This Date in History - December 31

 

Last day of the year.  Let's see what December 31 has given us in history...besides a reason to get drunk.  By the way, not a good day if you were on the TV show "M*A*S*H*."

406:  VANDALS, ALANS, AND SUEBIANS CROSS THE RHINE, BEGINNING AN INVASION OF GAUL.

I thought vandals only came out on Halloween.

535:  BYZANTINE GENERAL BELISARIUS COMPLETES THE CONQUEST OF SICILY.

Not to be confused with Ronald Bellisario who used to pitch in relief for the Dodgers.

1501:  THE FIRST BATTLE OF CANNANORE COMMENCES.

Which means there's a second, right?

1600:  THE BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY IS CHARTERED.

Which means there was a British West India company, right?

1687:  THE FIRST HUGUENOTS SET SAIL FROM FRANCE TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

Which means there was a second set of Huguenots, right?   Okay, I'll stop.

1695:  A WINDOW TAX IS IMPOSED IN ENGLAND, CAUSING MANY PEOPLE TO BRICK UP THEIR WINDOWS TO AVOID THE TAX.

Sounds like something our own federal government would do now.

1759:  ARTHUR GUINNESS STARTS BREWING BEER. 

If that's not something to celebrate on New Year's Eve, I don't know what is.

1790:  EFIMERIS, THE OLDEST GREEK NEWSPAPER OF WHICH ISSUES HAVE SURVIVED TILL TODAY IS PUBLISHED FOR THE FIRST TIME.

These days, it's probably read more as Efimeris.com.

1796:  THE INCORPORATION OF BALTIMORE AS A CITY.

And later as an American League team.

1831:  GRAMERCY PARK IS DEEDED TO NEW YORK, NEW YORK.

But they don't call it Gramercy Park, Gramercy Park.

1853:  A DINNER PARTY IS HELD INSIDE A LIFE-SIZE MODEL OF AN IGUANODON IN ENGLAND.

I don't know what an iguanodon is, but hopefully there are windows in case cauliflower was served.

1862:  AMERICAN CIVIL WAR - ABRAHAM LINCOLN SIGNS AN ACT THAT ADMITS WEST VIRGINIA TO THE UNION, THUS DIVIDING VIRGINIA IN TWO.

Yes, Virginia, there is another state.

1879:  THOMAS EDISON DEMONSTRATES INCANDESCENT LIGHT TO THE PUBLIC FOR THE FIRST TIME. 

When does the Consolidated part come in?

1905:  COMPOSER JULE STYNE IS BORN.

Is that any way to spell Julie?  And Styne?

1907:  THE FIRST NEW YEAR'S EVE CELEBRATION IS HELD IN TIMES SQUARE.

Welcome 1908!

1909:  MANHATTAN BRIDGE OPENS.

EZ-Pass Lane to follow.

1923:  THE CHIMES OF BIG BEN ARE BROADCAST ON RADIO FOR THE FIRST TIME BY THE BBC.

That will wake you up from your hangover.

1937:  ACTOR ANTHONY HOPKINS IS BORN.

Have some champagne with those fava beans.

1943:   SINGER JOHN DENVER IS BORN.

Thank God he's a country boy.

1943:  ACTOR BEN KINGSLEY IS BORN.

A friend of mine used to live next door to him and apparently he has noisy sex.  A lot.

1946:  PRESIDENT HARRY TRUMAN OFFICIALLY PROCLAIMS THE END OF HOSTILITIES IN WORLD WAR II.

Just in time for the Korean conflict to start up.

1955:  GENERAL MOTORS BECOMES THE FIRST US CORPORATION TO MAKE OVER ONE BILLION DOLLARS A YEAR.

Remember this when you think about how these car companies were bailed out of bankruptcy.

1958:  ACTRESS BEBE NEUWIRTH IS BORN.

Lilith!

1967:  THE YOUTH INTERNATIONAL PARTY, OR "YIPPIES," IS FOUNDED.

Hippies, yippies, what the hell is the difference?

1971:  ACTOR PETER DUEL SHOOTS HIMSELF IN THE HEAD.

And just so you know...he's dead.

1972:  BASEBALL STAR ROBERTO CLEMENTE DIES IN A PLANE CRASH.

Sad end to a marvelous career.

1983:  THE ATT BELL SYSTEM IS BROKEN UP BY THE US GOVERNMENT.

And then all hell breaks loose. In a year or two, there are about two dozen phone companies fighting for your business.

1985:  SINGER RICKY NELSON DIES.

Another reason not to fly on New Year's Eve.

1988:  PITTSBURGH PENGUINS' MARIO LEMIEUX BECOMES THE ONLY NHL HOCKEY PAYER TO SCORE GOALS IN FIVE DIFFERENT WAYS: EVEN STRENGTH, POWER PLAY, SHORT HANDED, PENALTY SHOT, AND EMPTY NET.

