It’s the last day of the year. A great day to lay around, eat like a pig and be mean to everyone … because the resolutions don’t start until tomorrow, right? And, while I don’t consider my next action to be mean-spirited in the slightest, I thought I’d share with you some of my anger and frustration over a recent experience involving my young daughter, AMC’s airing of The Polar Express and a highly inappropriate advertisement shown during the program. So today, I sent out a little email.


Dear American Movie Classics (AMC),

I want to thank you for continuing to air so many of the holiday classics I enjoy with my kids each year. I cherish sharing this annual tradition with them and getting to see the newer movies as well as introducing them to some of the older ones from my generation.

This year, my family celebrated Christmas over the course of two days, the 25th and 26th. As with many families, it’s the only way we can fit everyone and everything in during this crazy season. So, by the time we returned home from our two-day affair, we were all completely exhausted and just looking to relax in front of the television. My husband and son opted for football in the den while my daughter and I snuggled into my bed to watch Polar Express on AMC. She absolutely loves that movie and often brings in all of her stuffed animals to join in the fun whenever we tune in.

It was the perfect closing to our Christmas celebration and very special for both us … until one of your commercial breaks. Can you give me any reason to explain why your advertising department would have elected to place the following commercial during this classic children’s Christmas special???

I spent the rest of the commercial break trying to explain to my young daughter why this ‘back massager’ was just for women. And … I’m just wondering … who was asleep at the wheel when the ad schedule was drawn up? And … is he or she still employed with AMC?

Please respond with an explanation at your earliest convenience. I’m just dying to learn how this could have happened.


Blah – Blah – Blah


I’ll let you know when and if I hear back from the good people at AMC. Oh, and ….

Happy New Year! Be safe tonight!


About these ads

(1) Dear Body Shop Boutique ... Please reconfigure your store’s holiday displays into a much roomier, customer-friendly arrangement. Sorry I took out your entire Cranberry Joy Collection with my purse, but let’s consider the fact that I’m a 5’4″, 115-lb. (well, before Christmas anyway) small woman. The average male customer perusing your wares would’ve taken out a whole aisle.

(2) Dear Ice Cream Counter at the Mall ... Do you really think having a cake display on your counter called “Better than Sex” directly behind Santa’s village where every freakin’ kid stops for eggnog ice cream is a good idea? Because I don’t. And I promise I’m snagging the sign from your business next year.

(3) Dear Photo Processing Supplies Company … Can you please change whatever chemical you use on the surface of all photographic prints (specifically from Walgreen’s) to something less delicious to my cat? Every year, I spend entirely too much time strategizing my Christmas card display to ensure that all the low-hanging cards are free of photographs, so that they are not licked and bitten beyond recognition.

(4) Dear Tinsel Manufacturing Company … I am also suggesting that you, like the photo processing supplies company, change your product’s “recipe.” We had to give up on you years ago as Christmas tree tinsel is apparently a delicacy in the feline community. Our previous (diabetic) cat, Toby, always managed to sneak his share of tinsel from the tree which never much worried us until, one day, we saw him running wildly around the house being chased, it would appear, by his own feces. As it turned out, the tinsel had passed all the way through his system. One end stayed in him while the other lodged itself into his ball of waste. True story. Which I just took the time to write about and, worse, you just took the time to read.

(5) Dear Specialty Toy Stores … If you’re going to have adult games available on your shelves, please create a special section … if not a back room … for these items. My kids spent the entire afternoon cutting up about them (and, I think, quoting the boxes on a few hushed occasions). We had to leave your store so fast that we didn’t buy anything anyway. And I promise I would have. Every other damned store at the mall got some of my money that day.




(6) Dear Santa … Apparently, one of us should’ve gotten gifts for the caterpillar/butterfly habitat my daughter keeps on our porch these days. Way to drop the ball, jolly man. Said my girl, “Bubba Chubba and Kevin are sad that we forgot them.” (Yes, those are real names. One of them definitely lost the name lottery. I won’t say who.)

