If you love music, you should play hooky from work tomorrow and come listen to bloggers sing and play Holiday songs.Â
I can’t believe how talented some of you are!  Why are you wasting your time BLOGGING?
Tag: Christmahanukwanzaakah (Page 3 of 3)
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I got flack over the last post I wrote from Sophia, my mother, and the estate of Irving Berlin.  Who advertises a holiday concert with smut like that?Â
They’re absolutely right.  The holidays are a time for family, and I want your entire family — including your adorable, fresh-faced children — to be able to enjoy the festivities of the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert.
For that reason, I’d like to move the last post one down since it is NSFC (not safe for children), and remind you about the concert once again, this time in a sugar-plum fairy, wholesome way fit for all ages.
Wholesome Santa and the Radio City Rockettes
Remember, the concert is Monday.   All materials must be in by Sunday night.  Happy Hanukkah! Merry Christmas! Ho Ho Ho! All the best during this holiday season, boys and girls!
Irving Berlin:Â “You know, I thought the last post was pretty funny.”
Neilochka:Â “Thanks, Irv.”
Irving Berlin: “Nice bunch of Rockettes up there. You know, in my day, I shtupped quite a few Rockettes.”
Neilochka: “Really? Hmmm, I’d like to hear all about it, but tell me after the holidays…”
Irving Berlin: “There was this one dancer named Marion.  She was so limber, she could lift her leg over her head. As you could imagine, this came in quite handy when…”
Neilochka: “Irving… Irving… later!  After the holidays!!  For now, this blog is strictly G-rated — nice, not naughty”
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Two days ago, I was feeling very Grinch-like.Â
“Why am I hosting this stupid holiday online concert?” I asked myself as I shuffled along Wilshire Boulevard, spitting on the floor. “I don’t even like Christmas. I don’t even celebrate the holiday.”Â
I walked by a make-shift Christmas tree lot, set-up in the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. There was fake snow on the floor and tinny Christmas music was playing on a lonely speaker on the ground. Â
“Bah, Humbug!” I said. “I’m going to cancel the damn concert. I don’t care about holidays and I don’t give a s**t about other bloggers anyway. All they care about is advertising and links and NaBloPoMo and Facebook. And their so-called “Holiday cheer” is fakery! After the holiday, they just go back to stabbing each other in the back.”
That night, I started writing a blog post explaining why I was canceling the contest, and basically insulting every blogger I’ve ever met as a narcissistic loser or nutcase.Â
“Why I should even write this blog for free when they all should be paying me $100 dollar a day each for the honor to read one of my posts.  Let Dooce entertain the masses. I’m better than that!”
All the anxiety must have made me very sleepy, because I fell asleep on the couch before I had a chance to press “Publish.”
I was awaken suddenly by the presence of a shadowy figure.
“Sophia?” I asked. “Is that you?”
“No, Neil. It is your father.”
It was the ghost of my late father.
“Dad? What do you want?”
“What is this bulls**t about you cancelling the concert this year?”
“Eh, what’s it all for? Hanukkah is already half over. And we’re Jewish. We don’t even celebrate Christmas.”
“But don’t you remember how much I loved Christmas?”
My father reminded me about how he dressed-up like Santa every year in the hospital he worked at.
“Well, you’re a more caring man than I am. I’m selfish. I ask you, “What’s in it for ME?”
My father’s ghost started to fade.
“Dad, where are you going?”
“Neilochka, my son, your heart has turned to stone.  I’m unable to change your ways. Now the BIG GUN will come for you.”
“The big gun? What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? Are you talking about God himself?”
The entire living room shook like the Northridge Earthquake.  Smoke filled the room and another ghost walked towards me. He was an older man, short, and smoked a cigar. He was dressed in a brown suit and had bushy eyebrows.
“Neilochka… Neilochka…” he spoke…
“Who are YOU?!  You’re not God?