This is important to about three people in this country.

1991:  ALL OFFICIAL SOVIET UNION INSTITUTIONS HAVE CEASED OPERATIONS BY THE DATE AND THE SOVIET UNION IS OFFICIALLY DISSOLVED.

Like an Alka Seltzer tablet.

1999:  FIRST PRESIDENT OF RUSSIA BORIS YELTSIN RESIGNS, LEAVING PRIME MINISTER VLADIMIR PUTIN AS THE SUCCESSOR.

Well, that was a downgrade.

2001:  ACTRESS EILEEN HECKHART DIES.

Nice and clean as far as her estate's taxes go.

2013:  RADIO HOST BOB GRANT DIES.

Click.  Dial tone.

2015:  ACTOR WAYNE ROGERS DIES.

Trapper John!

2016:  ACTOR WILLIAM CHRISTOPHER DIES.

Father Mulcahy!

2021:  ACTRESS BETTY WHITE DIES.

Just missed 100 by two weeks.

Dinner last night:  Cheese and crackers.

Even Mediocrity Can Be Interesting

 

...when it's in the hands of screenwriter/director James L. Brooks.   Even when his latest film "Ella McCay" is as disjointed as it is, you can still expect Brooks to deliver one or two compelling moments.  The sad thing is that this movie has only one or two compelling moments when it needs about a dozen more.

It's with sadness I write that Brooks' latest is not very good.  Indeed, it has way too many plot points and you just wish that he would have settled on just one or two plot lines.  This movie about a young girl thrust into a state governor role could have been interested if only we had to deal with about the girl's five or six other dysfunctional family members.  

Now I will tell you that James L. Brooks is one of my favorite writers and directors.   Starting with his days on the Mary Tyler Moore show, he's turned out TV and big screen gems.   Like "Starting Over" and "Terms of Endearment" and "Broadcast News" and "As Good as It Gets."   It's hard to believe that "Ella McCay" came from the same mind.

But I have to give Brooks a hall pass given he is still working at the age of 85.  It's unlikely that he will give us more excellence.  But I'm all for letting him try.  Because even his worst movies are better than 75% of the junk playing on your local screen.

LEN'S RATING:  Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Light dinner.  Salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - December 29, 2025

 A Christmas leftover.

Dinner last night:  Sausage chili from my freezer.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Usual End of Year Drill

 

Yeah, we've been down this path before.   The requisite end-of-year memory drain recounting...

...Past New Year's Eves.

The photo above is historic as previous blog entries will remind you. You may recall my tale of serving as the seven-year-old bartender for some family gatherings on December 31. Here I am on one of those infamous nights. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any photos of some relatives lying drunk underneath the buffet table of cold cuts and German potato salad.

It all came about because I had nothing else to do at these parties usually held at some relative's home or perhaps even our own freezing meat locker of a basement. At this age, I was in a party purgatory. I had nobody my age to play with. My older cousins were usually sequestered in some dark corner of the house with whatever girlfriend or boyfriend they were either groping or being groped by at the moment. They didn't need me hanging around with my nagging questions. 

"Why are your hands there??" 

I often heralded in the new year with the greeting, "go away, kid."

So, I wound up with the adults, listening to dirty jokes that I didn't get. I'd camp out at the liquor table. My family was so proud of the array of bottles that they would feature at these soirees that I actually have uncovered photos of nothing but booze.

To keep myself busy, I would help my father make the drinks. At first, I was relegated to the placement of ice cubes. Then, I graduated to the insertion of tonic, Tom Collins mix, or whatever soft beverage was being included. At some point, my father decided to go and have some fun on his own and I would man the cocktail dispenser all by myself. Each relative would come up and direct me how to make whatever libation they were desiring. And, pretty much, every dialogue included this exchange:

Relative: "Whoa, you put way too much booze in there."

Me: "Okay, I'll start over."

Relative: "No, no, don't throw it out. I'll drink it."

This happened every single time. It's no wonder why most of my family was tanked by 12:15AM. At this point, they didn't give a shit whether it was New Year's Eve or Arbor Day. When I canvassed my dad's slides of these parties, I could actually tell what time the photo was taken from the looks of some of those faces. In one shot, I saw some distant uncle modeling certain body parts made out of balloons. Now, regardless of your age, every family member at this party was R-rated. Except for me. Hell, even Grandma and Tante Emma would get into the act with a polka.
Back then, this photo meant nothing to me. In retrospect, it looks like a senior citizen center's production of "The Children's Hour."

And, given the stress level of my solitary confinement at these gatherings, I couldn't even calm myself by eating. Not that the food we put out was bad. But, for me, there was one bowl on the table that tainted everything else.

Herring in sour cream. The odor was nauseating. It permeated the entire buffet. The ham smelled like herring. The pickles smelled like herring. I started to smell like herring. And I have no idea who the fuck was eating this shit. I think my grandfather did. As a result, there might have been some years where I avoided him until July or August.

