Worst Trends Of The Decade

My list of the worst trends of the decade is not universal; it's comprised of things that annoy me. My world mostly consists of work and the net and, sure, TV. Thus, my most annoying trends are things that affect me personally. (Also, it's a chance to bitch once more before the decade ends, so hey!)

So I'm going to start with the most annoying verbal tic of the past ten years. So just bear with me as I describe what I'm talking about. So the most annoying human utterance is starting every sentence with the word "so". It happens at work; it is ubiquitous in television interviews.

"Dan, what is the most pressing issue facing our young people today?"
"So, when I talk to students..."

"Let me now introduce our CFO to tell you about our financial performance this year."
"So, we've had a challenging year..."

So?

Are you saying you don't care?

Don't get me wrong; I do it myself. It's impossible not to; not when every human being within earshot is saying it constantly. "So" is not exactly slang, but it has the same effect. I never once in my life uttered "groovy" other than ironically, but I've latched onto stupid fad jargon, just like everyone else. If everyone around me was constantly jabbering "squeegee", yep, it would become part of my everyday vocabulary.

"Let me now introduce our CFO to tell you about our financial performance this year."
"Squeegee, it was a fantastic year!"

(because "squeegee" just sounds like a happy word.)

Instructions That Are Indecipherable

I do a lot of Amazon shopping and I'm not ignorant of the fact that a lot of Amazon's products are manufactured in China. Mostly it doesn't matter. I don't need to assemble a purse; it's basically fully-formed when I open the box. I also know how shoes work. The same cannot be said for anything that requires a bit of construction. I recently purchased a display cube to hold my dad's watch and AA book. Even the pictures in the booklet didn't help. I still haven't determined if pieces were missing, if I'm a hapless imbecile, or if the manufacturer had employed one of those Chinese-English dictionaries that never actually translate words accurately. I almost threw the random pieces in the garbage, but I set it aside to possibly give it one more try, after I've done my Zen meditation.

Unfortunately, the issue doesn't only exist among people who are trying their best to communicate in a second language to dumb rich Americans (ha). Ever try to find a solution to a computer problem online? Google is my go-to for any question, from how to roast a turkey to "what's the name of the song that has 'toast' in its name?" I am currently experiencing a problem with installing Windows updates ~ I keep receiving error 0x8007025d ~ so naturally I looked to my old friend to help me out. I've had personal experience with IT people, and I do believe they are passive-aggressively subversive. Don't get me wrong; they are generally nice people (or are they?) But the ones online are no doubt laughing maniacally knowing someone is reading and trying to follow their "directions". I honestly believe they deliberately omit a step just to mess with people. This includes Microsoft folks, who created this Windows piece of crap.

Online News Sites That Expect Me To Pay To Read More Than Five Articles A Month

On my morning break while slurping my Greek yogurt, I like to peruse the news. "You've read your maximum five stories this month. Please log in or subscribe to continue reading." Does anyone do this? The only stories I can't actually Google are those exclusive to a particular site, and guess what? If I want to read them badly enough (shhh!) I can pull up a different browser or swipe them on my phone, or touch the link that some kind soul provided on Twitter. I once emailed my local newspaper to protest and the response was, "Most people don't even reach their five article limit in a month." Seriously? I read five stories on any given site in one sitting. I'm sorry that newspapers are dying, but honestly, who wants to read day-old news? Don't charge me to make up for your financial losses.

Repetitive-To-The-Point-Of-Nausea TV Commercials

I like kids. I feel for kids experiencing life circumstances. What I don't like is a charity that obviously spends the majority of its donations on marketing. I'm not giving you my money because you're not a trustworthy executor. And I don't need "skits". You know who you are. Your commercials run every six minutes or so on my favorite news channel. Honestly, I much prefer seeing the Pillow Guy.

I probably could go on and on but I won't, because the new year is supposed to be a happy time!

But (ahhh!) I do feel better.

Here's wishing you a non-annoying, trouble-free 2020.

The next decade will be verrry interesting.

The Requisite "Best Of" List

I wasn't going to do it. First of all, it's virtually impossible. I barely remember yesterday (truly), much less the last ten years. But it seemed sacrilegious to let the decade slip away without some sort of retrospective.

I did a search for some "best of" lists in order to jog my memory, and it appears I am woefully out of touch. Which is fine. I'm not the key demographic advertisers are trying to reach. The prevailing wisdom is that people my age are already set in their ways and are thus unconvincible. Naturally, the prevailing wisdom is wrong. My hunch is that advertisers view GenX'rs and millennials as ripe for the picking; willing to go into debt for today's hot commodity. And isn't that marketing's goal? God bless 'em.

