.  The agenda was two-fold.  We’d go see the Longhorns Volleyball Team play Oklahoma Friday night then stay for the football game against Kansas the following day.  This was arranged in August in the heat of the All Gas No Brakes craze and burnt orange enthusiasm.  By November, the volleyball team had done its part, but the football team had made our tickets virtually worthless.  Still, this was Kansas.  There was no way we were losing to Kanas.

Our first experience at Gregory Gymnasium was electric—a packed to the rafters, enthusiastic sea of burnt orange and a sweep over Oklahoma.  Sloane saw big time volleyball in person and learned “Texas Fight” and “The Eyes of Texas.”  After the game, she posed for photos with her two favorite players. Even the outnumbered but commendably loyal OU fan Kristen got to visit with one of the Oklahoma players.

Saturday was a perfect autumn day.  Lunch at Matt’s El Rancho, a stroll across campus to Bevo Boulevard and into DKR for a crisp evening under the lights.  Four hours later, the unthinkable had happened.  Texas lost to Kansas.  In football.  At home.  The long drive back Sunday was made palatable by a stop at the el dorado of the south, Buc-ee’s.  Like Yellowstone, it’s impossible to overrate Buc-ee’s.

Sadly, there was a casualty in all the excitement of the year.  We lost Shadow the parakeet this fall to undetermined causes.  Between his taste for loud music and his talkative nature, Shadow had quite the personality and is truly missed.

2021 was nothing if not eventful, but like most people, we’re ready to flip the calendar and see what 2022 holds.  To all our friends and family, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a genuine new year.  Not just an extension of the previous one.

Steve, Kristen, Sloane, Ashton, Silver, Mo

A Grinch's Guide to Christmas Music

A Grinch's Guide to Christmas Music

So it’s Christmas again and I’m in a bad mood.  The weather sucks, the lines are long, the people are bitchy, and my financial tit is in the wringer.  What is it, exactly, that I’m supposed to be so damned merry about?

My daughter is four now and is starting to understand Christmas.  My wife is usually pretty chipper and insists on making the most of the season regardless of the external factors.  Hence, my calls to skip Christmas are ignored and my Scrooge routine isn’t allowed.

I’m not a big fan of Christmas music and radio stations going wall-to-wall with it beginning in mid-November really doesn’t help.  Again, I’m outnumbered, and my wife insists on listening to Christmas music at the most inopportune times, like when we’re in the car or when we’re at home.  Trying to cooperate to some extent, I looked for some Christmas songs I like.  Classics and hymns are fine, but once or twice a season is enough for me.  Of course, the Frank and Deano stuff is terrific, but even that gets old eventually and I go back to “Summer Wind” or “You’re Nobody Til Somebody Loves You.”  Fortunately, or perhaps not, Christmas music by rock and pop acts is prevalent, with practically every artist wading in with a holiday song or album.       

Many of these newer Christmas recordings have become new standards.  One of these is Mariah Carey’s first Christmas album, the one with the cover depicting her in her mid-twenties frolicking in the snow wearing a form-fitting Santa suit that sort of makes the musical content irrelevant.

In the spirit of the season, or what little I possess, I found a few Christmas songs that I do like so that you might throw them on at your Christmas party when I arrive. However, upon looking at my invitations, I’m not going to any Christmas parties this year, so never mind.

 

 The Ronettes—“Sleigh Ride”

Sleigh rides sound about as appealing as a colonoscopy to me, but Phil Spector manages to make the frosty imagery of this song appealing.  Before becoming a homicidal lunatic, Spector was one of the best producers pop music has ever known.  Early in his career, Spector had a taste for girl groups, with the Ronettes being the most successful.  Even though every time I hear this song, I think I’m at the Gap, I still love it.

 Elvis Presley—“Blue Christmas”

This is the type of song that makes it perfectly acceptable to forsake the family on Christmas and sit around the house drinking heavily.  When the King’s down, the subjects stop and follow suit.  Flimsy excuse, but I’ll try to use it at least once per season.

 Bruce Springsteen—“Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town”

This is the Springsteen I loved—hard-working, fun-loving, four-hour concert-giving regular dude with a hell of a band.  As opposed to the bitter, middle-aged millionaire clad in a Spanx vest and attempting to speak for the downtrodden.  Or the rambling, difficult to decipher second coming of Bob Dylan (because the world really needed that).

This is a Christmas song that sounds like it belongs on The River, a record that represents all that is right about rock and roll.  And now I get choked up when The Boss asks the Big Man if Santa’s going to bring him a new horn.

 

Billy Squier—“Christmas is the Time to Say ‘I Love You’”

Some of us remember when Billy Squier was on the cusp of world domination.  Then he unconscionably took a rocket launcher to his career by making that heinous video for “Rock Me Tonite.”  The one with the slinky dance moves and ripped pink shirt.  You remember.  If you don’t, I’m sorry to remind you.

Released in 1981 during his meteoric rise, this is what Christmas sounds like at that bar we all like.  The one with the cute help and great beer selection.  The one hipsters avoid because there’s no Pabst and patrons actually enter through the front door.  Oh, Billy, those were the days; what the hell happened?

 

The Beach Boys—“Merry Christmas, Baby”

I love the Beach Boys for many reasons and this song touches on a number of them.  No matter the season or the situation, Brian and the boys boil it down to just a few things—girlfriends, cars, and surfing.  And they do it in perfect harmony.

If you’re like me and prefer Palms to Douglas Firs, the Beach Boys have plenty of Christmas music to get you through the season.  If not, lumps of coal all around and likely a whack to the side of the head from Murry.