While these parties sometimes lasted till 2 or 3AM, I usually didn't. I'd get bored and head up to bed, carefully tiptoeing around some oversexed cousin who was crawling on top of some date on the stairs. I vowed that the next New Year's Eve would be better for me. It never was.

Oh, it would be years later that there would be some year-end celebrations that would be memorable for me. In college, we once welcomed the passage of time with a raucous hockey game in the dorm hallways, using a friend's crutches as sticks. There'd be another year where I went to a taping of the Tonight Show. As it recorded at 530PM, the audience was coached on how to sing "Auld Lang Syne" six hours early.

There was the year where my fractured shoulder was in a sling and I could barely reach for the dice playing Trivial Pursuit at a neighbor's house. There were years when I remembered what I saw my cousins doing and I put the memories to good use myself. And there was the fateful Eve where I returned from a house party to hear that my mom had just lapsed into an irreversible coma at the hospital. Suddenly, the herring smell years paled in comparison.

And then there was my favorite New Year's Eve of all time. 1984. I had wavered on definitive plans when a good friend called with a bright idea. He and his wife were going downtown to an oldies club called Shout. In the truest spirit of marketing, the place played the song several nights that night. My friends even had another girl going, so we could easily divide the drink bill equally four ways.

To be honest, I don't remember who they brought along, because I danced with so many people that night. The evening was electric. One big hit from the 50s and 60s after another. At several points out on the dance floor, we toasted catcher Gary Carter, who the Mets had just obtained in a trade. At midnight, they dragged out "Shout" one more time. And we did. I kissed a few of the patrons around me. I had no clue who they were. I didn't give a shit. It was that free. And easy. And spontaneous.

We had so much fun that, by January 2, I was already making plans to duplicate it the following year. And we kept spreading the word around other friends as if we were sharing a secret handshake. By the time December, 1985 had rolled around, most of the names in my Filofax had been invited. And I had a girlfriend, to boot. A non-stranger to kiss at the stroke of 12. This was going to be super-electric.

It was horrible.

What had been spontaneous the year before was now over-planned to the hilt. 

And the cast of thousands of my friends didn't exactly mesh. It was the Hindenburg of celebrations. To make the gloom even more pronounced, we got word in the middle of the evening that Ricky Nelson had been killed in a plane crash.

To this day, I still don't know what happened from one year to another. I'm not even sure the club stayed open much longer. New Year's Eve eventually returned to "crapshoot" status as far as I was concerned.

These days, I keep it quiet. A nice dinner out with some West Coast friends. I try to call my East Coast pals at 9PM so we can still celebrate New York New Year's Eve at the same time. But, the one constant throughout all the years? I've always been sober.

That's because I always make sure never to get a drink from a seven-year-old bartender.

Dinner last night:   Korean fried chicken from the truck. 

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - December 2025

Remembering Diane Keaton this holiday season with one of her more unappreciated performances.

Dinner last night:  Cheese and crackers.

Grandma's Favorite

 My grandmother really adored Pearl Bailey.   For reasons and clips like this:

Dinner last night:   Beef Burgundy Christmas dinner.

Merry Blog-mas

Remember the true meaning of this day.   May it be merry and peaceful all at the same time.

Dinner last night:  Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.

This Date in History - December 24

 

It's a-happening tonight, gang.   Merry Christmas Eve!   Let's see what the history books say about December 24.

640:  POPE JOHN IV IS ELECTED. 

Leave it to a Pope to try and upstage Baby Jesus.

759:  TANG DYNASTY POET DU FU DEPARTS FOR CHENGDU, WHERE HE IS HOSTED BY FELLOW POET PEI DI.

Wa Da Fu.

1294:  POPE BONIFACE VIII IS ELECTED POPE, REPLACING ST. CELESTINE V, WHO HAD RESIGNED.

Probably caught the guy stealing from the Vatican Christmas Club at the bank.

1777:  KIRITIMATI, ALSO CALLED CHRISTMAS ISLAND, IS DISCOVERED BY JAMES COOK.

Technically, shouldn't it be called Christmas Eve Island?

1818: THE FIRST PERFORMANCE OF "SILENT NIGHT" TAKES PLACE IN A CHURCH IN AUSTRIA.

We'd hear it again. 

1826:  THE EGGNOG RIOT AT THE US MILITARY ACADEMY BEGINS THAT NIGHT.

It's all fun and games until somebody throws around some eggnog.

1851:  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS BURNS.

All late fines are cancelled.

1865: THE KLU KLUX KLAN IS FORMED.

Just in time for the holidays.

1871:  AIDA OPENS IN CAIRO, EGYPT.

I wish her last name was Lot.

1886:  DIRECTOR MICHAEL CURTIZ IS BORN.

"Miss Veda makes me wear this when I answer the door."

