This morning, I found myself sitting in a doctor’s office in lower Manhattan. Feeling already on edge from both the mysterious condition that brought me there and by the fact that I was ostensibly supposed to be at my office working, I was not exactly "at my best." But there was another element causing me pronounced displeasure and discomfort, one that recalled stories of Guantanamo Bay torture sessions involving tireless airings at high volumes of painful, disruptive, and sensory-battering music.
Much like the pervasive stench of a Shake Shack when you’re not-at-all hungry, there is something genuinely irritating about having to hear Christmas music when you’re not even slightly prepared or in the mood for it. Said irritation is amplified a whopping thousandfold when the Christmas music in question has undergone a needlessly melismatic R&B “reboot.” I am referring, of course, to Mariah Carey’s 1994 effort, Merry Christmas, wherein that vile, soulless harpee warbles erratically all over a string of canonical Christmas warhorses from “O Holy Night” through “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and all unfortunate points in between. Adding shrill insult to pronounced aural injury, there is also a fistful of Carey “originals,” most deplorable amongst them the abjectly indefensible “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” which dependably makes me want to maim every living soul in a five-block radius.
Later in the day, I started writing multiple richly worded and needlessly violent paragraphs about how it seems impossible for me to hate anything more than I hate "All I Want For Christmas Is You," but then realized I'd more than covered that subject here in great detail.
As such, I abandoned that post. You're welcome.
That all said, I found myself asking the question, "would it be alright just to allow for a tiny modicum of breathing room between the holidays?"
Evidently, the answer to that silly question is a very emphatic ...
"Fuck You, NO!"
Happy Holidays
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