(7) To My Children’s Preschool Teachers of Yesteryear ... Thank you for introducing my kids and I to the art of reindeer food creation. I have come to love the annual tradition of making food to leave out for Santa’s fleet. The only recurring ingredient each year is raw oatmeal. Everything else is whatever I’ve got lots of … and am looking to get rid of … in the house. This year’s menu included some old parsley flakes and paprika as well as blue and pink face glitter (“to catch the light and help the reindeer find the food”) left over from my girl’s school play. It is the best way I’ve found to clean out my pantry and spice cabinet in years. Hmmm, I wonder if I could feed them stuffed animal spare parts next year. Those nappy little critters are taking over this house.

(8) Dear Manufacturer of the Shirt I wore on Christmas Eve … Please improve the quality of your zippers. When I tried the shirt on in the morning to select my evening attire, the zipper locked up on me, trapping me inside for the entirety of the day. And dressy black shirts do not really complement the sweat pants and unshowered mess that was the rest of me for all of my last minute holiday errands throughout the day.

(9) Dear Drugstore located Two Minutes from My House … You lost my business on Christmas Eve because of the annual “rock” concert you hold in your store each year. I know I sound like a Scrooge, but I needed to get in and out of your store in a hurry but everything was entirely too packed for me to even consider stopping in. So, the next closest drugstore got my business. And I spent $163.53. Just so you know.

(10) Dear Sanitation Department and Letter Carrier … Do you really care about political correctness on my girl’s homemade greeting cards to you each year? She seems to struggle to fit these lengthy titles in her festive holiday designs. Would ‘garbage men’ and ‘postman’ be acceptable next year? Also, did you like the candy canes/cookies?



(11) Dear Lady Next to Me at Church on Christmas Eve … Fishnet stockings?

(12) Dear Me … Remember that your kids are always listening … and somehow, apparently, reading. Which is why, when your boy asked about the mysterious gift tag on his dad’s present that read ‘To Dave, From ODNT, your girl said … without hesitation … “That stands for Old Dog New Tits.”  You, dumb ass, now get the joy of explaining to her what ‘tits’ means and why she can’t use the word anymore. And then, you get to deal with what will undoubtedly be her implicit disapproval.


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That’s my girl … demonstrating her latest and greatest form of awesomeness in her new skates from Santa.

And I’m the one-mom paparazzi following behind her as we circled the block again … and again … and again. Am I disproportionately proud of this pathetic feat of athleticism on my part? Well, yeah. I kind of am. It’s not Ironman, but you’ve got to start somewhere with this post-surgical rehab stuff, right?

Plus, we’ve got to hone our skating abilities to cement her future with the Big Easy Roller Girls. Maybe one day we’ll get to see her compete in New Orleans’ own ‘Running of the Bulls.’


What? A mom can’t dream?


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Pay attention, my friends ...

… because this may well be the first and last blog entry you ever read from me offering recipes and help in the kitchen. Maybe it’s all the health craziness and anxiety I’ve been through the last month. Who friggin’ knows? But, for whatever reason, I felt inexplicably compelled … both after Thanksgiving and after Christmas … to create something really delicious and rib-sticking … from scratch … for my family.

And thus was born the opportunity for me to test drive the following two recipes, both of which had the word ‘carcass’ in their names. (That’s always a plus in cooking, right?)

After Thanksgiving, I made Turkey Carcass Soup. It involved a multitude of ingredients (nearly all of which needed to be purchased) as well as lots of chopping and dismembering of an Avian skeleton.  And, bear in mind, I am neither Julia Child nor Julie Powell, making aspics with calves’ feet and cleaving through marrow bones like lumber.  Still, if I had to single out the hardest part of this recipe, it was absolutely locating uncooked barley at the grocery store. It took three employees to find it for me … considering that the first two didn’t even know what it was.

After Christmas, I made Turkey Carcass Gumbo. That was today.  And it took me five hours. I even had to make a roux, which  was no small task and (shaming my name as a native New Orleanian) was a first-time effort. But I did it. And I’ve heard nothing but good reviews from five tasters so far. Pretty good for the short order, Hot-Pockets-are-my-Specialty cook who needs repeated lessons in simple rice making. (Right, Ashley?)

For both recipes, I used a carcass from a fried turkey. Yeah, I know that’s kind of cheating … in that there’s so much fatty, salty, seasoned goodness already seared into those bones. But, hey, these were the birds with which I had to work. So, don’t besmirch me the good fortune to have dined well for the holidays in the first place.

