Daily Ambivalence - I saw a documentary on figgy pudding

I saw a documentary on figgy pudding the other night and - call me crazy - the pudding looked disgusting. Didn't even look like pudding.

Kind of ruins that whole Christmas song for me, you know, even makes me question the Victorian era pattern upon which much of our current Christmas tradition is based.

I don't understand what it is about figgy pudding that could inspire a song. Follow me on this - you're a kid living during the Victorian era and you make songs about figgy pudding when you could have had a Snickers bar or maybe some rope licorice. Why not write a song where you say "now bring us some Reese's Pieces, now bring us some Reese's Pieces . . ." That totally scans.

I'd sing along with that version of the song. But figgy pudding? Pass.

 I saw a documentary on figgy pudding . . . eh.

I could have sworn that guy was dead

I just got a Christmas card from Harvey and I could have sworn that guy was dead.

I even stopped sending Harvey Christmas cards a couple years ago. And I took him off my Facebook friends list.

You know what that means?

That video of the cat band playing In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida that I shared yesterday? Harvey didn't get that. Because I thought he was dead. But he's not.

It's a Christmas miracle.

Daily Ambivalence - I heard that Christmas song 20 minutes ago

I've been listening to the same radio station all morning and they played this same song twenty minutes ago.

After a little careful thought this actually fills my heart with gladness, because probably the only logical explanation for this with all the millions of Christmas songs to choose from is parental pride. I'll bet the DJ on the other end of the speakers really loves this song because his kid is the one singing it.

Totally understandable. If I was a DJ and my kid had a Christmas album, I'd play it all the time.

Weird though. That DJ must be really old if Neal Diamond is his kid.

 I heard that Christmas song 20 minutes ago . . . eh.

There was that dream about the midnight train

There was that dream where I took the midnight train to Georgia and I was hoping it would drop me off somewhere along the coast but when the conductor kicked me off I was in Macon, which sounds great because Macon sounds like bacon but I didn't even catch a whiff of cured pork and Macon is in the center of Georgia so there was no ocean except for this guy's yard where he'd set up a small wading pool for his daughter and her friends but when I crashed the party to lay out a little I found that most southerners actually do carry guns and the dad didn't appreciate it when I spoke to him in my best southern accent and I'm lucky that my dog Oakley jumped up on my bed at that moment in the dream and licked my face because I've heard if you die in a dream you die for real.