In Case You Were Wondering,

With Thanksgiving behind us and Advent under way, the wife and I did in fact pick up Christmas in the Heart. I've given it a few listens through at this point, though this early in December I try not to over-dose on Christmas tunes, in case my plans go awry, and I have to do some of my shopping in actual brick-and-mortar establishments, where plasticine reproductions of beloved melodies waft through the air like imitation snowflakes. Whatever you do, don't let one land on your tongue. Where was I? Oh, right. Christmas in the Heart. The bottom line, which I'll put conveniently near the top of the page, is that it's pretty good. Once you accept that Bob Dylan has made a Christmas album, straight-faced, and with roughly the same track listing as anyone else's Christmas album, it's not nearly as weird as you initially feel it should be. It's a welcome addition to the four or five albums that I'll put in the CD player as I decorate the tree, and try to make cookies. As a Dylan fan, I can easily say that this isn't even close to being one of Bob's best albums. It is, however, one of the best Christmas albums on the market (Christmas albums being worse, in general, than non-Christmas albums). Of course, as is the case with most good Christmas albums, not every track is a winner; the songs that I already liked before hearing Dylan sing them are still the best ones on the album, and there are still some duds. I'll go through the tracks one-by-one, just in case anything I've already said has piqued your interest.

1. Here Comes Santa Claus. There's not much that Dylan can do with this one, because in the end it's just not a very good song. The tune's a bit on the obnoxious side, and then there's the lyrics: "Here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane..." Seriously? Santa Claus Lane? Even as a child, I thought that was a terrible lyric. Still, Dylan, his band, and his delightfully corny backup chorus make the song listenable. The highlight of the track is the inflection of his voice on the line "hang your stockings and say your prayers 'cause Santa Claus comes tonight." The way Dylan tells kids to say their prayers, you'd think Santa was actually coming to kill them. Terrific. As a side note, the song mentions that Santa "doesn't care if you're rich or poor, he loves you just the same," which I think is a remarkable assertion to make to a child whom you're attempting to convince of Jolly Ol' Saint Nick's existence. Any kid who's experienced more than one Christmas is bound to notice that Santa generally brings rich children better toys. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm fine with this. The guy can do what he wants with his magical toy distribution empire, it's only false advertising that I object to. Anyways, moving along...

2. Do You Hear What I Hear? This one's pretty good. It's never been my favorite song, but it's got a nice sort of vibe to it, thanks to Bob's rhythm section. A winner.

3. Winter Wonderland. To me, this is the real triumph of the album, because I don't really like this song, or at least I didn't before this version of it came along. This version, however, is great. I challenge anyone to listen to this song without imagining that Bob's background singers are dressed like Rockettes. It is impossible.

4. Hark The Herald Angels Sing. As with most of the songs here, Bob does this one pretty much straight up. It works.

5. I'll Be Home For Christmas. A sentimental old gem. It's amazing how well Dylan's voice works for this song, backed by piano and pedal steel guitar. I've always thought that the line "Please have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree" sounds just a bit off, since most of us have presents under the tree, but I guess at this point it's too late to change.

6. Little Drummer Boy. I kind of like this song. It's not the best Christmas carol out there, but it's found its way into the cannon, and as it is I suppose I'd miss it if it weren't included here.

7. The Christmas Blues. I'd never heard this one before. It sort of reminds me of Oscar the Grouch's song "I Hate Christmas" off of the Sesame Street Christmas LP my family had growing up. Looking back, I'm guessing that it was a gift to one of my older siblings. It's such a fixture in my Christmas memories that I should probably send my parents a card this year which says "Dearest Mama and Papa, thank you for not killing me for all of the times I played the Sesame Street Christmas LP. I had no idea at the time what I was putting you through." So, I guess that "The Christmas Blues" is kind of a downer, but it sounds cool, and is actually kind of refreshing in the middle of an album so rife with festive cheer. To be honest, perhaps some part of me also hates Christmas. "And if you want the truth, I ain't so crazy about Thanksgiving or Labor Day, either!"