Oh, and while I’m at it, I should probably also share the gingerbread recipe I used this season. All of my children’s teachers got a little care package before they left for the holidays.

Every one of my close friends is reading this post with their mouths hanging open right now. Either wondering why I’ve been holding out on them for so long … or what past Shirley MacLaine-ian life has taken over my body in the last month. (MotherMeetsTheRoad, eat your heart out!)


No, it’s not Milo … but wouldn’t that have been hilarious?

Anyway, I promise I’m fine. I’m just having some fun and making a mess with my kids in the kitchen. So, it’s actually a good time to stop by for a visit. There’s always something good in my fridge these days. And who knows how long my wild cooking spree will last?



Ever panic ’cause you realize your gas light is on and you’re not sure how close you are to the nearest gas station? What if your gas light came on right after you passed through the toll booth to a long bridge connecting two cities over a lake?

That happened to me tonight.

My girl is spending the night out at an old friend’s house. Originally, the friend was coming to our house but the plans got reversed this afternoon. So, we packed up all of the necessary clothes, elf hats, costume jewelry, stuffed hamsters and other paraphernalia and set off on the 31.3 mile voyage from our doorstep to her friend’s house. It was a beautiful day and, aside from the fact that I was quite tired, we got there in no time at all. Playing the Game of Life app on her iPod all the way over.

It was nice catching up with her friend’s family. Her mom and I don’t get to see each other much since they’ve moved to this new house. And, after a good bit of chit chat, I could tell that my daughter was ready to see me off and begin her “real” sleepover. So, I left …. fortunately feeling much less sleepy at the wheel than I had on the way over … but still craving a jolt of caffeine. I wound up grabbing a Diet Coke and a little fast food sludge to munch on in the car on the way home. I knew the Diet Coke would make quick work of my diminutive bladder. And I deduced that a full bladder would serve as my alertness stimulant for the ride home. Which actually worked.

If only I had also considered filling my gas tank before getting onto the lengthy causeway. The second I pulled on to this now darkened, sparsely populated bridge, the yellow gas light popped on. It mocked me and made me feel like a fool in my complete and utter dependence upon it. As, clearly without it, I would drive until my tank was filled with cobwebs and sand.

So, I picked up my cell and called Dave to warn him of my potential quandary.

Me: How long is the Causeway Bridge?

Dave: I don’t know. Why?

Me: Because just as I was getting on it, my gas light came on.

Dave: What? How did that happen?

Me: I don’t know. I’m not usually in situations where I’m more than 20 miles from a gas station at any given time. … Isn’t it 22 miles long? The Causeway, I mean. If so, I’m good. There’s a gas station practically on the off ramp.

Dave: Actually, I think it’s 24 point something miles.

Me: Well, then I’m screwed. My gas range said 24 miles of gas was left in my tank right when I pulled on. … I’m going to keep thinking it’s 22.

Dave: If you really get into a situation, just pull over to the side, put on your hazards and call me.

Me: There’s only two lanes of traffic and no shoulder on this suspension bridge.

Dave: It’s not a suspension bridge.

Me: (pause) Oh, my God. I know what a suspension bridge is. I don’t know why I said that. Just cross your fingers for me. It’s gonna be close.

When I pulled off the bridge, there were two gas stations waiting for me at the exit. The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway (a Guinness Record Book holder for longest continuous bridge over water) is 23.83 miles long, by the way.

So, I had .17 miles to spare. Point-one-seven. I don’t know what everyone was so worried about.


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We’ve got Stavros, Pavlina, Bianca and a different blonde Barbie than we met in our original mean girl Barbie post. When we were cruising websites for Christmas gift ideas, my girl took one look at Tiffany, our frizzy-haired friend from the first post, and said, “Uuuuck. No way. She is UUUUG-LY!” So, she chose a different blonde Barbie for her Christmas list. And one who I think looks a lot like a Giselle.

And the first thing I noticed is that Barbie footwear has seen major technological innovation since I was a kid. Back then, we loved the beautiful shoes, every one of them six-inch stilettos, but we knew there’d never be with us for long. They slipped on and off with the ease of a slip-on house shoe. We hated losing them but we accepted that it was just a matter of time ’til one was gone, rendering its mate completely useless. And, after a while, you gave up on shoes altogether and your doll just became a Julia Roberts-esque hippie chic woman who wore everything from cruise wear to evening gowns with no shoes at all.