I suppose I should list the top ten surgical procedures and brand-name medications. The top lab tests for geriatrics, top incontinence products and Medicare Advantage plans. But that's not really fun.

Thus, I'm going with the usual TV shows and movies; the grizzled edition.

Top TV Shows of the Decade

A disclaimer ~ I don't subscribe to HBO, so if it's not on Netflix, I'm not aware of it other than in passing. There are most likely wonderful TV series not on my list, but I have to go with something I've actually watched.

  9.  Mad Men
  8.  Rake (check it out on Netflix!)
  7.  True Detective, Season One
  6.  Scientology: The Aftermath
  5.  The Crown, Seasons One and Two
  4.  Downton Abbey
  3.  Parks And Recreation
  2.  The Office
  1.  Breaking Bad

Honorable Mention:  The Americans, which I've only seen a couple seasons of so far.

Caution:  Spoiler!



Top Movies of the Decade, Geriatric Edition

I'm not a regular movie-goer. I probably see three to four movies a year. The trouble is, most of the movies released sound utterly uninteresting, and I'm not into cartoons (better known as super-hero films.)

  5. Winter's Bone
  4. Bohemian Rhapsody 
  3. Bridge of Spies
  2. Gran Torino
  1. Bridesmaids

Top Country Songs of the Decade (I don't actually listen to current country music)

  2. Wagon Wheel, Darius Rucker
  1. Nothing



Something relevant to me:

Top Websites of the Decade

5.  Wikipedia
4.  Twitter
3.  YouTube
2.  Amazon
1.  Google

Whew. Now I've done it; compiled a stupid "best of" list. 

Stay tuned for tomorrow. It might just be time to enumerate some "worsts".

Worst Christmas Songs Of All Time

Someone out there, someone whose name will never be known, has written a new classic Christmas song. It won't ever be recorded because this writer savant doesn't know how to get his or her song to the right people, or because no one is interested in new holiday tunes. After all, there's plenty of old ones to recycle.

Like all music, there are great Christmas songs, middling tunes, and finally, the putrid.

In the late nineties in my workplace we had piped-in music. Songs were cycled on a predetermined schedule. Like all Muzak, it was aimed at offending no one. Thus, we heard "The Weekend" by Steve Wariner forty times a day, and something by Mariah Carey. Come Christmastime, holiday songs abounded. You know how it is when you hear a tune that makes you grit your teeth, and then you have to hear it once an hour, on the hour?

There was a song by Andy Williams that I can't find anywhere online, probably because someone had the good sense to burn the master in a fiery blaze. It was jazzy. The lyrics went something like this:  "boo-dee-doo-dee-boo-dee-bup-POW!"  Nothing quite says Merry Christmas like an over-age hipster throwing tradition to the wind. I regret that I can't remember the title, because I would cherish sharing its awfulness with you.

I'm not necessarily a traditionalist. I'm down with Wham! and with rockin' the jingle bells. I do believe, however, that Christmas tunes should fall into one of two categories: wistful or gleeful. Many people associate the holiday with Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole, but give me Dean Martin any day. Dino'd had an eggnog or two before he sauntered up to the mic and he was in a good mood, like we all should be this time of year. He didn't take the whole thing too seriously; too somberly. If I want a good cry, I know which songs to punch up; but if I just want to feel good, who's better company than Dino Crocetti?

But aside from jazzy cocktail tunes, the worst for me are the drudging, tedious ones. I don't understand why anyone would like this one:



I've sampled it by many different artists, from Johnny Cash to the old boo-dee-doo-dee-POW! Andy Williams, and I don't care who sings it, it reeks. Here it is, in a nutshell: "PAH-rum-pum-pum-PUM".  I can't begin to describe how much I hate this song. Any tune that relies on onomatopoeia can go to hell.

Here's another one. First of all, the tune is kind of scary for a kid. It sounds foreboding, like something evil is wafting in on the wind. I don't think that's what Jesus intended:



I don't include kids' songs on my list, because kids are entitled to like stupid songs. That's how they learn about music. At age eight, I instinctively knew that "Up On The Rooftop" wasn't a standout song, but it was easy for a kid to sing along to. I can even tolerate Alvin and The Chipmunks. In fact, when I was little, I sang along to lots of dumb holiday songs, but I liked "Winter Wonderland" and "Silver Bells" the best (I wasn't big on reindeer, and my older sister had wised me up to the Santa Claus scam at a young age).

