The phantom hides in the pantry, waiting for the child to awake. Always in the pantry. Always behind the cookies. The child, bleary-eyed and delirious with dream-dust, makes his way into the snack cabinet. His belly, constantly satiated by parents who know not of discipline, grumbles. Obeying, the child opens the cupboard door and reaches in to retrieve the chocolate-chip delights.
For the phantom.
Welcome, my babies, to the Monday Morning Commute. This is the place where we detail our agendas for the upcoming week. Avoid the drudgery of existence. Beat boredom into a pulp. Repel the Snack-Phantom. Let’s fuggin’ do this.
Listening / A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra
In case you haven’t noticed the fleet of minivans parked at the mall indefinitely or the neighbors who think their front lawns are reasonable facsimiles of Times Square, let me clue you in: it’s Christmas time. Or holiday time. Or whatever. From my completely secular standpoint, I kind of wish we could all give up the bogus religious connotations of the Winter Solstice Festivals and agree on something new. One holiday to rule the all.
Anyways, I use a few different activities to get into the holiday spirit. Spending time with friends. Pounding eggnog by the liter. And most importantly, listening to seasonal music. Over the years I’ve run the gauntlet when it comes to Christmas tunes, from Jimmy Buffet to Savatage. Hell, if you don’t give yourself a chance to try the kookier coldcuts from the Christmas music antipasto, you’re really doing yourself a disservice.
This year, however, I’m going the route of the traditionalist. I took it upon myself to download a vinyl rip of A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra.
Holy Jesus-Birth, Santa, a digital transmission of a piece of plastic that was listened to by someone fifty-three years ago?!?! Somebody with hopes and dreams and a consciousness that has probably since faded back into the Universal Collective?!?
Yes, I even try to make my holiday activities about temporality-defiance.