Until now!

In 2011, the shoes click on. Did you hear me? They click on. And actually sort of lock in place. I mean, it’s not Fort Knox, but I’d say it could cut the propensity for loss by 50 percent. That’s huge! Huge, I tell you! And, if that’s not enough, this new shoe ‘technology’ is a plus for the cat, too. There’s a greatly reduced chance that any of these pointy little shoes will be navigating themselves through this colon any time soon. And his good news is everyone’s good news.

(Two quick side notes: (A) Only some of the Barbie models have this new shoe-locking technology. Why? How should I know? Nepotism? Blackmail? Or some other inappropriate behavior that I don’t even want to think about between Barbie and her wardrobe designers. AND (B) I wonder if we’ve lost all the male readers at this point.)

Sadly though, my girl didn’t like any of my names for the crew. She said, “Stavros is ridiculous. That’s not even a name.” I tried to explain that he was a Greek exchange student working at the Gap until he made enough money for head shots and a one-way ticket to New York. Because his dream was to come to America and pursue a male modeling career. But she just rolled her eyes and said “No, Mommy.”

I think I love my girl’s new friends as much as she does. She has her names for them. And I have mine. From left to right … my names, then hers.

Pavlina – Stephanie
Stavros – Andre
Bianca – Bridget
Giselle – Lexie

So, we’ve now cleared off the built-in desk in her room and transformed it into Barbie Central. The dining set she got from my sister-in-law is featured prominently in the middle of the ‘house.’ I cracked up when I took a good look at the assembled box this morning.



“Oh, no. Ken is late!” ??? … Girl, you are a gorgeous woman who nails every profession she tries. Dump his ass, throw something on from your Fashionistas World Tour Collection and go for a spin in your Corvette.

I see hours and hours of Barbie play in my future. I think she even asked her dad to join in the fun tomorrow. That should put an interesting spin on things. Plus, I’m totally going to make him be Stavros. And speak with a Greek accent. My girl wants him to have a French accent. We’ll see …

Oh, and in the style of television programming from my youth, I’ve included a few outtakes of tonight’s Barbie photo session at the end of this post. It was very important to the cat (Milo) to be a part of this activity. It may well be the best part of today’s entry.






It’s Christmas morning and I’m thankful to have much more to do today than sit at my stupid computer. I just wanted to give you all my best and leave you with two of my favorite Christmas videos. (Had I chosen to post three favorites, you’d also be watching Schweddy Balls right now.)

Here’s the original. My mom got me hooked on Bing Crosby when I was still just a baby. David Bowie, I fell in love with on my own.

And here’s the remake. These guys mimicked every little detail, down to the very end, where they stray … just a little. Enjoy.

Happy Holidays from ODNT!


It’s Christmas Eve and what I really want to do is reference you back to my first stab at this parody business entitled ‘Twas a Week Since my Surg’ry” … but that would be lazy, right?  And sooo tacky.  So, I’ll just link you to it and we’ll get to work today on an entirely new version of the famous poem by Clement C. Moore.

My surgery set me back a bit this season, but thanks to my new friend, Honest Mom, for virtually slapping me across the face yesterday … and to Dave for wrapping more gifts in one day than he has so far in his lifetime, I think we’re going to make it.  Now, I just have to wrap his gifts and finish a little easy last minute shopping at the drugstore, conveniently located five minutes away. Well, except that we haven’t prepared a thing for the Christmas Eve dinner we host for my family every year. (Don’t tell them but I’m totally going to get everything from the ready-made section of my local grocery store.)

Anyway, I literally got out of bed to type this morning when these verses started running through my head. Don’t get me wrong.  I love Christmas.  Always have.  But the stress and pressure this year?  Well, it’s killing me. Please allow me to elaborate.


‘Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse

Okay, first of all, gross! My house does not have mice, thanks to Orkin pest control. And, if it did, you can bet my ass would be doing plenty of stirring, to say the least.  And secondly, hello? Even rodent-free, I will be ‘stirring’ until at least midnight to get everything done tonight. 