8. O' Come All Ye Faithful (Adeste Fideles). What's this? Bob Dylan singing in Latin? Sure, it sounds silly, but I don't think it actually sounds any sillier than when most people try to sing in Latin. Besides, it just sounds so... cheery. A winner.

9. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. I've always sort of liked the melancholy optimism in this tune. It's somewhat nice to hear a Christmas song with the line "until then we'll have to muddle through somehow," as if the month of December isn't all sticky-sweet generic cheer and goodwill towards men. Dylan diverges from the tune of this song somewhat here, which is surprising to me only in how little he does it.

10. Must Be Santa is a polka about Santa Claus. I'm not really sure that I need to tell you more. It's so ludicrous that I can't really fault Dylan for including it here, really, even if it is easily the worst track on the album. (One of the rapidly-sung lyrics is just a list of reindeer and recent U.S. Presidents, for apparently no reason.)

11. Silver Bells. Another oft-unbearable classic that Dylan somehow makes enjoyable here. With its usual corn syrup removed, it's now a slow country waltz with jangly guitars, and Dylan's signature voice. Oddly decent.

12. The First Noel. Weird as it is, even this late in the album, to hear Dylan backed by strings and dulcimer and singing with a choir, it works. It's quite nice, really.

13. The Christmas Island. Ok, this really is pretty weird. It's a Hawaiian-themed Christmas song, complete with mellow slide guitars and background singers cooing "aloha-ay, aloha-ay" behind Bob. It's not bad, mind you. In fact, it's sort of nice to hear a Christmas song I've never heard before. It is pretty weird, though.

14. The Christmas Song. This version is pretty good, but it's also the only song on the album where I feel that Bob is genuinely outclassed by a previous version. To put it bluntly, Nat King Cole pretty much owns this song, as far as I'm concerned. Once his version was recorded, no other was or would ever be needed. This is alright, though. It's not a bad little ditty, and Bob sings it pretty well.

15. O' Little Town Of Bethlehem. Is that apostrophe next to the O in the title of these old songs really necessary? I always thought you could just write "O little Town..." and it would be fine. I've always like this song. Dylan and his group go through it roughly as slowly as anyone could be expected to and still get away with it, carried by a bowed upright bass and light strumming on an acoustic guitar. A pleasant closer for a pleasant album.

Well, if I had any due diligence to perform, vis-a-vis this blog and Bob Dylan's Christmas album, I feel that at this point my obligations have been met. If you think you might like to listen to this album while donning a ridiculous sweater and pouring yourself a tall glass of egg nog, you're probably right. If you don't think so, well, why ever not?

Um...

I honestly don't know what to think about this. I mean, it's Bob Dylan's Christmas album. That's not a phrase that, before a few months ago, I thought would ever be writ, save perhaps in jest. Maybe it still is a joke, I don't know. I mean, it is Dylan. He's generally done well by confounding expectations of him, and this is indeed unexpected. It's also pretty good, I guess. I mean, I don't really like Christmas albums, except for a two-week period at the end of every year, which I call "Christmastime," or "The Hallydays," but this does sound good. I may even buy it, to listen to it during those crucial two weeks. Many of the tracks to which I've listened to the samples could easily be my favorite version of those songs. Bob's still an excellent singer (yes, he is) and producer, even if those are the only things going on here. The backing chorus sounds terrific, and the instrumentation is good. Bob's good (the piano on most of the tracks sounds like him). It's just... weird. Maybe the weird thing is how it sounds like it makes sense, like it doesn't know how weird it is. It's apparently for a good cause (the proceeds all go to charity), and a Christmas album is a pretty easy way to sell a boatload of records without the hassle of writing any songs, but for myself I can't help but wonder if it's beneath him. As of earlier this year, he was still making good original music. Couldn't he have spent more time, y'know, doing that, if he didn't put out a Christmas album? I don't know. Maybe I'll check back with you closer to the Hallydays.