“Of course I’m not God, you schmuck. I’m Irving Berlin.”
“Irving Berlin? You’re the big gun?”
“Irving Berlin. Born Israel Isidore Baline. A nice Jewish boy like you. My father was a cantor who certified kosher meat.”
“So what? What do YOU want from me?”
“I also had my doubts about Christmas when I was your age. What do I know about Jesus? But then I said to myself, “What do these goyishe shmendricks know about writing a good Christmas song? It takes a Yiddishe mind to come up with “White Christmas.” You let some white bread in a cardigan like Bing Crosby sing it. He gets the credit, but you get the dames.”
“The dames? You got the dames from writing a Christmas song?”
“Come, Neilochka, let me take you to my Christmas past.”
Irving Berlin took my hand and we flew out the window. We flew from Redondo Beach to Hollywood… and then into the past. The Hotel Roosevelt on Hollywood Boulevard dissolved from 2007 to the time of the Golden Age of Hollywood.  It looked pretty much the same, just more glamorous. We found ourselves in a penthouse room.  In front of the two of us was a scene from the past – a younger Irving Berlin in bed with four Hollwood starlets. Â
“You see, Neilochka. Shiksas just love Jewish men who can write a good Christmas song…”
My eyed widened in astonishment.
“You mean if I put on the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert this year with all these female bloggers around… I will…?” I asked.
“First… let me show you what will happen if you DON’T put on the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert this year.”
I grabbed the composer’s hand and back we flew to Redondo Beach, into the future — to MY FUTURE. Time blew away like the wind and we found ourselves in my  living room, watching the future Neilochka. It was Christmas eve 2007 and I was sitting by myself, the laptop in front of me… my pants down…
“My God, what am I… am I looking at online photos of Penelope Cruz and playing with myself?!”
“That’s what it looks like!” said Irving Berlin. “Ha Ha! The best part is that in a second, Sophia is going to enter the house with friends she invited over for some coffee and cake, and everyone is going to be shocked, especially the couple’s young daughter.”
“This is horrible. I can’t stand it. Stop it! Stop the future!”
“What about the concert…”
“OK, OK, I’ll have the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert. Just take me from this future. Take me away.” I screamed, sobbing…
I grabbed the arm of the ghost’s jacket and we flew out the window and into the night sky. I was still crying.
“I understand now. Thank you! Thank you for letting me see what could happen. I am a changed man! I’ll never badmouth the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert again. It is my duty to host the concert. I want to be that inspiration, like you. I want to make people happy. I want to please those female bloggers so much that I get four shiksas in my bed, just like you did! Please, Mr. Berlin. Show me the alternative future. Show me my REAL Christmas eve this year after I host the Christmahanukwanzaakah concert.
Time swirled around us like a tornado and we were suddenly back in my living room on Christmas Eve 2007.
“Here is your REAL future, Neilochka.”
I was sitting on the couch, still leering at photos of Penelope Cruz, playing with myself. Sophia was about to open the front door, her friends behind her.
“WTF?!” I yelled. “It’s the exact same future as before! What about the concert? What happened to me shtupping MY four shiksas?!”
“The concert was great. But you with four women? What the hell do you want from me, you nudnik? A miracle?  I’m only Irving Berlin, not God!”Â
The 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert —
— is Monday, December 10th. If you want to participate, send me an audio file or a link by Sunday, December 9th. The songs I’ve already received are absolutely terrific, a great combination of fun and heartfelt! If you are unable (or too wimpy) to sing, you can help “decorate” the set by sending me a Holiday photo of your family, your tree, your menorah, or something seasonal.  Or recite a poem.  Or make a video of you juggling snowballs. If you are still having trouble recording your song, email me.
So far, we already have versions of Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas, Sleigh Ride, and Silent Night. You are welcome to do another version if you would like. Remember to say what song you are working on in the comments so we won’t have too many duplicates.
Have fun making music!