The stockings were hung
By the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas
Soon would be there

Damn, I wish that I hadn’t upgraded us to those stupid new stockings last year. Those things are huge.  Let’s just say it’s a lot more work for ‘St. Nicholas’ to get the job done.

The children were nestled
All snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums
Danced in their heads

God, I wish their wants were as simple and inexpensive as ‘sugar plums.’ Not that I have any idea what they are anyway.  And they sound British, so the shipping alone probably negates the savings. I wonder if Amazon even carries them and if they’d qualify for my Prime membership with free shipping. Do I really want something with ‘sugar’ in its name though? Isn’t that why the marketing geniuses at Sugar Smacks changed the name to Honey Smacks years ago? What parent in their right mind would buy something for their child that starts with the word ‘sugar?’

And mama in her kerchief
And I in my cap
Had just settled our brains
For a long winter’s nap

This story is told from the mom’s point of view so I guess that would put Dave in the kerchief.  And, seriously, if he ever tries to go to sleep wearing a kerchief, I will Gilligan-slap him with my cap.  And I will post a picture of him in this kerchief here and all over Facebook so you’ll be the first to know. Oh, and settling ‘our brains for long winter’s nap?’ What are we … bears?

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed
To see what was the matter

Geez, Santa. Can you and your fleet please keep it down out there so my kids stay ‘nestled?’ I’ve got work to do here.

Away to the window
I flew like a flash
Tore open the shudders
And threw up the sash

Great. Thanks a lot, Santa. Now I need to get to Home Depot the day after Christmas to replace my shudders. And, apparently, my sash.   What aisle are the sashes on?

The moon on the breast
Of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday
To objects below

I wonder how many weasels who google ‘breast’ looking for, you know, wind up being directed to ODNT … or this poem. Maybe the famed poet used ‘breast’ as a tag for his poem to get more hits on his website.  Duh. Yes, I know they didn’t have Google back in the 1800s. In the early days, they used stuff like Lycos and WebCrawler.

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh
Any eight tiny reindeer

Whoa, maybe I need to back off the pain meds. This is way worse that swaying fan blades. And, more importantly, where the hell is Rudolph?

With a little old driver
So lively and quick
I knew in a moment
It must be St. Nick

Old? Fine.  But little?  No offense, Santa, but I have no idea how you can be either ‘lively’ or ‘quick.’ Seriously, what’s your secret? Wait … it’s ‘sugar’ plums, isn’t it?

More rapid than eagles
His coursers they came
And he whistled and shouted
And called them by name

OMG, Santa! Will you please keep it down?

Now Dasher, Now Dancer
Now Prancer and Vixen
On Comet, On Cupid
On Donner and Blitzen

Comet? Vixen? Who named these deer anyway?  And, again, where the hell is Rudolph?

To the top of the porch
To the top of the wall
Now dash away, dash away
Dash away all

Dash away? Wait, you haven’t even come in yet.  Oh, and please get the reindeer off the porch.  Last year, they knocked off a ton of shingles and we spent the week between Christmas and New Year’s fixing the damned roof.

As dry leaves that before
The wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle
Mount to the sky

Hurricanes? Uncool, Mr. Moore, uncool.  We, New Orleanians, do not want to be concerned with hurricanes on Christmas Eve.  So, I’m suggesting the following replacement options: ‘As dry leaves put in my daughter’s mud pie’ or maybe ‘As dry leaves cluster across my lawn (sigh).’ Ooh, and one more.  ‘As dry leaves indicate the plant’s gonna die.’ You can have any and all of them.  Consider them my gift.  Just get ‘hurricane’ out of that poem.

So up to the housetop
The coursers they flew
With a sleigh full of toys
And St. Nicholas, too

Again, with the coursers? What’s with the ten dollar word, Mr. Moore?  You do realize that ‘reindeer’ would’ve worked fine here, too, right?

And then in a twinkling
I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing
Of each little hoof


As I drew in my head
And was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas
Came with a bound

A bound??? Now, you’re not even trying.  I’m going to bed.  If you wake them up, YOU deal with it.

