Happy Disappointments!

Have you heard the Feebs' new Christmas song? Huh, have ya? It's called "My Xmas Disappointments" and it can be found right here!

Go! Go now!

Hammered for the Holidays

Twain
Joyce
Burroughs
O'Shaughnessy

The following article was banned from at the 11th hour from the Holiday Pull-out Guide scheduled for insert in this Thursday's local papers. Last Friday morning, press day, the editor emailed me with praise for the article; being a very talented writer himself, I was indeed honored. By the end of the day, he wrote to alert me the article had been pulled by the publisher. Supposedly our papers are "family newspapers", one of the more asinine phrases in the american lexicon. What they really mean is "children's" newspaper, because he found the content inappropriate for children, I suppose. And you know how much kids love to read the local paper, what with all the discussion about city councils and annexing, etc! But families do tend to include adults, and certainly the article couldn't be offensive to an adult reader, could it? There mayhaps be a "christian" angle here as well, seeing as how the owner of this newspaper conglomerate is a doctor of divinity or something. And someone decided some time ago that those of a christian bent must be protected at all times from material that might test one's moral fiber or shake one's faith (being of such tender moral fiber and fragile faith, arguably).

Anyway, it's just an article about getting loaded at Christmas.

Hammered for the Holidays

I am, by all accounts, a very smart man. My forte is trivia. If there exists information that is of no use to anyone, I most likely hold its components on the tip of my tongue, sealed behind my lips, ready to spring into the ears of a most uninterested crowd. However, a man can only catalog so much nonsense before he starts misfiling. Case in point: I always confuse the 12 Days of Christmas with the 7 Deadly Sins. As such, rather than avoiding Gluttony, I meld it with the 5 Golden Rings, resulting in what my local Fire Department has dubbed “O’Shaughnessy’s Fifth Day of Bourbon.” They’re always very nice about getting me out of the tree, but despite our long history, I wouldn’t say we’re “close.”

Somehow “Cheer” and “Booze” became interchangeable terms during the holidays. Maybe because it sounds a lot like “Choose” and “Beer.” For whatever reason, a couple of extra drinks during this time of year is less frowned upon than, say, on Good Friday.

Lots of folks have a favorite holiday drink. Eggnog comes to mind. I’m not a fan. Actually, I don’t mind plain eggnog, nor do I sneer at rum. But together? Not so much.

I’m always a bit put off by mulled wine. More the name, than the taste. “Mulled” is too close to “mold”. And “mule.” Mules give off an awful stink. Especially after they’ve been drinking wine.

Bailey’s, while certainly an all-year-long treat, shines during the winter holidays. It’s very popular as served in small chocolate liqueur cups. Available for purchase from your finer chocolatiers or liquor store merchant, these velvety-smooth vessels can also be made at home. That’s what I do. I melt a combination of dark and milk chocolates into a double-boiler. The recipe I use yields 24 chocolate cups. But I stray. I make one cup. It’s the size of a flower pot. And takes three days to chill. And four bottles of Bailey’s to fill. I usually make two. I’ll drink the first one on my own. Then a few hours later, I’ll split the other one with my downstairs neighbor at lunch. As a bribe, so he won’t call the police. (I didn’t really mean those things I said to his grandmother. It’s just I was watching “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” the night before and recalled how she bore a striking resemblance to Burl Ives. What’s the big deal really? He was a lovely man with delicate hands.)

Actually, I’m a relatively weak soldier in the hooch army. My tolerance is only slightly higher than a two-year old’s. Most babies I’ve met can’t hold their liquor. Except the ones I bump into at bars. Real sloppy drunks, they are! Throwing up on themselves. Wetting their pants. Oh wait a minute, those weren’t babies – those were pathetic middle-aged businessmen trying to recapture the old glory by sucking back shots of peppermint schnapps!

Ah, peppermint schnapps! Like drinking a candy cane. (Though I don’t ever recall taking my pants off at a karaoke bar and massacring “Santa Baby” after eating a candy cane.) Peppermint schnapps is a liqueur only to be utilized when no other forms of alcohol are available. When the robotussin and vanilla extract are gone, then and only then is schnapps suggested (though never recommended). One should, in such situations, remain sober and instead empty a tin full of butter cookies while watching a poorly-recorded copy of “Amy Grant’s Christmas Special.” Ed Begley, Jr.’s performance is so bizarre you’ll feel tipsy!

My old friend Harry Carbohydrate’s wife, Mama Pajama, offers up a delightful family recipe at their annual Christmas party (although I think she whipped up a batch in July as well). Whiskey Slushies. Mmmm…let me write that again: Whisky Slushies. That’s good billy. I’m not certain of all the ingredients, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them is a pint of Otis the Drunk’s plasma. There’s tea, a brand of lemon-lime soda, whiskey, ice, whiskey, and some whiskey. She makes it in a big pickle bucket (which is what you’ll be in if you drink too many). It’s cold and smooth. You wouldn’t even know there was booze in it until you began telling the other guests what you really thought of them.