“Sing a Christmahanukwanzaakah Song,” recorded by Neilochka (mp3)
Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of dreidels and snow
Sing of Santa and mistletoeSing, sing a song
If you’re a blogger
You definitely belong
Don’t worry that you don’t know the words
To Frosty the Snowman wellJust sing
Sing a songLa la la la la… it’s Christmahanukwanzaakah!
It is now time to raise our voices in song again in this new holiday tradition. Hanukkah songs about miracles. Christmas songs about faith. Winter songs about the beauty of the season. Kwanzaa songs about new traditions. It is the 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert, right here on Citizen of the Month on Monday, December 10th (with a re-broadcast on Christmas Day). The concert is for YOU and by YOU — and this year will be bigger and better than last year.
If you want to participate, just say so in the comments or email me ASAP. Please try to tell me what song you want to sing, so we don’t have five people all performing “The Little Drummer Boy.”
1) You can send me either an audio file or a video.
2) You can host it on your own site or send the recording to me directly. If you host it yourself, just send me the URL.
3) A blogger must participate in the performance, not just your kid dressed as a snow angel. It must be YOU and your kid singing together, or YOU playing the guitar as backup.
4) I must receive the final song by December 9 for the concert on December 10th. This gives you two weeks to record it.
5) If you have any question on how to record a song, just email me. It is very easy to do using your computer.
6) Have fun! You don’t need to sing perfectly!
7) If you are too much of a wimp to sing, send in a photo of your Christmas tree, Hannukah menorah, snowmen, or your family all dressed up in their Holiday best — we’ll use it to decorate “the set.”
And remember, on November 30 – December 2, the weekend before the concert, there will be the Blogger Holiday Online Arts and Crafts Fair , also hosted here. Come and find some cool Holiday gift ideas, made by bloggers themselves. If you sell your artwork or crafts, and you want to participate as a “vendor,” email me at neilochka at yahoo dot com.
Much like the Pilgrims thanked the Indians after they had their first decent meal in the New World, I like to use Thanksgiving, not only as an excuse to stuff myself with turkey, but as an opportunity to thank the first blogger who ever commented on this blog. This individual is the one who transformed Citizen of the Month from a dopey journal where I write about nonsense to a… uh, dopey “blog” where I write about nonsense and others read it!
I can’t believe that I’ve been blogging for three years already, and I’m up to thanking my THIRD commenter. THREE YEARS?! Three years without getting a penny from blogging! Three years without feeling up one female blogger! What the hell am I doing this for?! But like those hardy Pilgrims, I continue on and face my demons, doing the hard work to build something worthwhile, never asking for thanks, just knowing that one day my ancestors will be in the Social Register, discriminating against YOU at the country clubs in Connecticut.
Oh, right. And for the comments. I love my commenters!
My first commenter with Terry Finley. It was a short relationship. After his one comment, we lost touch, and he abandoned his blog. Still, we always remember our first, don’t we?… unless it was really, really bad. But Terry was pretty nice. Here was his comment:
Nice blog. Thank you.
Our health is really important.
Check out my blog.
Terry Finley
My blogging career was underway.
My SECOND commenter was The Reluctant Optimist (well, actually he was called something else at the time, but then he changed his name, worrying that his frequent posts about big-breasted women might sabatoge his work with the United States Military. He is very special to me, especially since he is a MALE reader who still reads this blog.
This is what I wrote about him last year:
At first glance, TRO and I have little in common. He is a Southerner, a former Air Force Officer who served with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. But blogging can make strange bedfellows, and despite our differences in political views at times, we immediately bonded over our love for buxom brunettes. Now, THAT is what the true meaning of the blogosphere is all about. So, thank you TRO!
(TRO — Loved that recent photo of Selma Hayek (you’re never gonna get a date if you spell her name as Hyack. What an actress!)
Surprisingly, his first comment shows no evidence of our future friendship (or does it?):
Two problems with your post.