1906:  REGINALD FESSENDEN TRANSMITS THE FIRST RADIO BROADCAST, CONSISTING OF A POETRY READING, A VIOLIN SOLO, AND A SPEECH.

No commercials yet?

1911:  THE LACKAWANNA CUT-OFF RAILWAY OPENS IN NEW JERSEY AND PENNSYLVANIA.

And immediately adopts a holiday schedule.

1914:  DURING WORLD WAR I, THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE BEGINS.

Yeah, that lasted.

1922:  ACTRESS AVA GARDNER IS BORN.

Now that's a Christmas present.

1929:  ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON ARGENTINE PRESIDENT HIPOLITO YRIGOYEN.

Now there's a name you can try and pronounce around the Christmas Eve yule log.

1939:  POPE PIUS XII MAKES A CHRISTMAS EVE APPEAL FOR PEACE.

As well as some offerings in the plate.

1943:  DURING WORLD WAR II, GENERAL DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER IS NAMED SUPREME ALLIED COMMANDER FOR THE NORMANDY INVASION.

Don't make any vacation plans for June next year.

1955:  NORAD TRACKS SANTA FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WHAT WILL BECOME AN ANNUAL CHRISTMAS EVE TRADITION.

Let's think about the impossible logistics of Santa delivering toys like this.  Seriously.

1968:  THE CREW OF APOLLO 8 ENTERS INTO ORBIT AROUND THE MOON, BECOMING THE FIRST HUMANS TO DO SO.  THEY TRANSMIT PHOTOS OF EARTH ON THIS NIGHT TO A TV AUDIENCE.

Probably impossible to put up a Christmas tree in that capsule.

1969:  CHARLES MANSON IS ALLOWED TO DEFEND HIMSELF AT THE TATE-LABIANCA MURDER TRIAL.

Yeah, how did that work out for you, creep?

1973:  THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA HOME RULE ACT IS PASSED, ALLOWING RESIDENTS OF WASHINGTON DC TO ELECT THEIR OWN LOCAL GOVERNMENT.

As if this is a good thing.

1974:  TV HOST RYAN SEACREST IS BORN.

On this holiday, an elf is born.

1975:  COMPOSER BERNARD HERRMANN DIES.

The true star of many Hitchcock movies.

1984:  ACTOR PETER LAWFORD DIES.

Hiccup.

1993:  MINISTER NORMAN VINCENT PEALE DIES.

No sermon at midnight.

1994:  AIR FRANCE FLIGHT 8969 IS HIJACKED IN ALGERIA.

One more holiday travel delay.

1997:  ACTOR TOSHIRO MIFUNE DIES.

Sayonara.

1999:  INDIAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 814 IS HIJACKED.

Apparently this is now a holiday tradition.

2012:  ACTOR CHARLES DURNING DIES.

I once flew back to LA with him.  He was in First Class.  I wasn't.  He's dead now.   I'm not.

2012:  ACTOR JACK KLUGMAN DIES.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar.

Dinner last night:  Leftover orange chicken.

T'was The Night Before...Again

 

Back by popular demand.   Just like Linus and Frosty the Snowman, the holidays would not be the same without this tradition.

And what better thing to do on Christmas Eve Eve than to bring back this warm chestnut from blog days past.  It worked before.   It will work again.

Just imagine us in front of a warm Christmas Eve fireplace. Snug as bugs in rugs. And I open this book to read it aloud to all assembled. 

How utterly delightful! 

How comforting! 

How could I possibly get through the whole thing without making a bunch of snarky comments?  The green print is the poem.   The blue print is yours truly.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

Okay, it's me now. An ignoble start to this Christmas chestnut, because right from the get-go, you find out they've got rodents in this place. 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. 

Giving rise to another horrible childhood nightmare when Monte, my "alleged  friend" up the block who liked to spew a lot of Catholic hate my way, told me that St. Nicholas was obviously Catholic and didn't visit Protestant homes. 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; 

I have never dreamed of fruit. Even once. 

And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, 

Bedtime headwear? The only person I ever saw in a nightcap was Fred Mertz. And what's with the nonsense about a nap? When you go to bed at nighttime, it's not a nap. It's called "going to sleep!" 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 

If there ever was commotion in our neighborhood, we didn't immediately think it was Santa Claus. It was probably the woman next door coming home drunk from the local gin mill. Once, she fell right through my grandmother's lilac bush. 

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter and threw up the sash. 

"Threw up the sash?" You never should have tried to eat it in the first place. 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the luster of mid-day to objects below, 

If I was reading this as a kid, I would have started to giggle at the mention of "breast" and probably not get through the rest of the poem. I'm just saying... 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, 

This is one of the only Christmas passages that gave you any perspective on the size of the reindeer. Were they babies? And, if so, is this not animal cruelty? Making these things run all over the world in one night?? 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

Had we no prior experience with Christmas, would we immediately know it was St. Nick? On any street corner in December, there are tons of imposters. There are myriad ways that a scam artist could bilk thousands of unsuspecting children on Christmas Eve. After all, nobody is awake to demand proper identification. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!" 

