Good golly Miss Molly! look at the calendar—Christmas is here. Why only yesterday it seemed as if it were baseball season. Oh wait, that was the Mitchell Report, last week. Lots of coal in those sanitary socks this Yuletide.
As usual, I’ll be walking the line between pre-ghostly visitors Scrooge and Will Ferrell in Elf. I have a Gemini moon OK. Now where’s my present? I do wish I could give my friends gifts, but I’m a bit low on flow, having blown my allowance on NetFlix. Well, the ones who take the time to read my blog deserve gifts. The rest are dead to me. Did I mention I have a. . . yes, I did.
But since Christmas is in theory, a fun time of year, in the spirit of that, here are the gifts I would give what friends I have left, after the preceding paragraph. I will be using initials, because I really can’ t afford to lose them too and/or any litigation. They will know who they are, and that’s all matters. If they don’t, they weren’t really getting anything any way.
For the best sounding board I have ever had GEO: Marshall Crenshaw’s old back up band + 3 hit song co-writes.
For the only poet I’ve ever read who didn’t make me homicidal or suicidal & not necessarily in that order JEM: a villa on the Spanish Riviera & a copy of her daughter’s future coffee table book of photography.
For a woman who had the courage to move to Manhattan, get a Masters, then quit a secure job to pursue the Muse KSH: anything she wants musically. Ever.
For my former manager, a guy too nice for show business REL: one son in the NFL & the other on Broadway & a long, rest of your life to enjoy it.
For the only couple on this list S & EG: a continued endless supply of whatever it is makes you both so amazing.
Finally for the family members who still put up with me: It ain’t over til it’s over. . .. twang twang
Happy Christmas & the best year ever. Hey! what’s Zooey Deschanel doing here? and why is she dragging that huge chain!