SONG: Elves On Expresso! (a fractured Xmas song)

Elves on expresso! was my Facebook status on Dec. 23rd. Someone commented that it sounded like a song title. So I agreed and wrote the song. 

ELVES ON EXPRESSO
- mad mar writes a new song on Dec 23, 2011

1) Kids are getting greedy
shopping lists are getting dense.
Everyone's fretting and getting tense.
Break out the eggnog, break out the rum,
when they ask you what you want
just play dumb dumb dumb because
the ELVES are ON EXPRESSO
OH NO they're over the top
ELVES ON EXPRESSO
NO NO NO
they just can not stop!

2) The sesason is unreason, expectations and illusion
buying, wrapping eating, salesmen in collusion.
Kids are full of GIMMES. Bills are all unpaid
parents under misletoe hoping to get ___ (you know!)
ELVES ON EXPRESSO
OH NO they're over the top
ELVES ON EXPRESSO
NO NO NO
they just can not stop!

3) So The relatives are coming, so the bank will soon foreclose
put on your santa hat and sparkly reindeer pantyhose
sweep out those killer dustballs, let that brick of fruitcake shine
you could always lock the door and drink holiday wine!
the ELVES are ON EXPRESSO
OH NO they're over the top\
ELVES ON EXPRESSO
NO NO NO
they just can not stop!!

My Pathetic Holiday: CHRISTMAS BE GONE!

Christmas is over and I for one am glad. I'm not so much grinchy, as totally irreligiously flummoxed by a season I find artificial and demanding.

To move things along next year,  I want to invent a product called Christmas-Be-Gone.  Perhaps an aerosol spray or tins of loose scrub powder.  Not sure what the fragrance would be.  And it certainly couldn't be guaranteed since Christmas is like the damn flu and return:s each year.  I'd like it to be a product you could spray around the house and no one would bring you awkward presents or heart-burn cookies or worse insist you visit a church.  That shouldn't stop us from visiting each other or enjoying the seasonal lights, the concerts, or the beauties of winter.  ---- BUT if only it would stop me from revisiting the follies of gift-giving disasters past. Take this year's: which I could easily title "My Pathetic Christmas Day."

This year Maize declined to have people in and instead asked for a particular present  -  a trip to the Mohegan Sun on Christmas day.  Not for a show, just for a little slot machine action.  It's not my idea of fun, but she doesn't drive, and my gift then, is to take her there and back which is two plus hours each way.

Christmas morning came under a dead-pan sky and we were on the road. A planned stop at O'Rourke's in Middletown was kiboshed by the fact they were not open, or not open for breakfast at any rate. So we just drove on.  We arrived, had sweetish food-court muffins and java, then Mazie sat with the slots and I sat reading a book, 3rd Degree from the Woman's Murder Club Series by James Patterson. I felt it was pure formula pulp. The characters seemed flat and the prose sort of blah. (I couldn't get the voice of the TV  actress who played the lead character out of my head and I think that was problematic somehow, oh well.)

Then after an hour and a half Mazie abruptly announced she wanted to go home right away and didn't want to stop until we got there. (It might be she was out of sorts from eating Xmas cookies the evening before.)  On the way back I got a bit lost (flummoxed again) used the gps which routed me some odd way of just highway driving.  When we got home, naturally I felt compelled to finish the book I wasn't enjoying. And so it was  I gave a dud of a present on a dud of a day, and ended up reading a dud of a book (at least for me), and driving for 5 hours mostly on highways.  We decided it was not a plan we will ever repeat on any subsequent holiday.

Bring on the middle of January.

Seasonal song for the disposed, persecuted or foreclosed

To me, The Coventry Carol is not a religious song, but a song about a momentous and tragic day when a government, a king turned on the poor and helpless, slaughtering an entire generation of children rather than let a future rival escape. It's sadness is that of families suffering loss, and becoming refugees, living in hiding. It's sadness lies also in the realization of the depth of savagery the powerful can visit on the helpless.

Though this is with guitar the singing is "legit" style rather than belt.

Dedicated to the refugee, the transient, the persecuted, the rejected, the foreclosed, and ALL PERSONS BORN OR LIVING UNDER: power mad bullies, kings, despots, ruling parties, war lords, rogue presidents, vice presidents and their minions, certain priests & clerics (of ANY & ALL faiths) who spread hatred and intolerance for those with different beliefs, or political Machiavellis who shepherd maliciousness and mistrust.