One, this was not hard news. It wasn’t news at all. Evidently it was fiction.
Secondly, an inflammatory story like this can cause violence — especially in the middle-east where violence is inflamed quite easily. Comparing it to the questionable effects of a video game is faulty logic at best and disingenuous at worst.
And the Arab “street†believes it because they keep hearing it from the liberal anti-American media as well as their own anti-American outlets.
That’s why blogging is so great. It always surprises you!
This year, I will thank my THIRD COMMENTER – Richard Heft. This is a unique situation, because Richard is actually a “real life” person, someone who knew me B.B. –“before blogging.”  He was good friends with Sophia before she met me, and then we became friends. I only have a few real-life friends who ever come to my blog.  Although Richard doesn’t have a blog himself, he comes by every once in a while, showing off his brains and wit. Naturally, his first comment was about some esoteric foreign movies.
One of the problems with concepts like the YMDB is that you really need two lists: my list of “Favorite†films (which always starts with ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN) bears no resemblance to my list of “Best†films ever made (which starts with TOKYO STORY, SUNRISE, OR CHILDREN OF PARADISE, depending on the phases of the moon).
I’ve never seen THE GREEN RAY (I assume it’s a French adaptation of the Green Lantern comic book; what else COULD it be?), but I’ve always filed LIFE & DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP under “mammoth but minor.†It’s basically a long (long!) propaganda film, with memorable performances by Livesey and Walbrook, but I’ve never felt the urge to watch it a second time. For WWII-era Michael Powell movies, I much prefer A CANTERBURY TALE and THE 49TH PARALLEL.
And for you and Dinah to hook up, Neal, you’re going to have to brush up your Mizoguchi and hone your Ozu.
Thank you, Richard, for being my third commenter and a good friend, even if no one understood what we were talking about during that post! And “Dinah” ended up being Communicatrix, but that’s another story.
Who was your first commenter? Or second? If you want to thank your first commenter for Thanksgiving, it’s easy. Just go all the way back into your archives and there he or she is — waiting for you!
Other thankful bloggers:Â Kapgar, Danny, Ascender, Elisabeth, Otir (thankful in French, which is sexy), 180/360, Nance, and Not Fainthearted.
P.S. —
My father loved watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. At the end, he would call me over, yelling all excitedly, “It’s Santa Claus!” I don’t understand why this middle-aged Jewish man loved Santa Claus so much. At the hospital he worked in, he dressed up as Santa Claus during every Christmas and went to the children’s ward to give gifts. He was the scrawniest Santa Claus ever, in his thick Woody Allen-type glasses.
Thanksgiving means the start of the Holiday Season, not only because Macy’s wants to sells me stuff, but because that’s how I remember it. I remember the enthusiasm of my father… and we didn’t even celebrate Christmas!
So, coming up LATER THIS WEEK — two announcements about upcoming events:
1) The First Blogger Holiday Arts and Crafts Sale (bloggers — sell your artwork, doo-dads, and knitted hats AS GIFTS — at the biggest promotional blog post ever! Right here on Citizen of the Month!)
And, of course… The 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert (can we make it even more fabulous than last year?!) I’ll try to improve on last year’s lame Hanukkah “Latkes song.” Take out those instruments and get ready to sing!
(Sign up will begin shortly. Kyran is already practicing her Jingle Bells)
Jamelah, 2006 Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert Poster Girl
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: A Charlie Brown Blog Post (for Ninja Poodles)
This week, we chose YOU as the Person of the Year because:
 “In 2006, the World Wide Web became a tool for bringing together the small contributions of millions of people and making them matter.”
Three days later, the editors here at Time Magazine have decided that the Year of “You” has officially ended, due to an online blogger holiday concert that started out as a day for holiday cheer, but quickly denigrated into a night of chaos, violence, and protest.
