I have been doing pretty much OK since Thanksgiving but this afternoon, after the local public radio station ran the umpty-ninth spin of some chesty alto performing “O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings To Zion,” I snapped.
(Disclaimer: I have actually performed this *&%$&#! number. And been paid ten dollars for it, in nineteen eighty something.)
Nothing else in the calendar would be acceptable as the excuse for all these foghorning Katisha runners-up and jingly dingly Leroy Anderson medleys and Top-Fortyish repetitions of “Adeste Fideles.” Get thee up into the high mountain, I say. All of you. And don’t come down. Especially the guy over there who hits the top note in Adolphe Adam’s Cantique de Noel.
(OK, I know, Pavarotti is dead, and de mortuus nil nisi yada yada but — 1:56. Is that a sound you want to hear? Really?)
So now I am humming this and remain likely to continue till December 26.
Warning: extreme, gratuitous, juvenile crudity
(Except, of course, for you, Az, because those elves are too surreal for words.)