Late on Christmas Eve as I'm nursing a glass of wine, give me "I'll Be Home For Christmas" or even "The Christmas Song". Something sad and pretty. If I'm wrapping packages, I'll take Brenda Lee and Bobby Helms. Hell, there just aren't any great new Christmas songs being written ~ sorry, aspiring songwriters. Just don't play stupid, scary, scatting, or pandering songs.

And I'm sorry, all you nostalgists out there, but I really don't like Andy Williams.

I may or may not write another post before the Big Day, so if I don't, please have a happy Christmas.  Remember what matters.

And it's okay to be a bit grumpy.

The Most Wonderful Time Of Year?

I'm not saying it was easier in my parents' day. Mom was expected to bake fifty different kinds of cookies ~ I think she even made a fruitcake one year (that no one, of course ate). Money was not plentiful and at various times, there were six offspring to buy presents for. I will say, though, that our decor consisted of...a tree. That's it. Dad had to untangle the same string of lights each year and curse when one bulb didn't work and he had to dig in his junk drawer to find a replacement. We bought a new pack of silvery tinsel each season and vomited it onto the tree.

There weren't little ceramic cherubs and red pillar candles and reindeer throw pillows scattered about the house. Stockings? I had three pairs of knee-highs, but I wore those to school. It wasn't so much a Christmas "season" as it was a "day". Of course I tingled with anticipation for weeks and combed through the Sears Christmas catalog as I lay prostate on the kitchen linoleum and circled my choices with a number two pencil (I never got any of those things ~ they were too expensive ~ but it was still fun to dream.)

What there wasn't was peer pressure. Christmas hadn't yet become a contest. In my neighborhood the timing of outdoor lights is entirely dependent upon who starts first. Then, like dominoes, house after house becomes festively lit. Humans are inherently competitive. Somehow, at some point, however, it simply got out of hand.

When one has little kids, Christmas is different. Enjoyment comes from doing everything to make the time magical. My kids didn't get two presents each ~ they got everything on their lists. What the heck? It was worth it. I not only baked cookies, but I made fudge and divinity, and caramels wrapped in wax paper. I pushed a shopping cart from Target's front door through knee-high snowbanks to my car trunk and dumped piles of cardboard-encased Lego sets and Transformers inside. I slipped a Christmas CD into my changer, filled a glass with wine and spent hours decorating my tree until it was perfect.

I set aside a day to write out cards and tucked school pictures inside. I may have even done photocopied newsletters once, until I received too many laughable missives and realized Christmas newsletters were evil lies that cleansed everyday life of reality.

I bought presents for every sibling and in-law and every nephew and niece, because I could.  I scoured the Hallmark Store shelves for the perfect gifts for treasured co-workers. Every one of my employees got something that I, not the company, paid for. Because I wanted to do it. I stuffed gift bags with red and green tissue paper and diligently wrote out gift tags. I loved having the means to give.

Today? Like many companies, year-end at my workplace is insane. Christmas is an afterthought, once business gets done. Long hours, tons of junk food and caffeine; finally getting home and going to bed, only to toss and turn due to an overdose of adrenaline. Sleep dreamless sleep, stagger out of bed when the buzzer buzzes and start all over again.

My advice for the over-stressed?

• Simplify. Cross off your buying list those who frankly would be just as happy with a hearty "Merry Christmas!" as they would with a trinket they'll toss aside once they've torn off the wrapping.
• Don't go into debt to try to please somebody. You won't please them and you'll flagellate yourself every time you get your credit card bill.
• Buy three rolls of wrapping paper at Walmart or Target and be done with it. Don't spend $5.99 for a gift bag. Nobody cares. 
• Don't...don't! send out Christmas cards! How many have you gotten this year? Nobody does it except for Great Aunt Hilda. If you want to reciprocate Great Aunt Hilda's thoughtfulness, dig through your closet for that half-used pack of cards from ten years ago and send her one. (I don't even possess stamps.)
• All those trinkets are fun to take out of their boxes and place on the mantle, but they're hell to put away. Nothing ever tucks away smartly and you'll end up wrapping a piece of torn tissue around them and stuffing them in a cardboard box in the closet. Pick two, tops.
• If your family expects treats, whip up a batch of no-bake cookies. Online recipes abound. Years later, they'll proclaim their mom (or wife) was the best baker ever.
• Hang a stocking for your pet(s). They share your life more than real people do. Tuck a Milkbone or a baggie of catnip inside. They'll love you more than they regularly do.
• Buy a self-contained artificial Christmas tree. Pop, pop; plug in the lights, and voila!
• Do:  Buy a small token for someone who's touched your life. They won't be expecting it, and they may even shed a tear.
• For those who matter most, be attuned to them. What do they like? What do they spend their time doing? Can you gift them with something that enhances that? Search Amazon.
• Write, if you feel comfortable doing it. A handwritten note from the heart will touch someone's life forever; but don't be fakey. People will immediately spot a fraud.
• Do: Close your bedroom door and fire up the holiday songs you like best. Not only will they lower your blood pressure, but they may remind you of what the holiday is about. My recommendation is "Jingle Bell Rock", but you know you.
• If, like me, you get one measly day off for Christmas, shop smart for your holiday dinner. Anything that's pre-sliced or can be fired up in the microwave is preferred. Again, nobody will care.
• Wallow in nostalgia. I lost my best friend in 2002, but I have a recording of her singing, "Old Christmas Card", and I cry every time I hear it. Both my parents passed away in 2001, and "I'll Be Home For Christmas" stabs my heart, but it's important that I hear it once each year. If you've ever lost someone, you'll understand.
• Breathe deeply. It actually helps.