Events at the concert unfurled quickly as two female bloggers sang similar versions of “Santa Baby.” Fists started flying after Pam of Nerd’s Eye View called Erin of Villanovababy a “Britney wannabe who should stick to her stupid blog.” Erin of Villanovababy simply said, “Pam is a blogging bitch who can stick her ukulele up her ***.”
Several bloggers were asked to leave the Hyatt Hotel on LA’s Sunset Strip after trashing the “Presidential Suite” in an after-concert bash.Â
“I’ve never seen such sick depravity in all my years as hotel manager. It was like a wild drunken orgy, except they used their laptops!” said Richard Ortiz, a 25-year veteran in the business.
Many bloggers were disappointed in the management of the concert. Outcries of nepotism were heard because bloggers were only allowed to perform one song each, but Sophia Lansky of Redondo Beach, was allowed TWO songs. An anonymous caller, a disgruntled blogger who goes by the alias of “Brooke,” said that Ms. Lansky isn’t even a blogger. Further research revealed that the Ms. Lansky is the separated wife of the concert organizer, Neil “Neilochka” Kramer. Requests for an interview were refused.
Disruptions to the concert are expected to continue this evening as Al Sharpton prepares to lead a large protest march against the Holiday concert.Â
“Despite being called a Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert, not ONE song for Kwanzaa was included in the festivities.” said Mr. Sharpton. “It is not surprising that this concert was organized by someone named “Kramer.””
Time Magazine deeply regrets picking ordinary people to be Time Person of the Year.Â
“If this is what happens when bloggers get together, forget this s**t about YOU.” said a senior editor. “We should have just picked Tiger Woods!”
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:Â Blogging the Big Event
poster girl Jamelah
THE CONCERT PROGRAM
Ellen performing Jingle Bell Rock
Digital Father performing O Holy Night
Psychotoddler performing Sevivon
Becky performing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
Elisabeth and Claire performing il est ne le divin enfant
Sheana and Colleen performing The Dreidel Song
Fitena performing Silent Night
Mr. Fabulous performing Blue Christmas
Villanovababy performing Santa Baby
Sophia performing Hanukkah, Oh Hannukah
Heather B performing O Come All Ye Faithful
Tiff performing The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)
INTERMISSION
Nelumbo performing Up on the House Top
Non-Highlighted Heather performing Silent Night
Sophia, post-accident, performing Ocho Kandelikas in Ladino
Qatherinn performing A Christmas Song
Neil performing How to Make Latkes!
Stuntmother‘s son, Daniel performing Jingle Bells.
Danny performing Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah
Caryn performing The Chipmunks Christmas Song
Paintergirl performing Rock and Roll Round the Christmas Tree
F.D. (from Therapy Doc) performing Dovid Melech (more here)
Pam performing Santa Baby
Chana‘s daughter performing Ocho Candelikas
Doris and Edda performing We Wish You a Merry Christmas
photo by Leesa
photo by Jenny
photo by Chantel
photo by Two Roads
photo by Michelle
photo by 3T
photo by Pearl
photo by Orieyenta
photo by Nics
photo by LeahPeah
photo by Smitten
photo by Pam
photo by Sarah
photo by Claire
photo by Edgy Mama
photo by Tamarika
photo by Leezer
photo by V-Grrrl
photo by Chloe
photo by Neil and colorized by Sarah
(from The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills – Chapter Two)Â
Nick took my mother’s other hand.
“Your mother and I are friends… †he said.
“Very good friends…†added my mother.
It suddenly became real to me.  This was Santa Claus. And Santa Claus was a horny older guy leering at my mother’s figure!
“Mom?â€Â I gasped. â€Are you doing it with Santa Claus?!!â€
“What kind of question is that to ask your mother?!” she answered. “And I’m a adult.”
“But I’m shocked,” I stammered.
Nick laughed his “Ho Ho Ho.”
“How can someone who writes about his penis all the time be such a prude?” he joked.
