Rudolph the Nasally Empowered Reindeer

"It's true that from birth Rudolph was a unique individual, that his luminescent olfactory organ made him different from (but not inferior to) the other reindeer in his age category, and that they often maliciously taunted him about his supra-nasal capabilities. Some reindeer caregivers, concerned that his nose had resulted from radioactive fallout or was somehow contagious, warned their fawns not to play with him."
--from Politically Correct Holiday Stories by James Finn Garner

Someone gave me Garner's book for Christmas, and it's a hoot. It also contains such stories as " 'Twas the Night before Solstice" and "Frosty the Person of Snow," as well as PC versions of "The Nutcracker" and "A Christmas Carol."

Poor Rudolph. I always identified with him, especially when I was a spotted teenager with braces on my teeth.

Speaking of politically correct holidays, we now have Festivus as an alternative to more sectarian celebrations.

Signifying Significance?

The annual convention of the Modern Language Association is held this week, and, as usual, some of the panels and papers presented by the attending academics have titles that are priceless. Some of my favorites:

"She Must Be Raggin'!': Children's Literature and Menstruation"

"Jethro, Mama, Sassie Sue, and the Midnight Plowboy: Hillbillies, 'Common Sense,' Urbanity, and Blaxploitation Film"

"Dude, Where's My Reliable Symbolic Order?': Gross-Out Comedies and the Rewriting of the Expressible"

Something tells me the titles of these presentations are their most entertaining elements.

Read more at Signifyin' at the MLA.

Word of the Day

quidnunc (n)

A nosy person; busybody.

"Close the blinds," Mildred commanded. "Do you want every passing quidnunc to know you're a beer-swilling couch tuber?"

Night Light

My most unusual Christmas gift this year was this, a green light bulb covered with pointy silicone "fingers" that my sister gave me. I've been trying to think of what it brings to mind. Some kind of undersea creature, perhaps -- an electrified anemone? A radioactive potato with prehensile roots? Or it could be an evil phosphorescent plant out to replace me with a pod person. Nah. It gives off an numinous glow at night, not strong enough to work or read by, but inducing a slightly meditative state, like staring into a candle flame. I've decided I like it.

Flake Philosophy

We're like snowflakes, I suppose, each of us condensing from the same cloud. We each have our unique, crystaline, six-pointed structure for a while. We filter down, flipping and gliding in our various eccentric ways. Some of us clump together. Then we all melt into the same puddle -- which evaporates, becoming a cloud again.

What a strange thought.

There's time to think about such things right now. These days between the holidays are like time suspended. We watched The Day the Earth Stood Still on American Movie Classics last night, and that's how it feels right now, everything at a standstill -- though somewhere, half a world away, people are being blown up as usual.

We can feel despair about such things -- or not. Happiness is a decision. Moods are not like the weather. They aren't something that happens to us; we get to decide how we feel. That's one of the few things I've learned.

So many things to say, but I don't know what they are.

Saturnalia Sentiments

Here's a Christmas poem I wrote a couple of years ago, probably when I was feeling a bit stressed out by it all. I'm not always so "bah, humbug," but I think this expresses one aspect of the holiday. Hope yours is merry.

Fa la la

Red, green, red, green--
your lights nictitate like
arrogant cop cars,

making my eyes throb
as your garlands drip
Yule-shine onto the crust

of this decomposing snow.
All night you're dreaming of
the right Christmas--

gilded styrofoam,
tinsel and trash beneath a tree
of wires strung like nerves.

Let's admit that you're dying
to get it over with,
the frozen fa-la-la

for that suckling in the cow trough,
who will someday wander
the tepid Israeli hills

in dusty sandals,
knowing nothing
of such nonsense.

(Originally published by Melic Review)

Give Peas a Chance

I've always had a taste for "weird" music -- I'm the only person I know who has actually purchased a Yoko Ono album, and I have a thing for obscure film scores. So I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the mp3 samples available from the The First Vienna Vegetable Orchestra. The orchestra "consists exclusively of vegetable-based instruments, although where necessary, additional kitchen utensils such as knives or mixers are employed."

The mp3s I listened to all had a nice beet (sorry!). Rather than an orchestra, the music made me think of a chorus of joyful mutants on some very damp alien planet.

(via boynton)

Rings and Things

The Washington Post has an interesting article on J.R.R. Tolkien's Universe Of Inspiration. Though I enjoy the movies, and will probably see Return of the King over the holidays, I've never read LotR. I tried once, but couldn't get past the first few pages -- apparently it just wasn't the kind of literature I needed at the time. I did read some of Tolkien's inspirations in college, though, including Beowulf (a struggle for the modern reader) and this antique gem, as described by the Post:

". . . for most of his life Tolkien was best known as the editor (and later translator) of 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' -- the most enchanting (and sexy) Arthurian tale in Middle English. In it Gawain finds himself tempted, in multiple ways, to break his oaths of knightly honor in the face of certain death. Not the least of those temptations is a gorgeous woman -- the wife of a mysterious nobleman -- who repeatedly sneaks into his bedroom and brazenly offers herself to him. Despite its serious themes, the whole story rejoices in an almost Mozartian lightness and charm. Appropriately, it is a tale set at Christmastime."

(via Incoming Signals)

Double Vision

Apparently, I have a doppelganger.

At an office I was visiting the other day, one of the secretaries, a motherly type who looked about 60, kept smiling at me and shaking her head. I finally asked her what the problem was. "You have a twin," she said. "You do. You have a twin."

"No . . . I don't have a twin," I said, thinking, you have some kind of mental problem, lady.

She went on to explain that a frequent visitor to their office looks "just like" me, and that she at first thought I was him.

I don't think I like the idea of somebody out there running around town with my face on and causing who knows what sort of mischief.

Random Acts of Poetry

December

The sticks are broken, the coals have faded.
Smoke offers speculation. Your mirror shivers,

and the moon squanders its silver.
A tilted house is sleeping.

You rehearse the passions of Thursday.
The sharp lines of glass--

instants, appetites, lessons
revolve in the cobalt. Everything

fragments to jazz, futile words,
a pack of dogs chasing their tails.

An onion unpeeling its burdens.
You remember

blurred photos, three siblings, the old Chevrolet.
Lost books, days of inertia.

Now pencil light sketches an horizon.
Pigeons complain

on the frosted sill. The stale roar of traffic
builds its illusion of normalcy,

the radiators tick and exhale
a warm assertion of morning.

Read any good books lately?

I sat for over an hour in a doctor's waiting room today, but didn't mind the delay -- I was happily reading a book. Most of the other people in the room were slumped in their chairs and staring into space, like glum sheep. A stack of magazines went untouched. I felt like a weirdo as I turned the pages. A guy who reads: imagine that.

Whenever I know I'll be in a waiting situation, I bring along something to read. I can't fathom why so many other people don't. I think more people did years ago--people read more newspapers, anyway. Now they're more likely to bring along a video game or conduct their personal business via cell phone, as if no one else could hear them. Thank you for sharing . . . .

". . . books are like horses -- very handy in their day, but superseded by the technology of the camera/engine, and now their only function is as nostalgic weekend hobbies," says a Guardian article. "That's why people never turn films into books; it would be like downloading your iPod on to an eight-track. And again, why no toxic shame? Why not even the hint of sheepishness in the admission that reading is a little bit tiring compared with sitting and gawping at something?"

(link via Maud Newton)

Word of the Day

alible (adj)

Having nutrients; nourishing.

"I care not how alible it is," Humphrey hissed as he tossed his Christmas gift, a colorful fruitcake, out of the window.