I don't hate Christmas. I hate the unrealistic expectations that surround it. If I could just be me, I'd dim the lights, light a candle and play some tunes that remind me of the people who mattered.

Let's not forget what it's all about.

Winter

I wasn't waving. I was shaking my fist at winter.

There aren't many songs written about winter. Maybe that's why Christmas tunes hold a place of honor for about twelve days each year. Humans like to pretend. Face it, nobody walks in a winter wonderland unless they're forced to, either because their car breaks down on an icy road or they own a dog. And trust me, the wonderland gets old after approximately one block. A one-horse open sleigh might be tolerable with plenty of blankets and a thermos of brandy. Even then, one will freeze one's nose off unless they've donned a knit mask that causes everyone to peg them as bank robbers with a not-well-thought-out means of escape.

If I hate winter so much, why do I live in Minnesota? Why does anyone live anywhere? They just do. Life happens. Either they grew up on the cold tundra or a job opportunity sounded too good to dismiss. "Well, the summers are nice," they mumble to themselves.

I've lived in a cold hemisphere for six-plus decades and it never gets any better. It, in fact, only gets worse. I used to laugh at winter ~ well, not exactly laugh, but rather flout it. I never wore boots or, God forbid, a hat. Gloves were stuffed inside my coat pockets just in case my car engine died and I had to hoof it. In Dakota where I grew up, it was a badge of honor to sneer at winter. We were tough! I once slipped on my ass and into a snow bank right outside my work entrance because I insisted on donning high heels. My only concern was whether there were any witnesses.

The local morning TV weather report makes me yearn to smash my screen with a claw hammer. "There's five inches of heavy wet snow out there so far, but the skiers will love it!" First of all, I don't know any skiers ~ no one does. And secondly, fuck the skiers. Get a job! You still gotta drive to your stupid ski slope, so good luck, buddy. I, on the other hand, only have to worry about the insignificant task of getting to work without being rammed into oblivion by a speeding pickup truck.

The other myth is, there is no cozying up by the fire. I don't own a fireplace, and if I did, it would be far too much effort to bundle up and skid down glazed roads to purchase tinder. I'll just sit my butt on the heat register.

It took many years, but I've finally surrendered to winter. This year I bought a pair of snow boots. They're awesome! What traction! Where have these babies been all my life? I am on board with hats ~ the more, the better. I love hats. A knitted scarf feels cozy tucked around my neck. For those minus twenty-degree wind chill days, I dig out my Cuddl Duds. Nobody knows I'm wearing these silky thermals, but they bathe my chapped skin in warm radiance. Tonight I clicked on my Amazon Prime site and ordered up a matching undershirt. I look like I weigh 200 pounds with all these accoutrements, but I WILL BE WARM, DAMMIT.

Yes, I surrender. I've decided to accept the things I cannot change.

But it really is cold outside.

Forgotten Christmases

We had cats?

It's not that I've completely forgotten my childhood Christmases; just mostly. I sure don't remember those ugly drapes and that lamp! But kids don't really notice things like that. What I do remember is the oversized tree bolted inside its metal stand in the middle of the living room. And lots and lots of metallic tinsel. Mom viewed Christmas decorating as one more chore to cross off her do-to list. Christmas wasn't a competition in 1960. Everyone had a tree...and that was it.