“But, Mom?” I cried incredulously. “What about Dad? It’s only been 15 months since he passed away.”
“Your father would be the FIRST person to want me to date again. Being over 65 is young today!”Â
I began feeling dizzy.  My mother gave me her kindly smile.
“Think about every Christmas since you were a child. What did your father do at Queens General Hospital?”
“He would dress as Santa and visit the children’s wing.”
“He was the funniest-looking Santa ever,” Nick added. “He was so skinny… and those Woody Allen glasses! But he was the best!”
“So who better to take on as a lover…” said my mother, “than the REAL Santa Claus?! Your father would be impressed!”
I turned towards Nick, still defiant.
“And what about you, Nick? Aren’t you still married?”
“Technically, I am still married to Mrs. Claus. But we are, uh, separated. Although we still live near each other in the North Pole, and love each other, we can still date, but… it’s all very complicated. I’m not sure if you can understand…”
“Oh, I can. I can…” I replied.
My mother took me by my arm and led me to the living room couch. It was in perfect condition for an old couch because of the plastic that covered it for 30 years.
“Mom, are you sure you know what you are doing?” I asked.
“Is there anything wrong with Nick bringing some “joy” into my life?” she said.
I shook my head, confused.
“I don’t understand. How did you and Santa… uh, Nick… meet?”
“At Shirley’s house. It seems that Nick is quite a whiz at Mah-Jongg and came over for a game.”
Nick sat down across from us.
“My mother, Miriam Clausiwitz, god rest her soul, played Mah-Jongg every Tuesday when I was growing up in the Bronx. I can still hear the click of the tiles and the chattering of the women. I even taught the elves how to play! Oh, you should see some of their competitive tournaments!”
“My head is spinning” I said.
My mother gave me a hug.
“All is good, Neil. The world is good, despite your bad experiences on the plane and the cab ride over here. People ARE good. We just forget to look at the positive side sometimes. I don’t know if it will work out between Nick and I, but I’ve learned so much from him.”
“And I’ve learned so much from your mother.” said Nick. “She’s a wonderful woman. And so full of energy!  Be inspired by her, Neil. It’s up to you and other wonderful bloggers to spread the joy throughout the blogosphere.”Â
“You mean the Holiday Concert? The Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Holiday Concert?”
“Yes, Neil! The Holiday Concert on your blodge” said my mother, beaming with pride.
“It would be a mitzvah!” echoed Nick.
I could hear MUSIC coming from upstairs, but it wasn’t coming from the apartment upstairs. The music was surrounding us. It felt spiritual.Â
“That music?” I said as I looked for the source. “It sound so familiar. It sounds like the soundtrack from “Gunga Din” my father’s favorite movie.”
“It is your father… !” said Nick. “From the beyond!Â
My mother listened carefully, as if she understood.Â
“I think Artie wants to say that he loves the Holiday concert idea.  It could be a Holiday tradition, just like when he used to dress up like Santa Claus at the hospital every year!”
Suddenly, I heard my father’s voice calling out to me.
“Go ahead, Neil.” he said. “Make the announcement about the concert already!”
“And what about Mom and Santa Claus? What should I do” I asked my father. “Doesn’t it make you upset? Doesn’t it make you jealous?”
“Nah. If Elaine passed away first, you don’t think I would be shtupping other women by now? Besides, what’s there to be jealous of?  Have you seen the tiny size of Santa Claus’ c**k?!”
“You are too funny, Dad. I love you.”
“Go and put up the sign-up sheet,” he instructed me. “The Holiday Season is upon us. Let everyone “Be of Good Cheer!”
ANNOUNCING THE FIRST ANNUAL BLOGGER Christmahanukwanzaakah HOLIDAY CONCERT — December 20, 2006
(sign-up sheet coming later)
(from The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills, Chapter One)
“Here’s what I want, Neil. Have you ever thought about hosting a Holiday Concert on your blog, where other bloggers spread the joy by sending in holiday music and songs they recorded themselves?â€
“Host a Holiday Concert? Me? But I’m Jewish!â€
“So am I, Neilochka…†said Nick. “So am I…â€
“Who else do you think they could get to work on Christmas Eve?” he laughed.