He was dressed all in fur
From his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished
With ashes and soot

As Mrs. Claus, I would be so pissed at having to get out ash and soot stains every year.  You know how tired that poor woman probably is by the 26th?  And how do you think the reindeer feel about Santa dressing ‘all in fur?’ That outfit is probably red from years of PETA followers throwing buckets of blood all over the old man.  Santa, ever consider an upgrade? I found this fly red track suit you might be interested in.

A bundle of toys
He had flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler
Just opening his pack

Honestly, if someone fell down my chimney in the middle of the night … his appearance (‘peddler’ or otherwise) … would send me running for the panic button on my house alarm’s keypad.

His eyes how they twinkled
His dimples how merry
His cheeks were like roses
His nose like a cherry

It sounds like you have a terrible case of eczema right now, Santa.  Very common for this time of year.  You really should see a dermatologist about it before it gets any worse.

His droll little mouth
Was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin
Was as white as the snow

Seriously, if you don’t take care of that skin problem, that beautiful beard is going to start falling out in clumps.

The stump of his pipe
He held tight in his teeth
And the smoke, it encircled his head
Like a wreath

I cannot believe you smoked in my house.  Geez, Santa.  It’s 2011. Get some help. http://www.nicodermcq.com/

He had a broad face
And a round little belly
That shook when he laughed
Like a bowl full of jelly


He was chubby and plump
A right jolly, old elf
And I laughed when I saw him
In spite of myself

I know, I know.  How many times can I apologize?  I’m sorry.  It’s just that with the bowl-full-of-jelly-thing and the red face … well, YOU try not to laugh.

A wink of his eye
And a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know
I had nothing to dread

I’m not afraid of you, jolly man! … And stop winking at me, creeper.

He spoke not a word
But went straight to his work
And filled all the stockings
Then turned with a jerk

I get this mental picture in my brain every time I hear this line.

And laying his finger
Aside of his nose
And giving a nod
Up the chimney he rose

As a child, I always heard “inside of his nose.” Kleenex, Santa?

He sprang to his sleigh
To his team gave a whistle
And away they all flew
Like the down of a thistle

Sure.  Go ahead, whistle.  My kids have been awake for hours now anyway.

Then I heard him exclaim
As he drove out of sight
Happy Christmas to all
And to all a good night

Well, at least they were awake to hear your good tidings.  But were we the last stop in our neighborhood … or was everyone else naughty?  Shouldn’t you be going to other houses tonight?  Also, are you British?  I love the expression ‘Happy Christmas’ and just wrote about it yesterday.  Did you read my ‘Throw your arms around the World’ post?  (That’s ridiculous. Like Santa has time to read ODNT these days.)


That Suburban Momma

11/21/13 … I wrote this post almost two years ago but it seems like a great fit for MamaKat’s writing prompt today: Tell us about “an old school song that makes you happy.” Easy.

I saw Rock of Ages a few weeks ago with Ashley and Vanessa, both of whom are a few years younger than me. Enough younger than me that I felt that the show offered more in the way of their coming of age music than mine. Not that the show wasn’t good. But its music all surfaced for me at the end of high school. And when I think of ‘coming of age’ … at least musically … I think of the stuff that brought me from grade school into high school. I was there on August 1, 1981 ‘wanting my MTV’ when the station was first launched with the airing of The Buggles’ Video Killed the Radio Star. Truth be told, I still have that song and even another by The Buggles on my iPod. (I’d be surprised if anyone reading could even name another song by that band.)

So, a few years later, when all of those early 80s (British) bands came together in the interest of aiding world hunger to produce a single called Do They Know it’s Christmas?, I was ALL in. I remember excitedly talking about it right after it was released with a bunch of kids in my Biology class. I bought the album that week. And thanks to the fact that it remained at my parents’ house, I still own it (as it wasn’t among the many casualties of my home lost to Katrina).

I found it the other day and snapped a few pictures.



The front cover art was interesting enough but the back cover design was what really caught my attention … because it featured a picture of all the performers who sang on the album. And there was even a crude key for determining who was who in the picture. I stared at that album so much I could have named every face on the blank outline drawing without missing even one. Yet, I probably hadn’t read a page of whatever I was supposed to be reading in my English class at the time.




Yeah, that’s right. How many of you knew that Kool & the Gang sang on the album? Don’t worry. I’d actually forgotten, too.

