Wednesday Wa Pic - Milk Movie!

 Sure, it's a niche genre of film, but its fans are steadfast. And strong-boned.

Wednesday Wa Pic - tea time

Because if there's one thing I hate, it's the general tightness you find in most teas.

Even in dog years, I am immature

My dog, in dog years, is my age now, which probably explains, on sunny days, his lying naked on the lawn.

I understand the impulse.

The dog and I, we do a lot of the same things now. We build our day around meals, we find butterflies more entrancing than television, and by eight o'clock our eyelids get heavier than the plot of a CSI episode.

Our eyesight, and memory, isn't so great. This week I took an old plastic pony my children had outgrown and put it out at the curb. The dog spied it out the front window, mistaking it for a dog brazenly marking his territory.

He growled and growled at the interloper, despite having, just two minutes before, been on the driveway when I carried the pony past him to the curb.

So I flung open the front door and he bolted out at top speed to confront the infidel. He bounced around for about two seconds like a boxer looking for an opening, and then went "Oh. It's plastic. I was just...uh...coming out to sniff the lawn here. Mmm. That's some fragrant grass, just as I suspected. I'll be going back in now."

When he is happiest, he goes in the back yard and rolls around in his own poop.

We differ in this respect.

But we share the same middle-aged expression, that gaze which says yeah, I've seen a few things, sniffed them too, but it takes a lot to impress me these days. A squirrel, for instance. Or a video of a squirrel.

Unlike me, Skipper still runs like the wind. He does not have that internal self-governor which warns "Careful, you'll rip your Achilles, your knees aren't what they used to be, is your heart really up to this?" No. Squirrel? Boom. Gone. See you after I've shown this varmint who's still got the stuff.

After a bath he races around the house like a dog afire, ripping through the rooms as if attempting to escape cleanliness itself. Like me, there is some puppy in him yet.

I make a unique tsk-tsk sound to alert Skipper to the presence of a squirrel. Even in the house, if I make this sound he will tense, look at me as if to ask "Really? Game on?" and then he will bolt out the doggie door.

I really shouldn't play tricks on a dog his age. But at my age, I get my entertainment where I can.

. . .

Skipper, vigilant for the next plastic interloper

Trip to Mars for married couple is proposed

Dennis Tito, the millionaire space tourist, has recently created a foundation which is seeking—I kid you not—a married couple for a 501-day circuit around Mars; a trip even Jackie Gleason would find ambitious.

Due to the cramped, claustrophobic conditions, Tito feels a married couple would handle it better than a pair of strangers. But here is how I think it would go:

Day 1.

Husband: This is amazing. I can see North and South America all at once.

Wife: I never realized just what a fragile jewel the Earth is. I am overcome.


Day 30.

Wife: Do we have any Twix left?

Husband: No.

Wife: You effing* ate the last Twix? There were, like, 20 left yesterday.

Husband: Who's counting?

Wife: Grrrrr.


Day 100.

Husband: Is that Earth? That little dot by the three white dots? I can't tell.

Wife: Who am I, Galileo?

Husband: I forgot my glasses.

Wife: Well, there's a shock.


Day 250.

Husband: Mars is huge. I never knew it was so big. Did you know it was so big?

Wife: You know what's big? My craving for a Twix right now.


Day 300.

Husband: Have you seen my iPad charger? I was on the last level of Pizzas vs. Skeletons.

Wife: You mean the iPad charger sticking out of your shirt pocket?

Husband: You don't have to be snarky.

Wife: The whole universe is out your window and you're playing games?

Husband: You see the Milky Way, you've seen the Milky Way.


Day 350.

Wife: Did you do today's experiment yet? With the salt crystals?

Husband: That was an experiment? I thought it was for the pasta.

Wife: You ate the experiment?

Husband: Did anyone ever tell you you're kind of negative?

Wife: You left me some pasta, though, right?

Husband:

Wife: Perfect.


Day 450.

Husband: Divorce should be a last step, not a first step.

Wife: Dare me to open that hatch. Dare me.


Day 500.

Husband: Ah, Earth. One more day. When we get home, I'm buying you a whole case of Twix.

Wife: Yeah, you are. So...how are we going to spin this?

Husband: It was a spectacular journey, not just of our solar system but of ourselves, yadda-yadda.

Wife: I almost killed you in your sleep.

Husband: I almost let you.

Wife: Look at how blue it all is. What a jewel.

Husband: Priceless.