I do remember the best and worst of Christmases. The worst was when I couldn't keep my fingers off the presents under the tree with my name on them. I tore the wrapping off one well before that magical night and my big sister (looking so blithe in the picture) sprinted down the stairs, snatched it from my tiny hands and informed me that now I would get no gift whatsoever. I think I even shed some tears and threw myself upon my bed, despondent. (She later relented.) The best were when I received a cardboard play store with cardboard shelves and a plastic-molded cash register with fake plastic money.

The supermarket is the one with my cousin's grubby hands on it. I'm on the lower right.

The most awesome world-changing Christmas present I received as a kid was the RECORD PLAYER. I have no photos to commemorate the occasion, but that record player changed my life forever. It was blue with buckle snaps and a black plastic spindle insert to accommodate my 45-RPM records. My life was complete. I remember Mom and Dad and my big brother and at least one sister gathering around as I placed the needle on that very first record. The muffled warble of The Beatles choking out my one speaker was the most glorious sound in the world. I still don't know how my mom knew. Apparently she didn't actually ignore me, as she seemed to do most of the time. Mom was a casual radio listener ~ she liked Arthur Godfrey's talk show ~ but she had to deal with my dad, who was enamored with music, and thus this little foreign girl wasn't a complete anomaly.

Christmas music in my first ten years of life consisted of the banal Jingle Bells and Rudolph. Music wasn't sophisticated, at least not for a grade school kid. This was a song I tended to like:



And this one (yes, I have a penchant for Anne Murray this time of year):



At mass, which I was required to attend, the carols were "Away In The Manger" and "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing", which confused me because I had a cousin named Harold. On the plus side, at least I knew the tunes.
 
As I moved into my teen years, the holiday season was best forgotten. I bought gifts; my parents (my mom) bought gifts; but it was simply going through the motions. Dad liked a good snifter of eggnog with a stiff shot of whiskey, but he mostly wasn't around, frankly. I had a little brother and sister who geeked out over their gifts, which mitigated the sadness. I mostly retired to my room as quickly as civility allowed. I did, by that time, have a best friend, and we exchanged LP's for Christmas (two albums for each). They weren't Christmas albums; they were country.

As far as Christmas music was concerned, we weren't the type to drop the needle on Nat King Cole and Andy Williams was a bit too bland. The only country artist making Christmas music was Buck Owens, although this one is pretty hard to beat:





When I had tiny babies, I really paid no mind to Christmas music. It wasn't until I grew older that I discovered the true classics. And a good holiday song is hard to come by.

Yep, here's Anne Murray again:



"O Holy Night" is my favorite sacred Christmas song. My favorite sentimental song is this:



I only hear these songs once a year, so they don't grow old. I'm not too old to latch onto new favorites, though. I currently like this one a lot:



And ta-da! Until next year...

Merry Christmas to you until we talk again.

Music...And Christmas

Everyone has a favorite Christmas song. If you're the traditional sort, you gravitate to the classic hymns sung (badly) at church services. If you are a baby boomer, The Beach Boys might be more to your liking. I'm a hybrid ~ I'll take one from Column A, a couple from Column B, and one or two from C.

Remakes (and they mainly are, after all) had better offer either a superb singer or a novel take. Originals are rare. It's hard to write a new Christmas song; trust me, I've tried.

A long, long time ago, I wrote this:

I been thinkin' 'bout a Christmas tree 
I want one forty feet high
Is that unreasonable?
Well, so am I

I been thinkin' 'bout packages
With blue and silver bows
And I been thinkin'
A lot about mistletoe

Don't get me started
I'll drive you to tears
With my reminiscences
Through the years

About Christmas
By a roarin' fire

If you're gonna do it right
You gotta do it big
My philosophy of life
Pull all the stops out
And make a silent night

No indiscriminate songs of cheer
Nat King Cole is 
Who I need to hear
Cuz it's Christmas
And it's a heady time

The folks who know
How to do it well
Always cry at the sound
Of a peelin' bell
They remember
The child inside

I been thinkin' 'bout a Christmas tree
I want one forty feet high
If that's unreasonable
Well, so am I

© Michelle Anderson

In retrospect, it's rather materialistic. No wonder our band never recorded it. I don't think it would catch on.

I would love to be able to write a classic pop Christmas song, but my brain unfortunately doesn't bend that way.

A song like this:



This is essentially a ripoff of Little Deuce Coupe, but I don't actually care:





Speaking of novel takes:



Marshmallow World (without the booze):



Marshmallow World with the booze ~ you be the judge:



I think Christmas should be about fun. The videos here are fun. There's no escaping the poignancy of missing home, but that's for another post.

Tonight let's be happy.