Christmas In America

I overheard this little cultural artifact in the grocery store's PA system over the weekend:

All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names
They wouldn't let poor Rudolph play in any reindeer games
'Till one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say:

*crrt... SHAWNA, LINE TWO! SHAWNA, LINE TWO! ...crrt*

Then how the reindeer loved him as they shouted out with glee
'Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, you'll go down in history!'

The timing was absolutely flawless.

Ashes To Ashes...

... to Ash? Ah, never mind. It's Ash Wednesday today for those of you who weren't aware, the first day of Lent. But what am I talking about? Of course you already know what day it is (and isn't).

As Cecelia was kind enough to point out, Feminine Mind Control Day is only a week away, followed on the fifteenth (as facebook has informed me) by National "That's What She Said" Day, a made-up internet holiday enjoyed by double entendre enthusiasts everywhere. I have to admit that short of completing Plan 50-WD ahead of schedule (highly unlikely at the current rate at which funds are coming in around here), I have no idea how to celebrate FMC Day this year. It is, to the best of my memory, the first FMC Day since the start of our relationship (whenever that was) that Lindsey and I are likely to be in the same town for holiday. We have no established tradition here. Of course on its surface it's a fairly stupid holiday anyways, but that's what makes it so clever. Here is one day of the year where no matter how much she rolls her eyes (and she will), I get to give her some mushy card, gift, and flowers, and there's nothing she can do about it. That is the power of FMC Day. The only problem is that I'm stumped. What do I do?

Comments, as always, are welcome.

All is quiet on New Year's Eve

It's the eve of the New Year already, and what better way to ring in the last few hours before the new year (this time without capital letters) than by completing my stupid 3-5-3 streak on this blog! Hold on to your heads amigos, this post's shaping up to be a real doozy. I'm thinking about re-thinking what I'm doing here at The Republic in 2008. I created this blog in order to keep in touch with family while I was in college, and to have a reason to make myself write every now and then. Not that I have any aspirations as a writer, keep in mind, but I do enjoy doing it and I thought it'd be good to have an excuse to write something every now and then that wasn't a paper. I still want to have the outlet for the written by-product of whatever it is that my mind does, but I should probably try to give myself something to write about. I guess I just feel very fortunate that both of you read this thing every now and then, and that I owe it to you to give you the best output possible. I think I'll also alter the colour scheme or what-not again, because that's easier, but I really do want to write better than I am right (write?) now. Have I babbled enough? Good. Now's when I really get the hamsters cooking in hollandaise with garlic, not to eat, mind you, but to use as bait for when I finally get that tiger trap put together. If there's one thing a tiger can't resist, it's navigating his web browser away from this blog whilst eating hamster-in-hollandaise-flavored potato chips, which you can only get in certain countries, even thought they're made right here in Detroit at Frito Lay. What? Why? Who? Forget all of those silly questions, and then ask yourself if it's really time (When?) to stop hitting me with that inflated latex glove for no apparent reason. Sigh. Happy New Year, Republic of D.Cous. readers!