*In space, no one can hear you curse.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Insert whip crack sound effect here

 Rollin' rollin' rollin'

California rollin'

Keep that sushi rollin'

Raw fish!

Wednesday Wa Pic - Have your cake and, um, eww

"Plops" cakeballs. That is all the punch line I need, thankyouverymuch.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Try the Redwood Torte!

 I suspect this sounds more appetizing in Chinese.

Wednesday Wa Pic - iDon'tthinkso

 Somehow I think the prefix "i" as a selling point loses its vigor when applied to shoes.

Wednesday Wa Pic - Jewelry personality test

 O.K., answer quick. When you first saw the gold bear on the left, did you see a cute Teddy bear in a sitting position, or a Teddy bear with a profoundly large set of breasts?

Wednesday Wa Pic - Black gold gets gentrified

 I remember back in the last century when they called it "Texas tea."

Truthfully, not many modern marquees have the room to fit the entire actual title, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre," and I, for one, am thankful for such a genteel abbreviation.

Wednesday Wa Pic - the language of retail

 Not much, Candle Shop.

Wednesday Wa Pic - Pluck 'em if ya got 'em

Elegance finally has a name.

Park your gravy boat in the new year

You haven't lived until you have watched somebody parallel-park an eight-foot gravy boat.

I, my friends, have lived.

It was New Year's Eve. The gravy boat was a Rose Parade mini-float attached to a larger float, and the whole vehicle together was too large to fit its pre-parade parking space. So the g-boat was detached, and a crew of guys maneuvered it curbside by hand, a skill you will not find in your DMV driver's handbook.

Seriously. A gravy boat.

I witnessed all this as a volunteer for the parade; my duty was to spend the night, all night, with the Stanford float, assuring Stanford's floral security, and then ride a scooter as its escort in the parade New Year's morning.

Huge crowds came out all evening and past midnight to view the lineup. I was amazed that people were still strolling and taking pictures at 3 a.m. I was getting woozy myself after nine hours in the street.

At one point I thought I was hallucinating huge butterflies. When dawn broke, I saw they were just on a float.

(See: butterfly, just below the moon.)

Nothing can prepare you for riding a scooter through the canyon of humanity which forms to watch the Rose Parade, an estimated 700,000 people. Stanford fans roared as our cheerleader-festooned float passed and their band played. I watched one elderly alum stand erect, slowly remove his hat, and hold it theatrically over his heart.

Stanford's mascot is a tree. (Long story.) It is a majestic tree, I admit, and not meant ironically; something you probably cannot say of UC Santa Cruz's Banana Slugs.

But a tree does not automatically inspire your opponent's dread that, say, a sword-wielding gladiator mascot does. Still, I loved the Stanford fan in one grandstand who stood and held up the sign: "Fear the tree."

I also enjoyed the poster somebody held up near the very end of the parade, for the benefit of exhausted marching bands, I would guess, which said, "You're halfway there!"

I despair sometimes for our globe. After the anger-filled political year we just departed, a year of such meaningless gun violence, the Rose Parade felt like being dipped in a vat of hope.

I saw, close up, the smiling faces of people of every color, jammed shoulder to shoulder in rows 10 deep for miles, cheering for the simple beauty of flowers, smiling in unguarded awe at the extraordinary things people can create if they work together. 

A new year, another chance.

Take a deep breath. Now go park your personal gravy boat like only you can.

. . .

More pics below

While a white suit is required dress for the parade, overnight duties involve rocking extra-large coveralls.

People sleep out overnight before the parade, sometimes sitting up.

Little-known fact: if you don't fertilize your roses enough, sometimes they can break out in eggplant.

 These were the folks from the Trader Joe's float, about an hour before the parade. They were really up for it. My camera couldn't resist the stripes.

It was a good time.

Wednesday Wa Pic - vanity plate 'tude

With attitude like this, I am not surprised he went through three of them already.

 

Wednesday Wa Pic - Downsizing R Us

 I found where they print all the pink slips.

Wednesday Wa Pic - Melville ate here. Hardly.

 The best novelists avoid adverbs and so should you.

Wednesday Wa Pic - Hey, who's chicken?

 WYNGZ, as described in Wikipedia:

"Wyngz is a chicken food product that is in the shape of a chicken wing...but is not actually a wing."

Do you suppose the pizza in the box is topped with melted "chyzz?"

Wednesday Wa Pic - When nuts are not enough

 I always want to bust through the door of a place like this, mock frantic, and gasp "Where's the stuff?! I need the stuff!"