 

Paul McCartney--“Wonderful Christmastime”

This song is so shitty that it’s great and this is my best guess as to how it came to be.

It’s evening in the late 1970s and Paul McCartney has just finished a few hits of mystically good weed and poured himself another eggnog.  He’s feeling festive, even wearing that ridiculous Christmas sweater that Linda found for him in a quaint American shoppe.  He wanders into his home studio with an idea.  Not wanting to mess with tuning a guitar, he flips on the Prophet synthesizer and tape recorder.  Twenty minutes later, he’s got a holiday classic, because that’s what geniuses do.  That’s not exactly what it says on Wikipedia, but it makes sense to me.  It does say on Wikipedia that McCartney has made an estimated $15 million in royalties from the song.  Because again, that’s what geniuses do.

 

Cheap Trick--“Come On, Christmas”

Unless you happen to be a hardcore Cheap Trick fan—the kind that sprung for the excellent box set, Sex, America, Cheap Trick—you may not be familiar with this song. 

I like this song for a number of reasons.  To wit:

            --Cheap Trick is one of my favorite bands. Ever.

            --Robin Zander could sing the telephone book and I’d listen.

            --This is essentially a remake of “Come On, Come On,” done for charity.  However, since it’s not called “I Want You to Want Me,” “Surrender,” “Dream Police” or “The Flame,” most people have never heard it.

Sloan—"Merry X-mas Everybody”

You might say to yourself, “that sounds a lot like Slade.”  And you wouldn’t be crazy as this is a Slade song.  Sloan, like Cheap Trick (but not Quiet Riot) out-Slades Slade on this festive sing-along anthem.

Sloan-Kids Come Back at Christmas

A Sloan original from 2016 to go along with the also solid December 25.  Excepting the noisy guitars, this is a Sloan tour de force, flashing excellent songcraft, tight harmonies, Andrew Scott’s Keith Moon with discipline drumming and the very Chris Murphy-esque line, “though some have expressed their doubts, let the religious and big business fight it out.”

John and Yoko/The Plastic Ono Band--“Happy X-Mas (War is Over)

It goes without saying that you seldom got anything from John Lennon without a tandem dose of ideology.  As such, it would only stand to reason that a song of glad tidings would be accompanied by something dour and/or political.  This song was recorded in 1971, placing the Vietnam War in its crosshairs. Lennon had spent the end of the 1960’s trying to save the world; while lounging in the beds of four-star hotels—which, while far-fetched, does sound appealing.

In “Happy X-Mas,” all is going well until the :42 mark when Yoko plummets down the chimney toting a big bag of suck.  In subsequent choruses, producer Phil Spector (still not a homicidal lunatic) wisely emphasizes the Harlem Community Choir and pushes Yoko’s avant-garde screech down in the mix, resulting in a Christmas classic.

Fun Fact:  Winger remade this song—presumably for festive bumper music at strip clubs—and it’s every bit as terrible as you would suspect.

 Eagles--“Please Come Home for Christmas”

Nothing evokes the mood of the season quite like an Eagles song.  The laid-back California sound that the band had perfected by the end of the 1970s knew no bounds, spilling over into Christmas in 1978.  It’s easy to imagine the band hanging around enjoying tropical drinks and building Colombian snowmen accompanied by nubile groupies.  Even more so if you can track down the cover shot for the single.

 

Band Aid--“Do They Know It’s Christmas?”

Legendary guilt tripper and douche kabob Bob Geldof pulled together an all-star ensemble of UK musicians—and their hair—in 1984 to record a charity single that could not have been more Eighties had it been wearing French rolled Levi’s and a Spuds MacKenzie T-shirt—the synthesizer that emulates a pan flute being the clincher.

Geldof and Midge Ure collaborated on a song to bring attention to famine in Africa, relying heavily on the concept that altruistic undertakings should not be viewed in a critical light.  The at-times comical lyrics paint the continent of Africa as a nearly-uninhabitable wasteland without water and perhaps, Christmas.

Band Aid’s true transgression was kicking off the Guilt Music trend that infected the mid-1980’s like crabs through a strip club.  However, it is far better than its spawn, USA for Africa’s self-important, way too happy “We Are the World” and Hear N Aid’s “Stars” which staggered into the party late like a drunken uncle.   Geldof demonstrates genius by making his call to action a Christmas song, ensuring people will be depressed on an annual basis.

 Percy Faith and his Orchestra--“Happy Holiday”

Percy Faith’s arrangements were so over the top they make Pet Sounds sound like a Lee Michaels record.  This 1966 version of the Irving Berlin song settles in like a handful of opiates on a winter’s night.  This overblown and cheesy holiday delight makes me forget how much I despise the season for two minutes or so.

Guster—“Mamacita, Donde Esta Santa Claus”

Guster is generally a reliable cure for the blahs, and their rendition of the 1958 novelty hit comes through in spades.  With their off-kilter arrangements and general quirk, the New Englanders are amphetamines chased with Red Bull and they put their own twist on festivity on this one. "On Pasty! On Dalton! On Peskie! On Gordon!"  is a great improvement on Santa’s traditional roll call.

The Reverend Horton Heat--"Silver Bells"

Few things say Christmas like the Rev.  No, maybe that isn't true, but his take on this classic is pretty damned cool.  Between the sly Texas delivery, the hollow-body electric, and the imagery of the lyrics, this is a classic.  Now give him his 400 bucks, damn it.

 This just scratches the surface and once the holiday libations kick in, I’m sure to rediscover another batch of Yuletide songs I can stomach.  Until then, you know, jingle all the way.  Because as the El Arroyo sign says, nobody likes a half-assed jingler.