Okay, no mention of Rudolph. When does he get invented? And perhaps he was nothing more than a urban legend designed to get Gene Autry a couple of Gold albums. And don't you wonder just a little about Vixen? With a name like that, I wonder which of the other reindeer she was doing. The smart money is on Dasher. 

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all! 

I typed that just as Clement Moore wrote it originally. What's with the inability to capitalize properly? 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; 

Dry leaves? How do these turn up in a winter poem? My guess is that Moore started writing this in September or October and simply got sidetracked during the process. I know just how deadly writer's block can be. Who knows? Maybe this was supposed to be "Twas The Night Before Halloween." 

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too. 

So is this proof that Santa only brought toys? That runs contrary to some other images we have. Of Mr. Claus riding a Norelco razor up and down some snowdrifts. And Santa was prominently displayed on that carton of Kent cigarettes my mother always got as well as the box of Canadian Club my dad got from his friends around the corner. 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 

The way our roof was arched, there was absolutely no way that the sleigh and reindeer could have kept their balance. At least, three of those suckers would have tumbled off. Right into Grandma's lilac bush, lying next to the drunken neighbor. 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

You see, this always presented a major problem in our house. There was one chimney fireplace. In Grandma's dining room. And it was sealed with cement. I once asked her how Santa Claus could get in. She told me not to ask a lot of stupid question. 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; 

Dressed in fur? Are we absolutely 100% sure that there was a Mrs. Claus? Because the image I'm getting is Liberace. Except no gay guy allows himself to get this dirty ever. 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. 

You see a sprightly old gentleman? I'm seeing a homeless bum down in Santa Monica. 

His eyes---how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! 

Possibly warning signs of melanoma or even high blood pressure. 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; 

One verse later, we have our medical diagnosis. "Mouth drawn up like a bow." He's had a mild stroke. 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; 

A stroke brought on by heavy smoking. 

He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. 

I never understood this image. Do me a favor. Take a jar of jelly and empty it into a bowl. It doesn't shake. It just lies there. Inert. Now, if Moore had known about Jell-O at the time, this reference would have worked. But, then, you have the rhyme problem. Jell-O, bellow, hello, mellow. The whole poem falls off the proverbial map. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; 

Another misnomer. Fat people are not always happy. Most are depressed, having eaten themselves into a coma for deep seeded psychological reasons. 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; 

Or maybe I did. An old guy winking and making overt gestures. Hello, Pedophile. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, 

Head twisting. Body jerking. I'm thinking Parkinson's. What about you?

And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; 

Once again, I'd ask my grandmother how Santa could get out with a sealed up  chimney in our house. Once again, I'd hear, "You ask too many stupid questions." 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle, 

I never knew what a thistle was, let alone how much down you got from one. And, how about the noise this bunch generates as they leave? For what purpose? Aren't they simply going to fly over to the house next door? 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night." 

Yeah! Me, too! 

Dinner last night:  BBQ Pork and vegetables.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - December 22, 2025

 An annual tradition around this blog.

Dinner last night:  Orange chicken.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Noel My Aunt Fanny

 

Okay, folks.  This is one of those Christmas pieces that you have seen before.   But you've also seen "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "It's A Wonderful Life" dozens of times.  If you can do that, you certainly can read some comedy blog entries more than once.   And this is now a holiday tradition for me on this blog, so I have compiled several years worth of these snarky comments.  You should read through it, because there is some new stuff peppered in.
  

I'm talking about those wonderfully bad Christmas songs you can't avoid at this time of year, or really after Labor Day for that matter. 

There's always some radio station playing nothing but one Christmas song after another. Some are terrific and I could listen to them over and over. And, yet, there are others that should come around just once a year and that's it. And, when you listen to some of the asinine lyrics (and subtext), your mind wanders...

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer: So, you know that, on the first unfoggy Christmas Eve, Rudolph was downsized right out on his sorry ass.  Technically, with the power he wields, Santa Claus is clearly part of the evil 1%.  Or maybe he brings in newer and younger reindeer.  From Mumbai.   I recently heard a version of this done by Dean Martin. In German. I'm wondering what bottles were finished off in the recording studio that night. Meanwhile, remember that stupid little Rudolph didn't even exist until the Montgomery Ward store invented him in 1939!

Santa Baby: Every female singer in the world has attempted this ditty. But, only the ultra slutty Eartha Kitt does it justice. Meanwhile, is that one golddigging whore or what? Honey, I'd get you some nice Christmas earrings but your ankles would probably knock them off.  Let's all be thankful that some Real Housewife hasn't tackled this mess...yet.  Meanwhile, poor Eartha Kitt actually died on Christmas Day several years.   This should prompted some updated lyrics.