Wednesday Wa Pic - z best sandwich in z world

 Meaning early in the morning. You know, before you are even clothed. So that bread is fresh, and you will definitely want to buy a sandwich utilizing it. Good slogan.

Special thanks for this photo to my only authorized guest Wa Picker, my wife.

Wednesday Wa Pic - Question answered

 So that's where the states get it from.

Wednesday Wa PIc - Brushing Beauties

 

Yeah, I remember back in college when a group of us guys would lean our heads together, admiring a passing beauty, and say, "She looks like she could scrape the baked-on cheese off a casserole."

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Whack to the future

Got a rift? Stuck in a decade you didn't intend? Call Galvin. Personally recommended by Doc Brown.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - A homeowner's mixed message

Um..."four more years"? Or four more years of bad luck?

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Pay what you want?

 Unfortunately, this is also what the cashiers say when you order. Service is slower than you can imagine.

Wednesday Wa Pic - a bounty of trust

 Because once your company's paper towels have gained the trust of educators, you have truly turned a corner.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - the case of the disturbing pickle

 Say it out loud and it just sounds wrong.

...

Wednesday Wa Pic - Extra crispy. And undead.

 Need to feed a large crowd during the zombie apocalypse? Wal-Mart's got you covered.

Wednesday Wa Pics - L.A. County Fair does not disappoint

What I love most about the Los Angeles County Fair is that you see things you just never see in normal life. For example...

 

Not wanting to be presumptuous, I asked him, "Your highness, may I get a photo?" I think he forgot he was not allowed to speak, because he grunted something and then caught himself. I do not know why he had a frog slave held captive in his crown, and I didn't ask. With royalty, there are certain things you just don't do.

Shave seven months off your life. You know you want to.

 

I do not know why this Native American was playing Scrabble.

Some people? ALL people find a chicken's behavior entertaining. I will fight anyone who disagrees.

Pimp hats 4 kidz.

Four words you will fall in love with: "plant based memory foam."

Hope nobody has an allergy to neon.

Fun House mirror gave me Nosferatu fingers!

 Pirate mannequins and zebras. Discuss.

 Why, for all your zebra needs, of course.

I guess the only other name choice for this donkey-zebra hybrid would have been "Debra." They made the right call.

Again, would anybody pay money to go see a "Hebra"?

Once again this year, we searched in vain for the giant cinnamon roll. A lady at the Information Desk told me that shop has been gone now a couple of years. But if you hear different, please let me know. The giant cinnamon roll is now my Sasquatch.

 . . .

Paintball, and the state of our economy

They say the economy is at its worst since the Great Depression, and yet there are professional paintball leagues. There are enough people with enough money that they can afford to buy balls of paint for one-time use against the hindquarters of strangers.

I hear during the Great Depression they chucked dead squirrels at each other for fun. Then they cooked them for dinner. Just a little historical perspective.

Paintball is an expensive hobby; cost-wise, it ranks just above hang-gliding but just below self-publishing.

The fancier guns alone can cost a grand (and often are not even referred to as "guns," but as paintball "markers.") Unlike the "markers" which teachers use on dry-erase boards, these can fire a dozen .68 caliber skin-stinging balls per second.

Let me just say this: I know a few teachers who would like to have one of these babies.

As long as such hobbies thrive, we know we are not yet at the abyss. Economically, at least. Culturally? Well.

Fun paintball facts:

There is a World Cup of paintball. Yes, I said a World Cup of paintball.

Players hide behind inflatable bunkers. Yes, I said inflatable bunkers.

Last year, the Tampa Bay Damage won the Cup, beating out 270 teams. Yes, I said 270 professional teams.

Actual quotes from the rule book:

"A squeegee is not a barrel plug."

"Beaver tails are required for all Auto Cocker markers."

"A player who deliberately uses a non-participant as a shield will be eliminated."

Samples from a glossary of paintball terms:

"BYOP": bring your own paint

"Dorito": a pyramid-shaped bunker

"Guppy": a paintball refill canister

"Pants": an expression, meaning "cool," as in "Dude, the way you hosed that Dorito was totally pants."

"Shake 'n' Bake hopper": I don't really care what this means. I am in love with it.

Actual team names include Portland Uprising (which sounds like something which might happen if they ran out of sandals) and Omaha Vicious (because when one thinks "ruthlessly cutthroat," one thinks "Nebraska.")

There is a team named Chicago Aftershock (Possible motto: "Illinois. Earthquake capital of the United States.") Not to be outdone in the category of inexplicable references, landlocked Indiana has its own team, Indianapolis Mutiny.