Noël

Merry Christmas. I still feel somewhat ecstatic every time I say that, so I apologize if it's gotten on your nerves by now. The festivities have mostly wound down, though I still have one family Christmas party and whatever I end up doing for New Year's coming up, which admittedly may be nothing. Lindsey and I managed to attend both of our families' parties and visit with siblings and friends in from out of town over the past few days. I'm extremely grateful that our families live only a short distance apart, and that we didn't have to choose between either seeing my family or hers. I received some fun gifts, I think none that I shan't enjoy using greatly. I had no figgy pudding whatsoever, and I still have no idea what it's like, but there were ample cups of good cheer enjoyed, to say nothing of the other assorted goodies with which I've been fattening myself for the slaughter of late. I couldn't help but think, when Christmas day was upon us, that I wasn't ready. I had the superficial things out of the way, I thought, but notwithstanding that we celebrate it every year, the coming of the Savior among us seems significant enough to me that the celebration of such an event should involve a great deal more spiritual reflection than I've ever put into it. Still, when I awoke shortly after the sun on Christmas morning, no longer because of the anticipation of new toys and good food, but because of that nefarious device which I daily inflict upon myself for that express purpose, I was struck with a remarkable feeling of joy. I didn't feel that the world was suddenly peaceful, or that my life would suddenly sort out all of its own problems, nor did I feel as if the spirit of Christmas had somehow transformed me into a better version of myself. What struck me, I think, was the realization that behind the silly lights and gifts and slightly less silly talk and songs about peace on earth and goodwill towards men, we have a very real reason to be filled with unimaginable joy in the person of Jesus. It suddenly felt to me as if all of the silly things were not just some tradition which we drag out every year for lack of anything better to do when the weather gets cold, they are our imperfect attempts at celebrating something truly beyond our imagination in its greatness. I simultaneously felt sad for all of the people (often including myself) who wish our grocery store cashiers Merry Christmas and buy gifts for our loved ones just for the sake of doing so. I know I'm not saying anything worth reading here, but sometimes I have to step back and remember that for all of my skepticism about this or that insignificant thing, I truly believe not only that the most spectacular miracle imaginable could happen, but that it has. Merry Christmas!

Snow Snow Snow Snow!

Hello friends! Last weekend was an eventful one here in the Republic, and one which brought our first substantial snowfall of the year. I started this post a few days ago, so I may as well finish it now:

On Friday evening I attended (with various representatives of Lindsey's family) Lindsey's youngest brother's school Christmas pageant. Lindsey insisted on arriving some forty minutes early, in order to be sure of getting seats and parking. Things were already hectic when we arrived, but Lindsey knew the bouncer from college, and so he got us in without having to wait in line or pay the exorbitant cover charge. No, wait. That didn't happen. As you may expect, the parking lot and gymnasium were as yet mostly empty. Mr. Mish had already staked out the best filming location with his tripod and new video camera, and saved us some seats right near the nuns in the fourth row. I suppressed as best I could the rumblings of my stomache, greedily eying the saran wrap-covered refreshments, to be served after the programme. In my haste to be forty minutes early I had neglected to nourish myself, and was now haunted by the pangs of a most awful regret for having done so. About half an hour later the rest of the parental press corps arrived, and things got rolling only a few minutes behind schedule, which is quite impressive considering that the cast is entirely made up of elementary schoolers in cute costumes. "That one in the star costume is my granddaughter," the nice lady next to me said. "How cute," I said. "The one in the crown is my... um... future brother in law? Yeah." About halfway through saying so, it occurred to me that that might sound odd. The pageant was incredibly cute and funny, and I don't think I have ever in my life seen so many cameras. Dawheeze (yes, that is her real name) has a much better account of the whole thing here. I shall only mention that first through third graders performing Handel's "Unto Us A Child Is Born," dressed as various characters of the Nativity, is very funny.

Saturday late afternoon I went out to get a tree with my sister Reenie and my brother Brendan, and Brendan's son Geno. The tree farm had of course already been well visited by this time, and the pickings were slim (particularly for the particular pickers among us), but in the end I think we managed to get two nice trees, though I haven't seen Brendan's in decorated form. Saturday evening Linds and I went to a Christmas party hosted by some friends, which they have every year and which is always a lot of fun. I was amused that even at a non-family party, five of the other attendees, not including my fiancee, are in my immediate family. Big families are fun. The snow was coming down hard as I drove home from the party, but for some reason I didn't think to park my car any differently when I got home, which turned out later to be a mistake.