"Santa baby, there's a question.  I have to ask it.

I think next year, I'm gonna need a casket." 

Frosty the Snowman: A wonderful Christmas memory for children. A friend whose shelf life is maybe three weeks tops.

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town: This song suggests the onset of more psychological problems. "You better watch out. You better not cry. Better not pout. I'm telling you why." So, some poor kid grows up afraid to show one single emotion. No wonder we wind up with Columbine. Can you imagine some innocent 8 year-old boy? "My grandpa died last night, but I can't cry about it because then Santa Claus won't come." I do, however, have a fantasy rendition of this. I would have loved to hear it sung by Joan Crawford.

Same song as above sung by Bruce Springsteen:  Okay, I have an announcement.  I have never been a big fan of the Boss.  Totally overrated and a virtual fraud as a human being.  He's a tax cheat and doesn't back up his political viewpoints with his own actions.  That aside, this record sounds like it was recorded in Bruce's basement and I can't stand the laughing and mugging done by him and that dead fat bastard Clarence Clemons.  Oh, how did you handle your five wives at Christmas time, Clarence?

The Little Drummer Boy:  "The ox and lamb kept time.  Pa rum pum pum pum."  Wow, that's impressive.  Sign them up for Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks.  I hate this song, but my mother bought the 45 rpm record when it first came out.  She played it over and over and over and over.  Pa rum pum pum pum pa rum pum pum pum pa rum pum pum pum pa rum pum pum.

Deck the Halls:  "Don we now our gay apparel."  Only valid for singing in certain states.

The First Noel:  Noel?  Either a Christmas carol or a Chicago lamentation about a transit strike.

Baby, It's Cold Outside:  Every screwball pairing has attempted a version of this song, which was originally in the movie "Neptune's Daughter" as sung by Red Skelton and Betty Garrett.  When are Barack and Michelle going to put out their version?  They have only two years left.  Meanwhile, the best rendition I've ever heard was done by Pearl Bailey and somebody named Hot Lips Pages.  They ad lib dialogue throughout it and the record is hilarious.

Winter Wonderland: The lyrics from the fifth grade always stick in my head. "Walking around in women's underwear."  Except I am now aware that somebody actually put lyrics to the whole song. 

Lacey things, the wife is missing. Didn't ask for her permission.

I'm wearing her clothes, her silk panty hose.
Walking around in women's underwear.

In the store, there's a teddy.  With little straps, like spaghetti.
It holds me so tight, like handcuffs at night.
Walking around in womens underwear.

In the office there's a guy named Melvin.
He pretends that I am Murphy Brown.
He'll say "Are you ready?"
I'll say, "Woah man! Let's wait untill the wife is out of town."

Later on, if you wanna, we can dress like Madonna.
Put on some eye shade, and join the parade.
Walking around in women's underwear.

The Christmas Song: Same thing. The fifth grade version. "Chet's nuts roasting on an open fire."  Mel Torme had a big hit with this.  He was a known dirtbag in Hollywood.  I hate him.  I hate the song.

Last Christmas: First done by George Michael and Wham in 1984. Think about the song's refrain. "Last Christmas. I gave you my heart. But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears. I'll give it to someone special." How warm and special does that make you feel? This is the first ever Christmas FU song.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus: Underneath the Christmas tree last night. Does Little Sally question this behavior? Probably not, because she's already seen Mommy kissing the cable guy, the mailman, "Uncle" Phil, and her "best friend" Muriel.  Wait till little Rufus does a DNA test on himself and discovers that Santa is his baby daddy.

We Three Kings of Orient are:  Since not everybody digs myrrh, I hope they bring gift receipts.

Do You Hear What I Hear by Whitney Houston:  Oh, boy, Whitney, I hope not.

Sleigh Ride by Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme:  Now that says Christmas to me.  Holiday tunes sung by two Sephardic Jews.   Eydie left us last year and I am still inexplicably wistful when I heard this tune.  Blame it on the Bossa Nova.

Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful: Now, why the call for the faithful, joyous, and triumphant to come forward? These folks have already bought in. It should be "Oh, Come, All Ye Despondent, Broken, and Agnostic." No wonder less people are going to worship these days. They're been literally preaching to the choir.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas: This is indeed my favorite "modern" Christmas song. I love Judy Garland's version first introduced in "Meet Me in St. Louis." And, Michele Lee did a tremendous job with the song in a 1990 episode of "Knots Landing." But, the rendition that always makes me sad is Karen Carpenter's. A voice lost too, too soon. And hearing her always makes me want to reach for a snack.

Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer: Another absolute knee slapper from the morons who live in red-colored states. Guffaw, guffaw. If I laugh anymore, my wooden teeth will fall out. Only some jerk in Arkansas would enjoy this despicable mess. Meanwhile, Grandma has no idea how lucky she has it. Ending a life of Midwestern misery after being a head model for one of Blitzen's hoof prints.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow:  A big hit with NYC Department of Sanitation who's always looking for overtime.