Call your bunch of guys what you want, but to me all this means is there is enough disposable income around to prove we are doing O.K. We're gonna make it. In fact, I'll just say it: We're totally pants.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - like a rug

 The perfect restaurant in which to confront somebody you suspect of an affair.

. . .

10,000 steps, 10,000 hours, 0 patience

They say to be healthy you should walk 10,000 steps a day, although good luck trying to find out who "they" is. Perhaps "they" are out on that daily five mile walk.

They also say you should drink 10 eight-ounce glasses of water a day to be healthy. So maybe "they" are just in the bathroom.

The experts who put out this kind of advice are elusive. I have often wondered, in fact, if they are red pandas.

They say you should do a crossword puzzle every day, so your brain does not become addled as you age. (As if a crossword puzzle could possibly counteract the effects of all those political ads, not to mention "Jersey Shore.")

If you don't like crossword puzzles, they say, you can do a Sudoku, which is like a crossword puzzle for people easily irritated by demands for nine-letter words describing Charlotte Bronte's heroines.

They say you have to practice a thing 10,000 hours in order to master it. That is an awfully convenient, round number, a clear tip-off that it is nonsense, along with the 10,000 steps a day and the 10 glasses of water.

Arbitrary, repeatable hokum.

I would like the job of proclaiming how long a person needs to do something to be healthy/masterful/swell. In fact, I will claim that job right now.

Please post my proclamations to all social media far and wide:

In order to be healthy, a person needs to own 10 dogs in his lifetime. At least 51% of them must be brown. Otherwise it doesn't work.

To retain a supple skin, a person needs to exfoliate biweekly with a mixture of Coca-Cola, cucumber paste and whipped salmon. Rub this in using counter-clockwise motions only, for a period of one minute or until the flies become unbearable.

In order to retain mental sharpness, a person must entirely forego screens of any type, be they computer, television or smart phone, one day per week, using that time to read at least 50 pages from a book (minimum reading level, Sue Grafton, "A is for Alibi.")

Everyone everywhere must eat 20 pitted black olives per day. This ensures excellent digestion as well as entertainment, if you place them on your fingers first and make them "talk."

Ignore these rules at the peril of your sanity, health and longevity. Hey, and while you're on your long walk today, somebody bring me by a pizza, O.K.?

. . .

 

Wednesday Wa Pic - Colored growing

 Do not swallow your Colored Growing. Don't...hey, don't do it! 

I know you want to. It looks delicious. Don't.

- - -

Somebody toss me a (land) line!

Recently my phone service was mistakenly shut off. I called Customer Service on my cell.

Me: "We just need you to restart our land line phone service."

Customer Service: "When you say 'land line,' sir, do you mean 'analog?'"

Me: "Yes. We don't want voice-over-IP service."

CS: "And when you say 'yes' do you mean 'yes?'"

Me: "Yes."

CS: "One moment, sir. I am going to transfer you to someone who can cost you an hour you will never get back, I mean, who can set up installation."

I held for 20 minutes and was disconnected. I called back.

Me: "I'd like to reinstate my analog phone service. It got turned off by mistake."

CS: "I am sorry for your inconvenience, sir, and let me assure you that I will do my best to solve your problem. May I have the security code associated with this account?"

Me: "1776; it's symbolic of the freedom I hope to gain from this phone hell some day before my children are old enough to procreate."

CS: "Very good, sir. I see an order for high speed Internet service."

Me: "Yes, how about one to start up my analog phone service."

CS: "By 'analog,' sir, do you mean your land line?"

Me: "Yes."

CS: "I will transfer you to someone who can set up that installation."

Me: "Is his name Doctor Who? Because I feel like I'm in a time warp."

CS: "Very good, sir." (Hold music begins, while an invisible Pac-Man eats 30 minutes I will never see again.)

CS: "Hello, my name is Cynthia. How may I provide you with exceptional service?"

Me: "That ship has sailed, Cindy. But I wonder if you could schedule the installation of phone service to my house."

CS: "Certainly, sir. But first, for security purposes, can you tell me the name of your favorite restaurant?"

Me: "Porky's Ham Shack."

CS: "That's not what I have on file, sir."

Me: "I'm just sayin'. My wife set this up, so it's probably La Boheme."

CS: "Correct. Now, do you want everything to stay the same as on your prior account?"

Me: "By 'the same' do you mean 'the same?'"

CS: "Yes."

Me: "Then yes."

CS: "All right, the installation is set for September 14th."

Me: "That's in a week!"

