It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year . . .

Every year, the day after Halloween, two of the three radio stations that I listen to switch over to non-stop holiday music marathons that do not end until the day after Christmas, which means that every year I listen to about two months worth of Christmas music anytime I go someplace, especially if I'm not interested in what is on NPR (Dear Prairie Home Companion, you've had a good run. Can you please please end? Once, I loved you. Let me remember you that way.) I do this partly because I can be incredibly stubborn, and feel like I can somehow outlast the holiday songs by subjecting myself to them, and also because I'm too lazy to reprogram my radio, but the net result is that I have listened to a lot of Christmas music over the years. A lot.

Here are my thoughts about some of them.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU: Like many of the best holiday jingles, this one makes me smile whenever I picture it being played in a minor chord, on a broken record player, inside of a house that you don't remember falling asleep in.

BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE: Of all of the many songs about sexual coercion, this one is probably the most heart-warming.

CHRISTMAS IN THE SAND: Lady, that's not Santa Claus. You're drunk. Don't take presents from old surfers on the beach. Get home safe.

THE CHRISTMAS SONG:  I would find it hard to sleep too, if my tiny tot eyes were a-glowing.

DECK THE HALLS: You know, I'd love to deck the halls, but I'm fresh out of boughs of holly, gay apparel, or a harp. And, dammit, don't just tell me about Yule tide treasure, give it to me!

DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR:  I don't know about you, but if I was a little lamb, and the night wind started talking to me, my first reaction would probably be to piss myself.  And, if I was a shepherd boy, I'm not sure I would believe the words of a talking lamb who got his information from the night wind.

FELIZ NAVIDAD: Feliz Navidad. Feliz Navidad. Feliz Navidad, próspero año y felicidad. I want to wish you a merry Christmas. I want to wish you a merry Christmas. I want to wish you a merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart. That is the whole freaking song.

GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN: This is a pretty good one, but I've always found it kind of weird that this song mentions the power of Satan. It's hard not to picture someone throwing up the sign of the horns.

HAVE A HOLLY JOLLY CHRISTMAS: Honey, before we make out, I want you to know that at least one of these kisses is from Burl Ives.

HAWAIIAN CHRISTMAS SONG: Ever since I saw National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, it is literally impossible for me to hear this song without wondering what Nicolette Scorsese looks like naked. Fortunately, due to the existence of both the film Boxing Helena and the internet, I now know.

HERE COMES SANTA CLAUS: Does anyone listen to this and not picture a jolly St. Nick sharpening an axe on a whetstone? Maybe that's just me.

I'LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS: Will you? Or will it only be in your dreams? Seriously, I need to know, because if I'm going to go through all the trouble of providing you with snow, mistletoe, and presents on a tree, you better actually show up.

I SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS: Later, I saw Daddy shoot Uncle Gary in the gut with a 9mm pistol.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS:  I sure hope no one is actually buying their kids a pistol that shoots.  And those sturdy trees that don't mind the snow in the Grand Hotel and park?  They probably do mind being cut down.

IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR: Besides its debatable premise, my main question here is this: There will be scary ghost stories? Why? Shouldn't that be reserved for Halloween? And when have you ever been at a family gathering that anyone brought up the glory of Christmases long, long ago?

I WANT A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR CHRISTMAS: Will someone please make the pain stop?

JINGLE BELL ROCK: What kind of breed is a jingle horse anyhow? And what kind of town has a place named Jingle Bell Square?

JINGLE BELLS:  Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg!  The Batmobile lost a wheel, and the Joker?  The Joker took the best of us and tore him down.  People will lose hope.  But the Joker cannot win.  Gotham needs its true hero.  I killed those people that's what I can be.  No, you can't!  You're not!  I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be.  Call it in.  Batman!  Batman!  Why is he running, dad?  Because we have to chase him.  Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now.  So we'll hunt him, because he can take it.  Because he's not our hero.  He's a silent guardian.  A watchful protector.  The dark knight.

LAST CHRISTMAS: A song apparently being sung by someone with the emotional maturity of a child who is in the process of taking his ball and going home.

LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW: Why do so many holiday songs sound like they're being sung by people who've had more than a few drinks?

LITTLE SAINT NICK:  I hate this song.  I hate it so much.  And, no everyone, it is NOT a song about Santa's genitals.  It's about a stupid tricked out bobsled that the Beach Boys invented to sell this stupid, stupid song.

O HOLY NIGHT: Nat King Cole is pretty awesome.

ROCKIN' AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE: Dancing in a new old fashioned way? What in the world does that mean? Is this doublespeak? How long before Big Brother takes over? How long?

RUDOLPH THE RED NOSED REINDEER: Hey kids, do you look different from other people? Well, get ready to mercilessly ostracized. Oh, wait, your variance from the norm is actually helpful to the powers that be? Oh, okay then. Have fun hanging out with your former tormentors!

SANTA BABY: This song is bad enough in that it's message is rather sexist (women are materialistic and might put out if you are a wealthy toy maker from the North Pole), but does it ALWAYS have to be sung in that weird, sugary sweet manner that makes me think that the little girl who wanted a hippopotamus for Christmas grew up to be a gold digger?

SILVER BELLS: I can honestly say that not one Christmas have I experienced silver bells being jingled on a street corner. Maybe I live in the wrong city.

SLEIGH RIDE: I actually kind of like this one. It's got that whole "era that probably never really existed" quality about it. That said, you know that part where the whip cracks again and again? I always make a point of inserting a scream after each crack.

THE FIRST NOEL:  No L.  No L.  Seriously, no L.  We don't allow L in here.  I don't care where you put it, just get it out of my establishment.

THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY: The ox and lamb kept time? How? Also, it's too bad that we live in a day and age when crappy drum solos are no longer considered acceptable gifts.

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS: So, does the person receiving these gifts get to keep all the people? Are we promoting slavery? And, anyway, who is rich enough to be able to afford ten Lords-a-leaping? And did you know that it was not until I sat down to write this blog that I ever realized that it's four "Colly" birds, not four "calling" birds? Who knew?

UP ON THE HOUSETOP: I'll tell you who wouldn't go up on the housetop and down a chimney with good Saint Nick: Me. Seriously, I'd break my freaking neck. And man, those gifts sound terrible. A hammer and tacks? A WHIP? Whose house is St. Nick at, the Marquis de Sade's?

WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS: Demanding figgy pudding of strangers, and threatening to not leave people alone until you "get some" is apparently far more acceptable during the holiday season.

WINTER WONDERLAND: Gone away is the blue bird. Come to stay is a new bird. What kind of bird? A penguin?

WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS TIME:  Don't know if it's the synth, or the incredibly repetitive chorus, but my Christmas time would be a whole lot more wonderful if Paul McCartney had never released this song.

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MR. GRINCH: The seawater crocodile, also known as the estuarine crocodile, Into-Pacific crocodile, marine crocodile, sea crocodile, or informally as the salty is the largest of all living reptiles, as well as the largest riparian predator in the world. It is not known whether or not it even gets sea-sick, but I still wouldn't touch one with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot poooooooole.

'ZAT YOU, SANTA CLAUS?: Hanging a stocking, I can hear a knocking . . . 'Zat you, Santa Claus? Ha ha. Hello? Anyone? Is there anybody out there? Ah, well. It's nothing I guess. Now, where were we? Oh, right, hot cocoa for two coming right up. Ha ha! 'Baby it's cold outside . . .' Wow, it really is cold. Let me just check- Oh. I could have sworn that I locked the front door. Must have blown open. And now the lights are out? Generator is probably overloaded. I'll just head down into the basement and check it out. Huh, something killed the generator. Yeah, no, it's dead. Hey, do me a favor and check the pilot light on the stove. Baby? Check the light on the stove, will you? Hello? Is that you? Are you okay? Who is that? Karen? Are you up there? I'm coming up there. Who's there? Who is it? Are . . . you stopping for a visit? . . . 'Zat you, Santa Claus?