Now, I’m not going to ask you to drink responsibly. Drinking alcohol is irresponsible (if you’re doing it right). But stay out of your car. And anyone else’s car. I would also avoid bicycles, horses, caribou and any other form of conveyance that ostensibly puts you in control. As the old joke goes, “You might spill your drink.”

Jack Kerouac said, “Try never get drunk outside yr own house.” I think that’s a wonderful message for the holidays. I think you shouldn’t even get drunk outside your bedroom. That’s why I’ll be curled up in bed on Christmas Eve, stocking at my feet; the sounds of Christmas Mass at the Vatican murmuring from the TV, as its warm blue glow blankets my bourbon-soaked flannels; the window frost diffusing the cuticle moon’s light.

Are those sleighbells I hear? No, just the wreath I knocked off the bathroom door in my dizzy rush to deck the walls with figgy pudding!

Merry Christmas to all! And like a stocking by the chimney, may you be hungover with care!

Merry Christmas, You Idiot

In my capacity as whatever it is I do at the newspaper (where I am highly regarded, and slavishly compensated), I am the recipient, then distributor, of a lot of press releases from all over the country (fervent op ed writers don't give a rat's ass where they're published). So I got one today from some "institution" or something concerning the "war on Christmas." The article was so poorly executed, I felt the need to comment.

What kind of asshole pseudo-intellectual "christian" babbles on and on about a "War on Christmas?" It's not a war. Iraq is a war. Bosnia was a war. Vietnam was a war. A city council calling a Christmas Tree a "holiday tree" isn't a war. If you want to call the tree a Christmas tree, call it a fucking Christmas tree! So if I call you a can opener, do you go around all day crying that you're a can opener now?

Jesus would certainly love your belittling of this continuing human tragedy by your extending its blanket to cover fretting over caroling and decorations.

The only time "war" should ever be mentioned in the same breath as "Christmas" is in the "Pipes of Peace" video. And the Plastic Ono Band song. And some other stuff, too, probably. But it should be an actual war, one of those things waged over gods, monies and territories.

And how that spark of humanity and love for the brotherhood of humanity can be fanned during this time of year.

"War on Christmas." You're such an asshole.

Happy holidays!

We Need a Little Ziggy

My latest Holiday article was published today (in the local paper's Gift Guide). This one's about "Ziggy's Gift" and, of course, my usual ramblings. Like Gambling.

“Give, Love, Rent”

Excluding Saturday mornings in the late 70s to early 80s, my favorite moments in front of the TV are those spent watching Christmas specials. Animation preferred, but not exclusive. I exude nostalgia like a musk during this season. Peppermint musk, if you were curious.

I taped (meaning videotaped) many of these specials around 1985, I guess. Network stuff. It’s probably all available on DVD now. Maybe I’ll bother to check and reveal their availability at the end of this article. It all depends on whether I even finish this article. I might get wrapped up in reminiscing and reviewing these shows and never get around to writing about them. I do that. I load up on pinwheel cookies and cold milk. Or one of those egg nog lattes. Then I nod off. Or nog off, depending on how much rum’s in the mug. (This mug doesn’t need much rum.) And the next thing I know, the a-wassailing’s all done, the garland’s packed away, and I’m nursing a mouse-like hangover at SoTac on St. Stephen’s Day. I swear it’s almost like these shows WANT to dwell in obscurity! Stupid Ziggy!

Aw, Ziggy. Sorry, Ziggy. You know – Ziggy! Hapless, hairless, humble Ziggy. I was never sure – was he some sort of savant or something? Anyway, he had a Christmas special on ABC back in 1982. “Ziggy’s Gift,” with a theme song by Harry Nilsson! ”Give, Love, Joy” wafts through my memory every Advent. Are the kids into Nilsson still? Were they ever? What year is it?

This half-hour animated special follows Ziggy on Christmas Eve or something as he gets a job as a department store Santa. Then he kinda gets hassled a bit by the world. You know, the way Ziggy does. It’s rough in the cold dark city. (Zig’s got an apartment there with a small menagerie of pets.) Yet he perseveres without complaining and in the end he is rewarded for his quiet strength and kindness. This follows a troubling incident involving terrified turkeys.

Hey, I was at the Salvation Army the other day. You know, ‘tis the season (actually I needed a book of Rod McKuen poems…). So I’m sifting through the rubble and you know what I find? (Is it a point, you ask?). I find a Ziggy Christmas ornament from 1979. There he is, dressed in a Santa suit, with his dog (what’s that dog’s name? Marmaduke or Dondi or something?) So I buy it, solitarily smug at my perception of the synchronicity of it and all. You see, cuz he wears that same Santa suit in the TV special. It’s the craziest thing. AND I think there’s a Salvation Army Santa in the cartoon as well! Another Christmas miracle. Go know, right?

Tinsel Trivia: Know who provided Ziggy’s voice? Nobody. He didn’t talk! That’s nice. I wish there were more Ziggys in the world.