CS: "Yes, it generally takes 7-10 days."

You may wonder why I want a land line at all. I may wonder that too.

- - -

Wednesday Wa Pic - Quiet street, 4 BR, 2 BA, 1 RR

There was a time in Southern California real estate circles when a swimming pool could sell a house, and then, later on, the same could be said of a "great room." No more. 

Meet the new "must-have," people.

- - - - -

© George Waters, The Wa Blog

. . . . . 

Political quiz pokes fun at both sides

It is an election year, and as a great American once said (I think it was either George Washington or Bobby Jindal), you can't have too many political quizzes.
Remember, there are no wrong answers, only wrong beliefs.

Finish the sentence: "When I choose a president, I look for..."

a) a regular Joe I feel like I could have a beer with.
b) a gazillionaire I feel like I could have a beer with.
c) I don't like beer.
d) I would vote for beer.

I would describe the current political climate as:

a) warming, unlike the planet.
b) chilly as Michele Bachmann's breath on a mirror.
c) hot, like that Elizabeth Warren.
d) stormy as Newt Gingrich's Civil War bodice-rippers.

How many delegates attended the Republican National Convention this week?

a) 2,286. Wait, do we count both Latinos?
b) I do not know. I was too busy dreamily mooning over that quintet of hunky manflesh known as The Romney Sons.
c) For the record—Tagg, Matt, Josh, Ben and Craig. Woof!
d) I do not know the number, but I have not seen so many white people hopping around since that Devo concert in '81.

Fun fact: "Obama Biden four more years" can be turned into the anagram, "O dear me! Brainy, famous bore!"

Marco Rubio is:

a) the name of a summertime Cuban swimming pool game.
b) a famous fish taco baron.
c) merely a rising star in fish taco circles.
d) no Tagg Romney.

Fun fact: The letters in "Mitt Romney for president" give you the anagram, "Prettify tender moronism."

The biggest difference between Barack and Mitt is:

a) the ability to sink a fadeaway jumper from three-point range.
b) $190 million.
c) Barack has the weirdest name. Barely.
d) the number of African cousins.

What is the greatest problem facing our nation?

a) Four potential years of "magic underpants" jokes by standup comics.
b) Joe Biden continues to be one heartbeat away from the freakin' presidency.
c) Drone strikes are not allowed on members of Congress.
d) The "nanny state" has been extended so far into our lives that every American will soon be required to hire an actual nanny, and that nanny will belong to a nanny union, and her union dues will go into a fund supporting gay marriage for members of the Armed Forces.

There is no answer key. Much like in our democracy, the main thing is participation and, of course, the secret knowledge that you alone are right.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - ah, the eternal question

BECAUSE MY ANCESTORS CAME FROM THE SEA, O.K., MISTER CURIOUS?

- - - - -

© George Waters, The Wa Blog

. . . . . 

Newspaper corrections faux your approval

From time to time every newspaper prints corrections for mistakes which have appeared in the paper. Today I am catching up on some of my own:

In my column about the Olympics, I erroneously referred to the mayor of London as a "nit." A nit, it turns out, is a type of head lice. What I had meant to write was "git" ("a completely ignorant, childlike person with no manners.") I apologize to head lice for the mistake.

In my column about frolicking at a water park, I suggested that a churro vendor should deposit his product in a bodily region not in keeping with good Christian anatomy. I regret the outburst and my description of churros as "the devil's hornpipe." Let me just say here for the record that in a civilized society there is room for all types of confectionery.

In my column about the tourist town of Big Bear, I wrote that there were so many carved wooden bear statues, the ratio of humans to bear statues was 1:1. This was inaccurate. There are actually five times as many bear statues as there are people in Big Bear. I want to apologize to Bear Carvers Local 114, the fine folks at Bears R Us, as well as Smitty's Chain Saw Masterpieces. Carve on, my brothers.

In my column about the new "Transformers" ride at Universal Studios, my suggestion that a 90 minute wait was "totally not worth it" was incorrect, according to a knowledgeable source I like to call the "Universal Legal Department." The ULD reminds me that a "wait" of any duration, however lengthy, is a prime opportunity to "get to know your family better" and to "shut the heck up about wait times." Point taken, ULD. Point taken.

In my recent column about "the Cloud," I used the phrase "agile, scalable infrastructure." I do not know what those words mean, nor does anybody at the paper. I copied them from an Internet article. In fact, I have my suspicions that they are not even real words. Going forward, I promise to fact-check my computery columns with a teenager before publication.