“And how exactly would this Blogger Holiday concert work?” I inquired.
“Ho Ho Ho. Easy as fruitcake. Tomorrow on your blog, you would put up a sign-up sheet. Bloggers could volunteer to perform a holiday song for Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. They can sing or play an instrument, or both.  They could send the finished piece over the internet either in .wav or MP3 format, edited or unedited. I’m sure you can help explain all this. Even with all those Playstation 3s I’m hearing about, I’m not much of a techie.”
“And when would I hold this Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert?”
“December 20 sounds right.”
“And what about those bloggers who can’t sing or play an instrument?”
“You mean the talentless ones? They could always send you a photo of their menorah or Christmas tree. Just NO KITTENS.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Nick. Although some call me Kris Kringle. Or Santa Claus.”
“Santa Claus?! You have to be kidding?” I cried, my eyes rolling in disbelief.
The elevator door opened. My mother was standing down the hall, waiting for me, much as she used to when I would come home from school. I grabbed my suitcase and rushed towards her, trying to get as far away from this nut as possible.
“Hurry, Mom! Let me in and then close the door behind us!”
“Hello, Neil,” my mother said in her usual cheerful, comforting voice. “And hello, Nick.”
“Nick?!”
I twirled around like a dreidel and saw Nick following right behind me.
“My Sweet Elaine.” Nick purred, as he took my mother in his arms. They kissed, passionately.
“MOM?! What the…!!!”
My mother took my hand, sensing my concern.
“Neil, I was going to tell you later about Santa… uh, Nick.. but… but…”
Nick took my mother’s other hand.
“Your mother and I are friends… ” he said.
“Very good friends…” added my mother.
It suddenly became real to me.  This was Santa Claus. And Santa Claus was a horny older guy leering at my mother’s figure!
“Mom?” I gasped.  “Are you doing it with Santa Claus?!!”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
“Would you mind switching with me?” asked the well-dressed gentleman sitting directly behind me. I had just boarded the plane at LAX. “They mistakenly put my wife next to you.” he continued, smiling at the elegant woman to my right. “Of course,” I said, always eager to help a married couple so clearly in love. We switched seats, and I sat behind the gentleman. Within five minutes of taking off, the man leaned his seat all the way back, blocking most of the space needed for my long legs.
“Some thanks” I mumbled to myself.
I bought these tickets at the last moment, so I had no choice but to switch planes at Dulles. Once we got to Washington, there was a delay and we had to circle the airport for fifteen minutes. I was getting nervous about missing my connection.Â
As we started our descent, a flight attendant made an announcement on the loudspeaker, “There is one passenger who needs to connect to a flight to JFK. Could you please raise your hand?”
I meekly put up my hand. The flight attendant pointed me out and the rest of the plane looked in my direction.
“When we arrive at the gate,” she continued, “would everyone be kind enough to stay in their seats and let this passenger exit the plane first?”
“How nice.” I thought.
The plane landed. The moment the seat belt sign went off, everyone completely ignored the previous announcement and stood to get their luggage from the overhead bins. I was trapped in my seat.
The flight attendant spoke into her microphone again, this time with a bit more emphasis, “Could everyone please return to their seats and let the passenger who needs to make his flight to JFK deplane first?”
Â
The grouchy passengers grumbled as I made my way down the center aisle. I weaved my way past the obstacle course of opened bins, luggage in the aisle, and dirty looks, I heard a wife complain to her husband, “Why didn’t he take a STRAIGHT-THROUGH flight like everyone else rather than make us all wait?!” It was apparent that the other passengers really didn’t give a damn whether or not I made my flight. Not only that, they wished me DEAD for making them wait ten seconds.