Sunday morning I awoke to Maureen knocking on my door suggesting that I leave for mass with her, since there was no reason for us both to hazard the weather in separate cars. I hurriedly prepared myself and rushed out the door to join my sister, already in the car. The street had been ploughed at some point during the night, but it had since snowed a few more inches. For those of you who inhabit warmer climes than ours, to plough the road means to use a large vehicle with something like a shovel on the front of it to take all of the snow off of the surface of the road, and put it on my car. Good thing I was carpooling. Given the state of the roads, we were probably going to be late, if we got there at all. Unfortunately, we didn't even get out of our own driveway in under ten minutes, and without the help of two neighbors. At that point it was decided that we were not going to make it to mass at all, so instead we went to the hardware store to get another snow shovel, and then returned to shovel out the driveway, and possibly to find my car. Kara, our other housemate, was there when we got back (she had managed to escape the driveway earlier), and explained to us that all masses had been canceled on account of weather in any case, so it was just as well that we didn't make it. We spent the rest of the afternoon shoveling the snow (we managed to recover my car), and then decorating the Christmas tree, which turned out to be more of an endeavour than I had expected it to be, cheifly because Reens insisted upon having every twig of every branch thoroughly wrapped with lights. In her defense, it looks much better than it would had I been left to my own devices.

While decorating the tree we put on a few Christmas CDs, one of which was Bing Crosby's Complete Christmas Recordings. It really was complete, containing a few different versions of "White Christmas," and no fewer than four versions of "Silent Night." What struck me about the CD, aside from the mostly great music (I still don't care for "Sleigh Ride" or "Here Comes Santa Clause"), was that there was probably a half-dozen or so Christmas songs on there that I'd never heard before. These weren't bootlegs or obscure carols in Polish or anything like that, these were-high quality recordings of accessible, radio-friendly pop tunes about sleigh rides and Saint Nick and makin' out under the mistletoe by none other than Buh-ba-buh-ba Bing Freaking Crosby. Given that modern radio's current Hallyday repertoire consists of 2,897,992 versions of roughly twelve songs (including Crosby's hit version of Irving Berlin's "White Christmas"), you'd think folks would be all a-buh-buh-buh-bout it, if you know what I mean. Weird.

In the early evening I set out in my newly-excavated automobile towards my parents' place, intending to relax and visit with my younger siblings over a cup of hot chocolate. The roads were still pretty bad, but I sort of like them that way. What I don't like, as I believe I've mentioned before, is other drivers when the roads are sort of bad. With this in mind, I opted to take the road less traveled by to my folks' place, which, interestingly enough, turned out to make at least something of a difference. I was rolling down Bemis Road at what I thought would be about the right speed to maintain control of the car and still push through the snow and up the hills, when I noticed up ahead of me what I think was a light green Ford Edge, barreling down the middle of the road. "It's ok," I thought. "There's plenty of road for both of us if we just slow down a little and stick to the sides of the roadway," which is what I did and he did not. He kept right on cruising down the middle of the road as if I did not exist at all, leaving me a mere 1/3 of the road and taking 2/3 for himself. "Lord, please help this guy not to hit me," I managed to mutter. My prayers can often be rather selfish. His portion of the road turned out to be more than he needed and mine turned out to be less than I needed, and in the end I had to veer off into the ditch to avoid collision, at which point he went about his merry way, and I got out my phone to call for help. I had to laugh a little, my prayer had been answered. Fortunately, before the requested help could arrive, unrequested help in the form of a very nice guy named Randy stopped and offered to tow me out of the ditch with his tow strap and 4x4 truck. How could I refuse? I dug enough of the snow out from underneath my car to find someplace to attach the hook, and a few moments later I was back on the road. After thanking Randy for his help and wishing him a merry Christmas, I made it the rest of the way to my folks' place with no trouble.

That's all for now, friend. If I write any longer, Laura will wonder why I keep joshing her about long posts. Only five days until Christmas!