Silver Bells:  We did a version of this when I was a kid.  "Silver bells, Santa smells, and Easter's on its way."

Here Comes Santa Claus Right Down Santa Claus Lane:  Because the song doesn't really work if Santa's coming down the Belt Parkway.

Holly Jolly Christmas:  Rhetorical question---is holly a noun or an adjective?  From this song, I can't really tell.  Another annoying ditty by Burl Ives, who worked just one month a year.  Yes, I know he was a respected actor and Oscar winner, but nobody really paid attention except for when he showed up with these annoying Christmas records.

Feliz Navidad: The annual reminder that Jose Feliciano once had a career. Gee, Jose, don't the lights on the tree look wonderful? Oh, never mind.

The Chipmunk Song: I can hear this once a year and no more. I remember this being played constantly when I was a kid. Not only did it sell tons of records, but it also probably drove up the sales of helium tanks.

Happy Christmas by John Lennon and Yoko Oh No:  A new candidate for most annoying and overplayed song.  That whispering to the kids at the beginning literally creates cavities in my teeth.  My finger can't get to the pre-set dial fast enough.  If John Lennon had not been shot in December and so close to the holidays, this record would have been in a dumpster behind the Dakota years ago.  I wish we could redo it a bit so one of the whispers you hear at the end is "can I have your autograph?"

Mamacita, Donde Esta Santa Claus:  This apparently was a big hit in 1958, but I never heard the song until I moved to California.  And with good reason, because it's straight from below the border.  Mamacita, there's a border??  What the hell-o is that-o?  Check out the lyrics that essentially turn Christmas into Cinco de Mayo.

Mamacita, donde esta Santa Claus?  Donde esta Santa Claus?
And the toys that he will leave.
Mamacita, oh, where is Santa Claus?
I look for him because it's Christmas Eve.

I know that I should be sleeping,
But maybe he's not far away,
Out of the window I'm peeping,
Hoping to see him in his sleigh.

I hope he won't forget to clack his castinet,
And to his reindeer, say,
"Oh Pancho, Oh! Vixen, Oh! Pedro, Oh! Blitzen,"
Ole! Ole! Ole! cha cha cha.

Mamacita, donde esta Santa Claus?
Oh! Where is Santa Claus?

Okay, where the heck do I start?  Santa clicking a castanet?  Changing the names of the reindeer?  Meanwhile, Santa Claus better be one smart cookie to know that the Perez household needs more presents than might have been reported in that letter to the North Pole.  You see, there's a whole family of cousins, aunts, and uncles living in the basement that nobody knows about.  And, if you're really looking for Santa Claus, little Mexican kid, you might want to look in the car trunk.  No, wait, the President just said it's okay for you to come out of hiding.  Ole!

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year by Andy Williams:  Yeah, this fun song is a hard listen now that Andy's gone.  I have a friend out in LA who once went out caroling with him.  How freakin' cool is that?

I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas:  A huge hit in 1953 and, given it was the Eisenhower administration, I will just assume most people were asleep at the time.  Some annoying ten-year-old urchin named Gayla Peevey sings it and she wants a big, smelly animal under her tree Christmas morning.  I guess her drunken uncle isn't the answer.  Authorities always tell us to avoid giving puppies as Christmas presents since people don't realize that the dog is probably shitting all over the house on December 26.  I guess the same goes for bigger animals.  Are there a lot of returns to a hippopotamus pound?

The Christmas Shoes:  Hands down, the worst Christmas song ever! As somebody who has actually spent two different Christmases watching my parents' ultimately fatal illnesses play out against a backdrop of merriment, why would you want to infuse a joyful holiday with such incredible sadness? But, that's just what the song "The Christmas Shoes" does.

This piece of dreck has been around for about 10 years, and allegedly was a big hit on the country charts when it first came out. It's all about some poor little boy who wants to buy some new shoes on Christmas Eve because his mom is on her deathbed. There's no Christmas miracle at the end of the song. I'm guessing Mommy checks out as predicted. Off to meet Jesus wearing some Payless specials. And this little boy's left alone. Merry F-ing Christmas!

I am sure many, many people are forced to endure such sorrow every year around this time. I certainly had my share. I once spent a Christmas Day shuttling between two different hospitals visiting my father and my mother. But, like we all must do, I tried to move forward. Yet, every damn Christmas, this song gets played as a constant reminder. Can we at least appreciate joy for one single moment without thinking about dire consequences? The writers of this disaster should go off to meet Jesus themselves. Real soon.

Do They Know It's Christmas:  That horrible Band-Aid song from 1984 which supposedly donated all profits to curbing famine in Ethiopia.  The tune has the reverse effect on me whenever it comes on the radio.  I stick my fingers down my throat and puke up everything I ate for dinner last night.  A group of new British rock singers just did a new version of the song with lyrics tied to fighting the Ebola virus.  Meanwhile, more people will likely die from the flu this winter.

Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses:  Folks, for me, the most infectious Christmas song is this one.  It just makes me bounce up and down.  It's actually ideal as background for cutting off a driver in a mall parking lot as you fight for that last space.   Or when you still have one present to wrap and you just hit the end of Scotch Tape roll.  Whatever the case, listen in and enjoy.



Dinner last night:  Japanese BBQ at Gyu Kaku.

Classic TV Theme Song of the Month - December 2025

 So Ricky's not a kid anymore.

Dinner last night:  Leftover chicken.

More on the Christmas Turntable

 

Too cheap to hire three chipmunks, this record producer is trying to get by with just one rodent.

Remember this idiot from American Idol?   I wish we didn't.

He should have included a version of "Baby, It's Cold Outside."  Sung with Rock Hudson.

For the "hard to buy for."

Ho, ho, ho, ho, and ho.

"Oh, Come, All Ye Yiddish."

I guess he couldn't find a boys choir to sing back-up.

Not that Bing.  The other one.

Featuring "I Saw Jermaine Touching Santa Claus."

When just plain egg nog won't do.

Dinner last night:  Chili from my freezer.

A Christmas Party Revisited

 

I ran this post a long time ago and it still gives me a chuckle.

Office holiday parties have become the event from Hell. But, these days, the hard part might be getting to agree on what the party is. The following gag has made the internet rounds lately. It's designed for laughs. But, most of it might be sadly true.

From: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

Date: October 1, 2009

Re: Gala Christmas Party

I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23rd, starting at noon in the private function room at the Grill House. There will be a cash bar and plenty of drinks! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols, so feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa. A Christmas tree will be lit at 1PM. Exchanges of gifts among employees can be done at that time; however, no gift should be over $10 to make the giving of gifts easy for everyone's pockets. This gathering is only for employees! Our CEO will make a special announcement at that time!

Merry Christmas to you and your family

Patty

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From: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

Date: October 2, 2009

Re: Gala Holiday Party

In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Hanukkah is an important holiday, which often coincides with Christmas, although, unfortunately, not this year. However, from now on, we're calling it our "Holiday Party." The same policy applies to any other employees who are not Christians and to those still celebrating Reconciliation Day. There will be no Christmas tree and no Christmas carols will be sung. We will have other types of music for your enjoyment.

Happy now? Happy Holidays to you and your family.

Patty

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From: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

Date: October 3, 2009

Re: Holiday Party

Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table, you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but, if I put a sign on a table that reads "AA Only," you would no longer be anonymous. How am I supposed to handle this?

Somebody?

And, sorry, but please forget about the gift exchange. No gifts are allowed, since union members feel that $10 is too much money and the executives believe $10 is a little chintzy.

REMEMBER: NO EXCHANGE OF GIFTS WILL BE ALLOWED.

Patty Lewis

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From: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

Date: October 4, 2009

Re: Generic Holiday Party

What a diverse group we are! I had no idea that December 20th begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating and drinking during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon at this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps the Grill House can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party or maybe package everything for you to take home in a little foil doggy bag. Will that work?

Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Weight Watchers to sit farthest from the dessert buffet. Pregnant women will get the table closest to the bathroom.

Gays are allowed to sit with each other. Lesbians do not have to sit with Gay men. Each group will have its own table. And, yes, there will be a flower arrangement for the Gay men's table.

To the person who inquired about crossdressing, the Grill House asks that this not be allowed, because of potential restroom confusion. Sorry.

Booster seats will be provided for short people. Low-fat food will be available for those on a diet. I am sorry to report that we cannot control the amount of salt used in the food. The Grill House suggests that people with high blood pressure taste a bite first. There will be fresh "low sugar" fruits as dessert for diabetics, but the restaurant cannot supply "no sugar" desserts. Sorry!

Did I miss anything?

PL

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From: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All F#%^ing Employees

Date: October 5, 2009

Re: Friggin' Holiday Party

Okay, I've had it with all you vegetarian rat bastards! We're going to keep this party at the Grill House whether you like it or not. You all can sit your asses down at the table furthest from the "grill of death," as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your goddamn salad bar, including organic tomatoes. But, you know, tomatoes have feelings, too. They scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them scream right NOW!

The rest of you shitheads can kiss my ass in Macy's window. I hope your holidays suck a big one.

Drive drunk and die!

The Bitch from Hell

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From: Joan Bishop, Acting Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

Date: October 6, 2009

Re: Patty Lewis and Holiday Party

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty Lewis a speedy recovery. I'll continue to forward your cards to her.

In the meantime, management has decided to cancel our Holiday Party. Everyone can take the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay.

Happy Holidays!

Joan

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Dinner last night:   Leftover SPO.