It’s a Christmas Tradition on the ol’ raincoaster blog to re-post this, the greatest Christmas story ever told (sorry, Jesus!): A Christmas Story, by Sarban. It is long, but if I can spend several hours typing it in, you can take an hour or less to read it. I recommend accompanying it with a bottle of Zubrowka and a box of Kleenex.
A Christmas Story
By Sarban (John W. Wall)
I will tell you a Christmas story. I will tell it as Alexander Andreievitch Masseyev told it me in his little house outside the walls of Jedda years ago one hot, damp Christmas Eve….
For our second selection, we have the entirely awesome Simon Callow reading one of Charles Dickins’ non-cloying stories, “The Christmas Tree,” a marvellous, metaphorical memoir. I’ve stolen this one from the Guardian.
A couple of years ago, it was the year of Merry Fucking Christmas; this year, it appears to be more along the lines of WTF Christmas. For examples of what Batshit Insane holidays look like, see the following trio of videos.
JP Auclair demonstrates “urban skiing” in Trail, BC.
Remi Gaillard demonstrates “batshit insane” in the south of France.
And finally, some wholesome, and completely batshit insane, heliskiers falling down mountains in the forest of the BC interior.
I’m a little late getting into the Christmas spirit this year, partly because I missed my traditional opening to the Christmas Season, Christmas at Hycroft, thanks to the month-long Death Flu of Death flu that sent me to the hospital a couple of times instead of to the mall to see Santa like normal. But today at Starbucks I did indulge myself in a new Christmas album of jazz/lounge standards, of which I have an extensive collection, and I’m taking this as the official start of the season. It’ll sit nicely between my Ren & Stimpy Christmas Album and that one by the Gospel singer with the incredibly moving voice who was convicted of beating his wife.
But there’s one Christmas tradition that never gets old for me: pimping out my Christmas List to tens of thousands of people on social media, in the vague hope that one or more of them will weaken and buy me something. So without further ado, here is what I want, and how and when I want it.
That has never worked for me on OK Cupid, so I might as well try it here.
a pony. I’m fat now, Santa, so make it a sturdy Welsh Cob or Connemara pony.
a new hat, to replace the one that got stolen, my lamented and loved Official Indiana Jones Stetson which I bought on the very last day that Woodwards was open.
Chanel Allure perfume
Viktor & Rolf Spice Bomb perfume
any of Biella Coleman’s books or books about WikiLeaks except Julian Assange’s Cypherpunks, which I already have
an MP3 player, preferably an iPod Touch (used is fine) so I can get back into running without getting bored out of my mind
iPhone and a Virgin plan, because of all the places I’ve tried Virgin is the ONLY company that always has great service
Unlikethe last time I took this (when I was Edmund) I turned out to be Lucy, so apparently I’m becoming progressively more innocent as I age, which proves that William Blake was right all along. FACT.
You are Lucy Pevensie, youngest of the family. Your playfulness and curiosity lead you to new places and new people. You are always supporting your family and friends, lending assistance wherever you can. You are honest, but often accused of lying.
Yes, it’s a week into December and I’ve decided it’s time to start with the Christmas shizz for this year. Some years we’ve taken a wide-eyed and innocent approach (I think that was the year we were four) and some years more of a Merry Fucking Christmas approach, but this year I think we’ll go with a Punk Rock Christmas, including this lovely album cover from Bing Crosby (signed!) and a tuneful welcome to the Yuletide from the Peanuts gang, via Journal of a Journalist.