And December Rolls Onwards

Well, by Jingo! If it isn't the Twelfth of the month already! Time does fly. It's been freezing rain on and off (and on again) for the past week here in Michigan, leaving the world a startlingly unpicturesque melange of mud and ice, with a generous helping of road salt everywhere there are roads to be salted (which, as you know, is everywhere around here). On Sunday I took an afternoon drive down to Hillsdale to see my friend Matthew's voice recital, which was awesome. On the way down there though I was caught for some time almost directly behind a salt truck, on a section of highway which afforded no passing zones for several miles. The poor Cousmobile was both forced to travel at speeds so slow as to be unsafe to the sanity of its driver, and was subjected to a horrible, corrosive barrage of the hateful sodium. It actually made me glad for the freezing rain coming down all the way back, cleansing my poor car of the disgusting gray film in which it had been enveloped. Secretly, I sort of enjoy bad road conditions, because they give driving anywhere a sense of adventure, and demand more attention of the driver. I think I would enjoy it more if there were no other drivers on the road to worry about. Yes, true to human nature, I trust other peoples' driving abilities far less than I trust my own. I've taken two more cracks at Christmas shopping since posting last, not counting one or two of the online variety, and have reached two useful conclusions:
1. Christmas shopping isn't that bad, when you know exactly what you're looking for and where to find it (though I can think of one notable exception which I cannot discuss here at this time). All you really have to put up with is the bad music, and the fact that you're in a store (as a general rule, I'm very uncomfortable in stores).
2. Christmas shopping takes forever when you don't know exactly what you're looking for and/or where to find it.
I also discovered that while I prefer shopping alone for myself, Christmas shopping is far more pleasant with company, and that I am so lazy that standing and walking around in stores for as little as two hours makes me very tired. The good news is that I'm done with it all. Being an unmarried (at the moment) man, this means that I'm done with any and all Christmas-related stress. I don't have to host a big get-together or bake cookies for a hundred children or put up with relatives I don't like or any of those other things that some people (women) seem to find stressful about the Hallydays. I just show up at someone else's house, eat someone else's food, and put up with someone else's crazy relatives. Actually, that's a lie. I put up with my own crazy relatives. You can't outsource everything. That said, I actually get along pretty well with my family, so I'm probably the one they have to pretend to like. Maybe I'm easy to fool.

We Wish You A Happy Holiday, We Wish You A Happy Holiday, We Wish You A Happy Holiday, and A Happy New Year!

It's The People's Republic of D.Cous.'s multicultural Hallyday Season post! We here at the Republic would like to start out by wishing all of you the very best this Hallyday season. We would also like to point out, though it's as plain as the nose on your face (or the very big one on his), that Johnny Hallyday is awesome. It turns out that at least half of the Hallyday lights that I put up at the office (see the last post) don't work after all (though I swear I checked them), so I'll have to take them down and replace them at some point. Oh well. I've actually managed to get some of my Hallyday shopping done early this year, which is unusual enough for me that when I mentioned it to my friend Jonathan, he remarked "is it December 23rd already?" I was present and sort of participated in Lindsey's family's tree decoration last weekend, I think for the third year in a row. I only "sort of" participated because each member of La Famille Mish has their own designated ornaments to hang (and, if I'm not mistaken, designated parts of the tree to decorate), so I mostly sat around and tried out the family's new video camera, getting candid footage of tree decoration and a few property disputes over prime tree space that nearly developed into Wild West-era range wars, among other traditional Hallyday activities. Suffice to say, I loved it. I'm also looking forward to tree decorating at my folks' place when they get their tree (provided that I get invited, which is a toss-up in my family), which I'm sure will be a different affair altogether. It will probably start with us going through the huge box of Hallyday lights only to discover that (and this is my official prediction, a 5% improvement since last year) 15% work. We'll then spend at least half an hour cannibalizing bulbs from one string of lights in order to augment the other, and another ten minutes or so untangling lights (it's always the strand that works which is most tangled). After wrapping the two strands of working lights around our Hallyday tree, we'll open up the giant box o' ornaments, and begin searching for ornaments that are neither broken, nor ugly. Finding few that fit these criteria, we'll broaden them a bit, probably whilst making some comments about how we should get Mama and Papa some new Hallyday ornaments one of these days. If it goes anything like previous years, roughly zero ornaments and zero ornamentation zones on the tree will posses any particular sentimental value to anyone, and people will hang ornaments based roughly on their height (which is getting more difficult as Owen and Fiona grow up, approaching the maximum possible height in my family of 5'6"), with a ladder thrown in there to make sure that the branches more than 6' off the ground still get decorated. We'll probably throw on one of our family's few Hallyday-themed LP records (unfortunately, none of these feature Johnny himself) whilst decorating the tree. Ah, the Hallydays. Speaking of which, while you're out there getting your Hallyday shopping done on the Inter-nets, you might consider using this, which is a search engine designed to help you spend that last $2.50 needed on Amazon to qualify for free shipping. Cool, eh? I thought so. That's all for now, stay tuned for four more posts this month, the majority of which are likely to be Hallyday-themed.

