Wishlist

Okay, grinches, I get it. You are fed up with the crass commercialism of the holiday. You are disgusted that you feel obligated to buy the $12.98 dried fruit basket shrinkwrapped in the aisle closest to the register at Rite Aid while you're picking up antacid to see you through another soul-sucking office Christmas shindig. You don't know the person whose name you picked in the Secret Santa exchange, and you'd rather spend the $15 allotted for their present on two sophisticated cocktails at the salsa bar down the street. You hate that inane Alvin and the Chipmunks song that is playing on the radio with the same frequency as Maoist propaganda in Cold War China. You have been over it since finding out the truth about Kris Kringle when you were eleven.

Quit ruining it for the rest of us. Some of us are ready to surrender to the jingle jangle, and I don't want you pissing on my sparkle. If you are going to fly into a tirade at the mere mention of mistletoe, eggnog, or good cheer perhaps you should go someplace else for a little while, because it's time for my letter to Santa.

Dear Santa,
Remember two years ago? Because I do. I never did get the complete Sun Records Story, although I can forgive that because I have managed to cobbled together most of the most important or interesting bits. Actually, I didn't get my motorcycle jacket that year, either. OR my stereo receiver. That motorcycle jacket is still on my list.

Also on my list this year, Santa, is the Fishman ProPlat Bass Preamp. The longer I play with my set-up, the more convinced I become that I could use a little more control than I have. This would do the trick nicely. Of course, I would accept the Boss TU-2 tuner, because using a handheld tuner on a dark stage is for the birds.

While we're on the subject of my bass, I'm ready for an upgrade. I really love the vintage Kays (here's Bill Black with his) and American Standards, but I really want a King Double Bass 1/2 size Sparkleking. I thought I wanted a cherry candy coat over gold diamond flake, but lately I have been thinking about how cool it would be to have a sunburst, cherry into black or wine into black over a metal flake. That would be so pretty I would sleep with it every night. And I know it's custom work, but you and Brad at King are tight, right? I mean, you are both in the business of making people's dreams come true.

I know that it's a bit of a cliche, and that apparel with flash on it is losing its edge (thanks a million, Hot Topic!), but I still think these are the bomb. I would wear them every day. Or, you know. When the occasion warranted.

You know my favorite author is Neil Gaiman, right? I still only have the first four Sandman collections. And Mr. Punch is one I have searched for unsuccessfully: it's finally back in stock at Amazon, so that's one less thing in the elf sweatshop. Um. Factory, I mean.

I could prattle on and on about the things I want, but what I want more than anything is some lemur chow. You and I both know we're not talking about banana slices. I need enough to share; there is more than one now.

Seriously, though, Santa, I know as well as anyone that Christmas is not about the ribbons and wrappings or the presents inside. The real Grinch taught us that many years ago. No, Christmas is about staying in your pajamas all day and eating chocolate for breakfast and curling up in a huge pile under blankets on the couch to read all the books that Santa brought you while sipping hot cocoa. It's about being forced into scratchy starched shirts to take pictures and eat dinner while your cousins decimate one anothers' brand new toys. It's about believing in a palpable magic - you did come, you DID! It's about joy existing. If there is a prayer I could offer up for the season - and you must know that I am not the praying kind - I would ask: Let me be the vehicle for joy.

this was last year. I imagine this year will look much the same.

Bless us, every one.