Finally, in writing about Venus' recent "transit" of the sun, the auto-complete function of my word processor unfortunately replaced it with the word "transvestite." As far as I know, astronomers have not found any transvestites in space, and not for lack of trying. I sincerely regret the error, and, frankly, for getting your hopes up.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Where the cool kids go

 OMG, you don't even want to be seen going into those other libraries.

- - - - -

© George Waters, The Wa Blog

. . . . . 

Facing fears on an epic slide

There comes a time in every man's life when the opportunity arises to complete an act of reckless stupidity he somehow missed in his youth.

I missed a lot of those, because I was a sober teen; something Shakespeare advised against, by the way.

The opportunity came for me this week when I plunged down a water slide with a seven-story vertical drop.

I had visited this local legendary water park, which I will call here Rampaging Wetness, several times over the decades, and walked past that flume thinking "You'd have to be crazy to do that."

Not because of the free-fall, but because of the epic wedgie awaiting you at the bottom; a wedgie so intense, rumor had it your swimsuit sometimes passed through your entire digestive tract, and you ended up wearing it as a hat.

But I have lived a happy life and I figured if I died at least they could use my body for wedgie research, which is woefully under-funded.

There is great value in facing your fears. At least that is the sentence I kept repeating to myself as the line crept slowly up the tower toward the top.

Rampaging Wetness, in its wisdom, soothes aspiring flume-plungers by blasting hip-hop music as you wait in line. For someone of my generation (a generation which prided itself on appreciating music involving guitars), this was akin to waiting in line to walk the plank while all the while being heckled by foul-mouthed parrots.

The line was made up almost entirely of young men, there to prove something to each other or themselves. During the time it took to reach the top, two people bailed out of the line from fear. "No shame," I wanted to reassure them as they passed, but my mouth was too dry from fear.

The time came. I lay down at the top of the slide, crossed my ankles and arms, and the lifeguard shoved me off. I closed my eyes and thought of England. I had never realized England was so terrifying.

At the bottom, flushed with manliness and the applause of my family, I basked in glory as I put back on my sandals. Then I saw her—the little girl who came down the flume after me. She was tiny.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Eight," she said.

The rest of my day went pretty well, though.

. . .

Wednesday Wa Pic - Romance and a "twist"

From the cinema collection at the Los Angeles Public Library. 

Relive a time when romance was just one salty snack away.

- - - - -

© George Waters, The Wa Blog

. . . . . 

Wednesday Wa Pic - Nope

 Look, it doesn't matter what it is. Just don't, O.K.?

- - - - -

© George Waters, The Wa Blog

. . . . . 

The dark and funky side of Christmas Carols

George Waters column for Sunday, Dec. 29, 2013:



Now that Christmas has passed I can say it: a lot of those carols are messed up.

"Angels We Have Heard On High"? Angels we have heard WHILE high, more like it. "And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains"? Only at the holidays can you anthropomorphize alps.

I have also never understood the part that goes "In Excel sheets day-o!" Maybe the tally man uses them for figuring.

In the second verse of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" they rhyme "come" and "womb." That is loopy, unless you are in Liverpool. But then in the fourth verse they rhyme "come" with "home." I guess if you have just had a visitation from angels, consistency is not high on your list of priorities.

At least in "Jingle Bells" they keep the rhyme, but only by making up words: "The horse was lean and lank, misfortune seemed his lot. We got into a drifted bank and then we got upsot."

"Up on the House Top" details the contents of the stocking of Little Will, to whom Santa delivers a hammer, lots of tacks and a whip that cracks. God help his sister.

"God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay" sounds like a word order Yoda would come up with.

"Away In A Manger" proclaims "The stars in the sky looked down where he lay." I guess it's not just the hills that have eyes.

"It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" offers up this gem: "the world has suffered long" under "life's crushing load." Luckily, that flutter of wings you hear? It's not another hawk, come to carry off another of your young. It's just angels. Angels are a good sign! Um, right?

We think of Christmas carols as jaunty and uplifting, but if you manage to reach the fourth verse of "We Three Kings," you get "Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering gloom. Sorrowing, sighing, breathing, dying, sealed in a stone-cold tomb."

Wassail!

Pop Christmas tunes can be just as strange. "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" promises there will be "marshmallows for toasting" and "scary ghost stories." You can kinda tell the writers had just lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Well, that's all behind us now. New Year's is coming up, and "Auld Lang Syne" will rule. Just don't look up the lyrics. Trust me.


Readers may contact George at george@georgewaters.net