ADDENDUM:
I doubt that any of you care that much, but the song linked to above is a Christmas love song addressed to Johnny Hallyday's daughter, who, according to Wikipedia, Johnny and his wife adopted in 2004. The music video, again according to Wikipedia, appears to depict them going to Vietnam to meet her. Also, by sheer coincidence, Johnny announced his pending retirement from live performance within a few days of me blogging about him. Strange, no? What's that? You don't care about Johnny Hallyday? Oh, come on. You're no fun any more.

If I Must, I Must

My fingers are numb, my face is red, and I'm standing on a ladder putting up fake pine branches wrapped in Christmas lights which, against all odds, seem to work. All I want is some hot chocolate, but for some reason I can't keep the first verse of "Silver Bells" from running through my head. It has apparently been recorded by everyone who has ever been in the music business, probably as some sort of initiation ritual, but the version that gets stuck in my head at this time of year (I don't much care for the song, by the way) is from the 1975 LP record "Merry Christmas From Sesame Street," which I believe my parents still own (much to their chagrin). Sigh. I guess I'm ready for December to be here. I do love a great deal of it very much, though I shall have to try to avoid stores and such to the greatest extent possible until it's all over with.

In other, totally unrelated news, it appears that the rumors that have (apparently) been circulating in unsavory corners of the entertainment industry for lo these many years are in fact true. I don't know what else to say, really. I only bring it up because some part of me, and it's a part of myself which I do not fully understand, is thinking hell yeah. The only thing I can be led to conclude is that there is either some part of me which loves to suffer, or else one which enjoys terrible, terrible cinema.

By Request...

A while ago, someone, no doubt trying to get me to shut up about whatever it was I was going on about at the time, suggested that I do a post about Halloween, or as you may know it, er... Halloween. I guess I could also call it "All Hallows Eve," that sounds goode and olde timeye. In any case, as time is short, and I'm in desperate need of two whole posts after this one, and yet before midnight tomorrow (in order to lift some curse or something, I don't know. Work with me here), I'm going to give you, my devoted (and in most cases imaginary) readership a breakdown of the D.Cous.-Approved and Non-D.Cous.-Approved portions of this ridiculous holiday.
On the "Approved" side of the ledger, there's:
1. Candy
2. Costumes
3. Parties
4. Carving pumpkins
I would also mention Pumpkin Pie (note the ever-so-appropriate use of capital letters), except that I haven't had any yet. All of these things are pretty fun, and there isn't much about them that has anything to do with witches, ghouls, etc... I just finished carving up a pumpkin, which I had much fun with, and though I can't speak for the Linds, I think we both enjoyed the costume party we attended.
Now then, we move to the "Not-Approved" side of things... There's really a lot of material here, honestly too much for a post such as this, but the ones that jump out at me are as follows:
1. Lawn decorations. Too easy? Yeah, probably. The lights, the inflatable cartoon characters dressed as monsters, the fake cobwebs on the bushes, the fake tombstones, the witches hanging from trees. Good grief. I actually love it when people go buck-wild with Christmas decorations, but since Halloween isn't really celebrating anything, it seems really lame to go out of your way to decorate your house.
2. Trick-or-Treating. I know what you're thinking. Why do I like costume parties and not trick-or-treating? Because costume parties don't involve invading someone else's privacy. I will admit that I never did trick-or-treat as a child, but I don't think that factors in too much. I don't like strangers coming to the door and asking me for stuff, even if they are dressed like Spider-Man. Costume parties have the added benefit of being somewhat like Masquerades, which as we all know, are cool.
3. Vandalism. A well-played prank against friends is kind of fun, as long as it's done right, whatever. Toilet paper all over a stranger's trees? Not so whatever.
4. Ghosts, witches and stuff.

