For Three Songs and For Four, I Will Not Revoke The Punishment
There is a power and magic to Christmas. It is an upending and devastating power that can make the repulsive beautiful and bring the outcast and overlooked to the fore. It is the magic in the transcendent God becoming human- bringing a beauty to that strange creature that comes forth somewhere between urine and feces to be creation's glory.
But c'mon why can't we keep Clay Aiken, Toby Keith, Jessica Simpson, The Chipmunks, and every other [there isn't an expletive I know that can properly modify this word] artist on the trash heap of musical history and off the air at Christmastime?
When I have to hear schmaltz in public, it's generally just an irritating drone. It doesn't distract me from the task at hand- finding a hammer, pumping gas, buying eggs, dismembering a drifter. When I hear Clay Aiken singing "Mary Did You Know," my vision clouds. I'm overcome. I stumble about, knocking over pyramids of Chinese made Executive Desk Sets, and Snow Man-Shaped Decanters. I trip over a cube of Shower Clock Radios and as I lie on the ground with security on the way, all I can do is choke and make deep gurgling grunts.
I can feel these songs on my skin like a filmy greasy web. They have an oppressive mass and body to them. They're a heavy sweet-putrid choking stink that searches out the back of my throat and presses down my tongue to force its viscous sticky oil down my gullet.
Please, please, please!?
And that's Christmas magic.
2 comments:
Well, this is what you get for going to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
Shopping is what the internets are for - just a few clicks and the stuff comes right down the tubes.
I was shopping yesterday to sounds of Elvis Costello and the Arctic Monkeys-which beats the heck out of Clay Aiken.
In fact, now that I think about it, even I may be able to beat the heck out of Clay Aiken, and if I did, the weary cosmos would rise up (now there's an image) to thank me.
No, what one gets for going to Bed, Bath, and Beyond is lakefront property in hell.
This experience occured at my last visit to God's Favorite Church.
It didn't, but I almost wish it had.
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