Now I have several wonderful blogging friends in the Washington D.C. area, so I’m not going to make any generalizations about the residents of our nation’s capital.Â
And to be honest, my arrival in New York was just as unfriendly.
Once at JFK, I wheeled my suitcase to the taxi stand. There was a long line of cabs waiting to pick up tourists for the $45 trip to Manhattan. Some unlucky cabbie got stuck with me — a local fare staying in Queens.
For most of my trip home, I had to endure this cabbie’s dramatic monologue, which consisted of “F***k, F***k, F***k, I waited for twenty f**king minutes for this s**t!” said over and over.
I finally made it home and overtipped the cabbie out of guilt. He zoomed off without a thank you.Â
I stood in front of my familiar old apartment building, but I didn’t feel any joy. Instead, the trip had just made me depressed.Â
I thought of that gentleman who shoved his seat in my face as a thank you for my switching rows with him. I remembered the callous passengers on the flight to Dulles, so selfish they couldn’t wait a few seconds to let me off the plane. I saw the face of the disgruntled New York cabbie, who ruined my welcome home with his obscenities and hateful stares. Is this humanity? Is this the best we can do? People suck! I could feel any empathy for the human race drain out of my body, like the sweat does when I’m in the San Fernando Valley in August.
I entered my apartment building. The elevator was waiting and I got inright away. As the elevator door was about to close, I heard a voice calling out, “Hold it!” I quickly pushed the “Door Open” button, and a hefty man jumped inside the elevator.
“Thank you, kind sir,” he said.
This hefty man was a odd looking guy. He was at least 65 years old. He had thick white hair, a long white beard, retro Ben Franklin glasses, and extremely red cheeks, almost like sugar plums. When he laughed, he did this hardy “Ho Ho Ho” that sounded a bit fake, but at the same time it was very endearing. He said his name was Nick. I never saw him before, so I assumed he was a new resident in the apartment building.
“Did you just fly in?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“What did you fly on?”
“Jet Blue.”
“You name yours Jet Blue?”
“Huh? It’s an airline.”
“Oh, yeah, I should try one of those some day. Can’t be any worst than listening to Rudolph and Prancer argue all night about their “alternative lifestyle.””
This strange man was making me nervous.Â
“Do you… uh… live here?” I stammered.
“Oh, no. I came here to see you, Neilochka.”
“Me?! How do you know my name?!”
“Oh, that. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I see you when you’re sleeping. I see you when you’re awake.”
I started reaching for my cellphone to call 911.Â
“You’ve been a very good boy this year, Neil.” he said, smiling. “Well… except maybe for you, uh, “decorating your Christmas tree” a little too often in the morning when you wake up. But hey, even I send out the Mrs. for some gingerbread cookies when I want some alone time.”
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
He laughed his oddball “Ho Ho Ho.”Â
“It sounds like you’ve had a terrible trip to New York, my friend. And you’re beginning to doubt the good in humanity.”
“Is this elevator broken?”
I started pushing buttons at random.Â
“Life can be harsh.” he continued in his deep voice. “Many lose hope at this time of the year. They grow depressed as the days get darker and nights get colder.”
 “Well, thanks, but I have my Prozac for that. I’m going to call the police now for help. I think we’re stuck.”
“Neilochka, you are stuck, but not in the way you are thinking.  You are stuck because you are not seeing the joy of life.”
“What joy?”
“Ah… what if there was a way you could find this joy of life again and help others as well… help others see what is wonderful with the world…”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Maybe you should move to Los Angeles. You can make millions giving New Age seminars. What do you want from ME?”
“Here’s what I want, Neil. Have you ever thought about hosting a Holiday Concert on your blog, where other bloggers spread the joy by sending in holiday music and songs they recorded themselves?”
“Host a Holiday Concert? Me? But I’m Jewish!”
“So am I, Neilochka…” said Nick. “So am I.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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