That about does it for now, will post more soon. Peace.

Feminine Mind Control Day

Well, I won't lie to you. The First-Ever Random Internet Competition thingy wasn't a great success, as there were only two submittals, which you'll find below. I must admit that some of you (perhaps even most of you) have weakened my faith in humanity in a not-insignificant way, but perhaps I should thank you for reminding me of why I decided to take over the world in the first place. Keep in mind that I never really thought that I'd get as many as five submissions (which Jonathan was unfortunately able to deduce), so for me the optimum number would've been four: the maximum amount before I would have to award some kind of prize. So, perhaps it's for the best. In any case, the winner is David, who not only submitted well before the deadline and in the required file format, but also in color. David loses some minor style points on making his prototype a boot rather than a shoe, and I'm not too fond of the square-cut diamonds myself, but these may turn out to be the best choices in the end. He was also quick to mention to me that for added effect, his boot would be made out of dark chocolate rather than milk chocolate, for maximum effect. I can't argue with this. David also submitted a very avant-garde piece of graphic design to accompany his official submittal. Being untrained in the graphic arts myself I was scarcely able to make out what it was, and I know just enough about art to know that if you don't understand it, it must be brilliant. Fortunately, David refrained from art elitism and was good enough to explain to me in his email that what I was looking at was a necklace that held both a golden shoe (with diamonds on it, of course), and a piece of a four-layer chocolate cake. While I don't personally believe that this device would be anywhere near as effective as plan 50WD, I think it would be foolish to discard the idea entirely, and so you see it here. Brilliant. Honorable Mention goes to the only other submission, which was a far more conventional piece of artwork, although not entirely without merit. The scene presented here shows a mad scientist (presumably in my employ) with the requisite german accent unveiling a set of chocolate, diamond-covered hooker boots the size of large buildings. I can't help but wonder if I wasn't unclear in my instructions about shoes rather than boots, but a submission's a submission in this business, so I'll have to take what I can get. Eric (the artist) loses some points for breaking the spirit (if not the letter) of the contest rules, and submitting to me what was, for all intents and purposes, a hard copy. Were it not for the shortage of submissions, I would have disqualified him altogether, but as is he walks away with a generous second place. That wraps up our Feminine Mind Control Day special festivities, best of luck to all you men out there trying to buy your way out of the doghouse with flowers and chocolate and what-not. It probably won't work, and she probably still won't tell you why she's upset with you, but it's worth a try, man. To the single out there who can't help but be bitter on this cold, February day, I can offer this simple piece of consolation: It's a pretty dumb holiday anyways, and this way you're probably getting out of it on the cheap. You have to blow a wad on a nice dinner and a few dozen flowers today? No? Didn't think so. I didn't either, if you're wondering, my wonderful girlfriend has yet to discover the awesome power of guilt, or is just too cool to use it. Either way, I'm not complaining. Peace and love to all of you, and be careful out there in the snow.