It’s here! Time flies when you’re stuck in mall traffic, bargain hunting and going to office parties. Christmas is upon us. Heck, in a day or two there will be nothing left but crinkled wrapping paper and regret.
I love Christmas. The twinkling lights, the half-price merchandise and the chance to get together with friends and family. But I’m going to miss the music most of all. I love Christmas music. I don’t know when it happened, but I am a recent Christmas music convert. The sappy sentimentality of holiday music literally and figuratively rings my bell. I think because most of them are songs about love and joy.
I think it started when I moved back to Pittsburgh, seven years ago (gulp). Every year, I go to the Holiday Pops concert at Heinz Hall, and I have my car radio affixed to 3WS for non-stop holiday music, and I find myself humming the tunes in the shower. Don’t try to picture it.
I love almost all of it. Almost. I change the dial whenever I hear, “Hey Chingedy-chig. EEE AWWW! EEE AWWW!”
Sorry, Italy, you can keep “Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey,” especially when Lou Monte sings, “La la la la” ad infinitum. I think he’s trying to get on my nerves. I can’t imagine the guys in the recording studio going, “Yes! Add a few more ‘La la’s’ in there, Lou! That’s it. Bray even louder in the next take.”
I am part Italian, but apparently my ears are from another country.
Also, I’d like to give that little girl a hippopotamus. Maybe it will shut her up. Gayle Peevy topped the charts with that song back in 1953. I like a good novelty song like the next guy, but the joke gets old really fast. Trust me. I’m an old joke expert! Ask anyone.
Then there’s “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” I’ve always loved this song, until I really examined the lyrics. It’s got a real date rape vibe.
When it was written back in 1949, it was a scandal for a woman to stay overnight with a man. Clutch the pearls, Mabel!
Lydia Liza and Josiah Lemanski recently rewrote the lyrics to emphasize consent. They made a happy little P.C. version. They spin it a whole new way. In their version, the male lead replies with lines like “Baby, I’m fine with that” and “Been hoping you get home safe.”
I contend that she doesn’t really want to leave. So, I have decided to rewrite the song myself.
Her: “I really can’t stay.”
Him: “Text me that you got home OK.”
Her: “My mother will start to worry.”
Him: “There’s the door. Better scurry.”
Her: “My father will be pacing the floor.”
Him: “No. Seriously. There’s the door!”
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Mike Buzzelli is a stand up comedian and a sit down author. His book, "Below Average Genius," a collection of humor columns culled from the Observer-Reporter, can be purchased here.