Category Archives: christmas

Winter Wonderland


It’s christmas, more or less. Maybe you’ve noticed? A regular tip-off are the cloying illustrations on everything up to and including toilet paper ads of snowy landscapes. You know the drill, don’t pretend you don’t. Drifts of it, snowflakes, Victorian ice skaters, reindeer; an entire iconography of images that mean nothing to boy a like me, sensitive and attractive, but completely unexposed to the phenomenon of snow due to my Gulf Coast childhood and subsequent life in California. And let me be clear about this, I am not unhappy about missing out on it. Whenever I have been forced to deal with snow, on visits to Colorado or Tahoe, it has always confirmed my suspicion that it’s vastly over-rated, like rain that won’t take a hint and leave.

Still, the holy season of jeebus’s birth and Macy’s last chance at making their quarterly numbers rolls around and suddenly the white stuff is everywhere. These ads and commercials are baffling to those of us lucky enough to live on the West Coast or along the magic of Interstate 10, snow-free, all of it. We see those pictures (“Look! Polar bears drinking coke! Oh boy!”) and think “what the fuck is going on here? Where are the palm trees?” Is it just me who thinks a whole ad industry is devoted to making us feel deprived by being left out of something we don’t even want?

People here will occasionally say how very much they miss snow. One assumes they were dropped on their heads at some point, possibly in the snow, but I’m too polite to ask.

And now word comes from Night is Half Gone of snow in New Orleans. New Orleans! I have been so betrayed.

Reindeer Games


Stephen, over at Are You There Blog, It’s Me Stephen took this online quiz and, natch, came out as Dancer, a good time girl, all sweetness and whatever. I, on the other hand, am on my way to detention. What about you?

You Are Dasher

You’re an independent minded reindeer who never plays by the rules.

Why You’re Naughty: That little coup you tried to stage against Santa last year

Why You’re Nice: You secretly give naughty children presents.

Krispy Krud


In the fine American tradition, our office is now awash in sugary junk food to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Saviour, Whatshisname. I tucked into 2 (two) Krispy Kremes that were not merely glazed or chocolate iced, but rather the breathtaking combo of glazed WITH chocolate icing. Only the finest for mrpeenee. Now ten minutes later I feel slightly stunned. What the hell do they put in those things? Uranium? And why doesn’t my office have a nap room? Slave drivers.

Unsilent Night


My favorite part of Crixmus (aside from a big ass pile of presents and strippers wearing Santa Claus hats) is coming up. Unsilent Night 2008! Yay!

From their website:
Every year since 1992 I’ve presented UNSILENT NIGHT, an outdoor ambient music piece for an infinite number of boomboxes. It’s like a Christmas caroling party except that we don’t sing, but rather carry the music, each of us playing a separate track that is a “voice” in the piece. In effect, we become a city-block-long sound system!

Join us and bring a boombox, or anything that will blast a cassette, CD or Mp3. (Cassettes sound the coolest, but we realize cassette players are getting scarce now.) The more tracks we play, the bigger and more amazing the sound is. In recent years, UNSILENT NIGHTs in New York and San Francisco have attracted crowds of over a thousand people, with hundreds of boomboxes… it’s spectacular. If you’d like to participate, please e-mail the contact listed for your city for instructions. If you’d like to participate but don’t have a boombox or a music player with speakers, you can just show up and join the parade. Everyone is an important part of the procession. Help us make a BIG (and joyful) noise. This is always a free event and all ages are welcome.

UNSILENT NIGHT has spread around the world. In addition to New York, UNSILENT NIGHT is presented in cities such as Los Angeles; San Francisco; San Diego; Santa Barbara; Philadelphia; Atlanta; Cleveland; Tallahassee; Tucson; Houston; New Haven; Boulder; Baltimore; Charleston; Asheville, NC; Manassas, VA; Milledgeville, GA; Bowling Green, OH; Banff, Alberta; Vancouver, BC; White Horse, Yukon Territory; Hamburg and Berlin, Germany; Middlesbrough, England; Melbourne and Sydney, Australia.

We went a couple of years ago and I loved it. At a signal, everyone in the group starts their music device, but because all those people can’t hit Go right on time, the music is coming out in hundreds of different moments. The music is all chimes and bells and chants,so the divergence is not cacophonous, but beautiful. Plus it echos off the buildings as the mob ambles along, startling passersby and neighbors. I love it.

If there’s one in your town, go, definitely go.

And if you see a stripper in a Santa hat, give him a twenty. I’m sure he deserves it.

All About Christmas Eve


I’ve missed you, too, darlings, but I’ve been so darned busy getting my hair cut and taking vicodan (don’t ask) and crixmuss, crixmuss, crixmuss. It’s been a lovely holiday so far, highlights have included:

Christmas cookies from the fabulous Dennis, the Pride of East Lansing. I happen to know Martha Stewart has forbidden the mention of his name in connection with cookies, so jealous is she of his genius. I wish I could share them with you except a) I’m not sure how to do that online and b) I already ate them all. Nothing speaks to the German elements of my bloodline like ginger flavored sweeties.

A fabulous pillow from our terribly stylish friend Anne. The christmas pillow. It’s a huge picture of the back of a dahlia rendered in psychedelic hot pink and acid green. I love it.

A very successful trip to the spa for shiatsu massage and delicious sliced apples in the steam room. Not to mention the most gorgeous hunky man undressed next to me on the way in. It’s takes so little to bring out the childlike wonder of the season in me.

Mary, Christmas


I know the only acknowledgement I’ve made of the season was a snarky post about how office parties suck, but in truth, I adore Christmas even as a little child would. The vulgar, glitzy decorations speak to my white trash homo self and the prospect of getting presents is always ok by me. When we were first together, I had to explain, firmly, to R Man that although I am not materialistic (if you could see my wardrobe, you would know that is the god’s own truth) I demand a big-ass pile of presents every Christmas. The actual contents don’t matter, I would be just as happy with several pairs of underwear gaily wrapped up, as long as they were new. I just enjoy admiring the glittering pile and then unwrapping them. I should mention that my mother installed an unshakeable need in me to preserve wrapping paper, so I meticulously tease off the tape, neatly fold up the paper and then get down to the present. We have gift wrap from when we lived in New Orleans twenty years ago that I re-use every year. I am not pathological, shut up.

This year, I was actually willing to give him a pass on the mass o’ presents rule, cause, you know, heart surgery a month ago and all that, what the hell? I can be a sport. God love him, he came through anyway, and now there’s big boxes and little boxes all waiting for me, me, me. He is so sweet.

We’re also both fond of Christmas trees, I regard them as the biggest cut flower arrangement you’re ever going to have, but this year fighting our way to Home Depot and wrestling one home and then dolling it all up just seemed too much. Instead, we got a wreath at a florist down in the Castro and hung it up in the living room. It smells like Christmas and that’s what counts.