Holy Crap! It’s almost Christmas! Where does the time go? (My thought is that it’s still in line at the Post Office.) I haven’t even written a thing about Christmas this year.
Last year at Christmas, I was just getting used to the idea that people aside from my mom and dad actually read this blog. So not to lose these new inquisitive eyes, I brought out every decent Christmas story and recollection I had.
First there were the tales of my childhood Christmases; some were sweet, some were literally quite smashing. There are also pictures posted of my little Christmas tree that I have right here… no need for more pictures than what’s there… this year it’s the same ornaments on the same tree in the same place.
I wrote about Christmas home movies and our annual pilgrimage to Pittsburgh every December here. There’s nothing like seeing the same home movie over and over again, where the kids age like it’s a stop-motion photography project and progress from one horrible 60s or 70s clothing style to another.
I vented my spleen about how much I hate the traditional treatments of Christmas music and what I listen to instead, here. There’s also a mini-rant about the over use of that stupid Nutcracker riff, how it’s in every freakin’ commercial from Thanksgiving on. At least this year, Hyundai has those new commercials where that guy and girl sing Jingle Bells and Up on the Rooftop. It’s not that I like the songs; it’s that the girl is reeeeeeally cute.
They’re actually a real music group called “Pomplamoose.”
I addressed the issue of what to tell your kids about Santa Claus. I’ve seen a lot about the subject on blogs just this week. (Miley, I’m looking at you.) I acknowledge that I don’t have kids, but I used to be one, so I describe my experience from that angle, and also from when I was a stepparent for a couple years.
“Hey kid… c’mere… Santa doesn’t exist and your mother doesn’t love you…”
I know… Stepfather of the Year, I was.
Anyway, my point is that I don’t really have anything new to cover for this Christmas season. But unless you were one of the half-dozen or so that was reading me last year, it’ll all be new to you, so just pretend it’s a post of fresh Christmas goodness from your old pal bluz.
In the meantime, my dad sent me this video that reminds me a lot of our Christmases.
The familiarity comes more from the lyrics than the visuals. We weren’t the “Jersey Shore-style of Italians like you see in the video. No one ever sat around the dinner table in their white undershirts, at least not in December. Undershirts were for the front porch in July with a Pirates game on the radio and a cold Rolling Rock in hand.