It occurs to me that “Ziggy’s Gift” may have been the last great holiday special of my time. I’d ask my friend, nostalgia victim Harry Carbohydrate, what his opinion is if I could ever get him to stop watching “The Star Wars Holiday Special.” (As all Star Warriors know, said holiday special, from which Lucas has distanced himself 30 parsecs, premiered November 17, 1978 on CBS. I’ll spare you the synopsis, but suffice to say Bruce Vilanch, who, two years earlier, penned “The Paul Lynde Halloween Special” lent his rapier wit to the proceedings.) Seated a zeptometer from his TV, Harry’s been studying his poorly re-dubbed videotape with a tenacity typically observed in rebuffed UFOlogists. Sure it’s compelling – Bea Arthur serenading a giant rat – but so’s digging up a cesspool…for a little while. Two hours, this thing is! Find yourself a bootlegged copy of this “fabled disaster” (Carbo’s phrase) and suffer like the rest of us. I give it 4.5 out of 5 Ziggy’s. Mostly because you’ve never seen anything like it in your life!

Fuzz! That’s the name of Ziggy’s dog! Does Ziggy wear pants? I can’t remember. What does he care, right? Who’s gonna complain – his parrot?

I hope you won’t confuse my flippancy with cynicism. I love Christmas. Everything about it! Especially, as I’ve mentioned, the holiday specials, of which “Ziggy’s Gift” almost tops the list (narrowed out only by “Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol”).

“Ziggy’s Gift” was recently released on DVD. So it’s easily available, despite my feigned ignorance earlier. It’s touching without being manipulative. Funny, but never snide. Mirroring the best of humanity (which can still be quite benevolent), it illustrates how a little kindness goes a long way.

I give “Ziggy’s Gift” 5 out of 5 Bea Arthurs.

The Great Wet North

Ho ho! The first snowfall of the season here in Portland! I drove through a white whipping cloud of it in Milwaukie at lunch. Fantastic! Then 10 minutes later, the sun returned. A few hours passed returning snow to the area. Then 10 minutes later...not so much. But it did stay friggin' cold. And wet. Walked over to Hollywood Video with Urn to rent "The Family Stone." Yeah, I know, it's not "Little Dieter Learns to Fly", but I was pleasantly, and sentimentally, entertained. Not a bad flick, as those films go. It's a Christmas movie. Not quite the "Home for the Holidays" rip-off I expected. A bit heavier, actually. Unlike today's snow. Which is gone for now. Oh oh!
(Image courtesty kgw.com)

The Long Goodnight

Robert Altman died yesterday. Director of some of my favorite films including M*A*S*H, Short Cuts and my latest fave of his, 1972's Images.








Images stars Susannah York and is one creepy fucking film. I wish I was watching it right now.







Altman is often, or maybe always, regarded as a renegade director of sorts, which means he avoid the typical studio system pap. Who are we stuck with now? Tony Scott? God save us.

The first Altman film I ever saw was "Popeye." Of course, I wasn't aware of directors and such things back then. I also didn't know it was my first exposure to Nilsson. Except for maybe the coconut song.

Goodnight, filmyman!

A Malt Assault!

Not really. Just Marie Osmond illustrating the thickness of a DQ Blizzard during Dairy Queen’s first-ever North American Miracle Treat Day, a benefit that raised over $3.5 million for Children’s Miracle Network. Which is nice.

I got a press release emailed to me here at work and was mostly disturbed by the image.

What's more frozen? the Blizzard or her smile?

Just in Time for the (Star Wars) Holidays!

Ackmena Wallpaper!

Tile it on your desktop!

Be the envy of giant rats everywhere!

Happy Forthcoming Holidays from the Fishworker

Goodnight, Jackanapes!

Last night, Americans won the House back for the Democrats. And they'd better not fuck it up!

Nancy Pelosi becomes the first Lady of the House. Hopefully, she won't slip a disk rolling out that "cream puff in a necktie", Dennis Hastert. He was very effective. A moral man. Honorable. Nah, I'm just shittin' you. He was a douche bag.

Is the tide turning in favor of a positive future for the United States? I don't know. I just keep thinking how delicious those Fruity Pebbles I had for breakfast were...

Mmmm...so good. Yeah, so let's begin to repair the seemingly irreparable damage done to this country since those fascist pigs (Read: Bush Administration) hijacked the White House.

I've Seen the Best Poem of Their Generation Turn Fifty

Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg turns 50! Published in 1955 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (for City Lights), the poem, while still retaining a considerable amount of power, would not stir up the same controversy today.

Then again, America seems to be being steered back into a more sexually and intellectually repressed direction, so perhaps the poem is more shocking and unacceptable today than it was, say, 8 years ago. I don't know.

Just read it.

Or listen to it (he starts reading it about 41 minutes in).

AND purchase a copy. To have and share.

More on Howl:

Krassner reflects on Ginsberg

Howl celebrations