There were three songs on the album:

  1. The version played every holiday season
  2. Spoken holiday greetings of the performers (dripping with English accents and Irish brogues) set to the song’s drum beat. I can only assume this cut was included as filler.
  3. A combination of #1 and #2. The extended version that I played incessantly in my room. I loved listening to the foreign pronunciations and the ‘Happy Christmas’es. (I need to get my hands on one of those transfer-your-records-to-CD contraptions so I can hear it again.)

As weird as it sounds … and I know that it will … I listened to it so many times that I still have most of the spoken parts committed to memory, like David Bowie’s closing speech.

It’s Christmas 1984. And there are more starving folk on our planet than ever before. Please give a thought for them this season and do whatever you can, however small, to help them live. Have a peaceful New Year.”

Actually, Bowie went second to last among the spoken well-wishers. Bob Geldof, front man for The Boomtown Rats and more importantly the force behind the BAND-AID project, did the honors.

And, whether they like it or not, my kids know the song very well. My daughter even does the harmony. But they had not seen the video until I played it for them on YouTube this year. My son was mostly concerned about determining the genders of many of the singers. (In his defense, he was grappling with Boy George, George Michael and so many other long-haired, made-up dudes). My daughter took one look at all the ratted hair and tattered clothing and asked if the singers themselves were the ‘poor people’ for whom the song was written. And I … well, I just couldn’t get over how much Bob Geldof looked like Jerry Seinfeld.

So anyway, take a look if you’re interested. It’s been 27 years since this song was released and, for me, it will always remind me of my sometimes awkward, sometimes exciting, and always memorable early teen years and all the wild and wonderful, gender-bending music we listened to back then.

For more information about the album’s production, click here. They give all kinds of interesting details, like how Boy George had to be dragged out of bed to participate and, once there, wanted nothing more than to bitch slap George Michael. Merry Christmas, girlfriend! (That’s gold.)


I first embarked on my ODNT adventure just as summer was ending and my kids were returning to school. It seemed like the best time to take on something new, especially given the roots of this project. And, in deciding to start writing again, I also decided to start reading again. Not only have I read five lengthy books since June (yes, I know that sounds pathetic but, if you know me at all, you want to feed me a dog treat right about now), but I’m also reading a lot other blogs. All over the place. It’s always good to know what and who else is out there. And what I’ve learned is that there are a lot of hilarious, crazy, articulate and touching writers in the world. (Right when I had concluded that it was mostly full of idiots. Cynical jackass that I am.)

So, now with an enlightened mind and an open heart (sort of like the Grinch at the end of his infamous tale), I sincerely appreciate and accept the nomination given to me by one of my favorite fellow bloggers, El Guapo, for a Versatile Blogger Award.

The nomination carries with it the following guidelines:

* Nominate 15 fellow bloggers.

These people are all important to me for different reasons.
















* Inform the bloggers of their nominations.

That job will be taken care of following this post. You’re welcome to come along for the ride with me but, be forewarned, my car is a mess and we’re also taking my cat to the vet for his annual shots.

* Share 7 random things about yourself.

1. I triple pierced my ear on a ferry boat when I was 14.

2. I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 8 years old.

3. I have delivered court subpoenas for money. (Don’t judge me!)

4. I was hired as the lead singer for a band in college but quit because I didn’t want to travel with guys I didn’t know.

5. I was on the homecoming court one year in high school.

6. I was mugged at gunpoint with friends after my own Sweet Sixteen party.

7. I once attended a bachelorette party at someone’s house and wound up knowing the male stripper.

And a little something extra … or lagniappe, as we say in New Orleans …

I wrote a children’s book about my daughter of which I’m pretty proud. One day, maybe I’ll publish it.

* Thank the blogger who nominated you.

Thanks again, El Guapo. I enjoy everything you write and am still waiting on my Christmas delivery of cheese soup, as cheese in any form is never a mistake. To everyone else, if you haven’t read him yet, get on it. The dishes … and the kids … can wait. Seriously, his name references The Three Amigos. Do you need more than that for your interest to be piqued? I sure didn’t.

* Add the Versatile Blog Award logo on your blog post.


Thanks again to my pal, Guap, and all of the awesome people who check in with me from time to time. I especially like when you take the time to comment. You guys are all way funnier than me. Happy Christmas!


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et cetera

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