Hey... Jimmy...

You know, for a person who doesn't actually hate Christmas, I do honestly despise Christmas music. I'm not sure when this happened because I can recall with a clarity I don't often possess, listening to the Time-Life collection of Christmas music while my family set up our tree, or, if snow came early, during the first snow. It didn't strike me as cheezy or God-strike-me-dead-repetitive, only appropriate for the occasion.

These days, however, I despise Christmas music. Pretty much any and all, everywhere, at anytime. I cringe when I have to stand under the speaker at my favorite Starbucks in which they're blasting whatever it is they're blasting; I beg & cry & wail when the Mister insists upon playing John Denver and the Muppets' "A Christmas Together" or, worse yet, Gene Autry's "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

Omigosh, have you heard that Gene Autry album? The cheeze is so cheezy, it crosses all of my cheeze lines and reduces me to groaning and writhing on the floor. It's awful. There is an actual lyric that says, "So, let's give thanks to the Lord above, 'cause Santa Claus comes tonight."



Seriously? Seriously?! Nothing quite like sending mixed messages to our poor kids, is there? UGH.

Every time I am subjected to this horror, I writhe, I groan and I mock. Then, miracle of miracles, I start to have fun, not because I catch the spirit of the album or anything. No: because the Mister begins to mock with me, and he is the most fun EVER.

Track Ten: "Story of the Nativity/ Silent Night"

If you've never heard this particularly disturbing track, allow me to give you insight. First, it begins with harps and what I guess is supposed to sound like an angelic choir. GAG. Then Gene, talking. He starts to introduce the "Story of the Nativity," saying something about how, being a big kid himself, he never gets tired of hearing it, only to *suddenly* realize that there's a kid in the studio!

"Hey... Jimmy?" Enter the little pipe of a young boy. "Yes, Uncle Gene?"

Uncle Gene. Creeped out yet? It gets better.

"I think you'll be able to hear better if you climb up here on my lap."

This is the part where Bryan and I look at each other and start to snicker, both of us thinking exactly the same thought: PERV.

Uncle Gene proceeds to tell the Christmas story, though little Jimmy interrupts. A lot. As does that durn choir of "angels." A lot. Gene remains very calm, despite the contant interruptions, though I'm pretty sure at some point he glanced at his producer and gave him a look of exasperation, thinking, "Who hired this kid? He's killing me!" I know I'm thinking it.

Through all of this, Bryan and I are snickering. Every time Uncle Gene says, "Well, I should say so," we laugh. He says this many times. Uncle Gene goes on and on, telling his Christmas story, and little Jimmy falls asleep. Then we get this gem: "Well, I guess we better put him to bed." Sidelong glances; more snickering.

We listen to the noises of two grown men -- Uncle Gene and whoever "John" is -- taking a sleeping child through a house and putting him in his bed, full of little coconutty, footstep sounds, creaking doors and narrative about turning back covers. Gene intones some kind of blessing on his "nephew," but by this point, we're so far gone with inappropriate jokes, I doubt we've ever actually heard this last part.

No doubt this particular track is someone's special Christmas song, the song that every year brings a tear to their eye and joy to their heart. I stop short of gagging even writing that because I know it's probably true and I don't want to deny anyone their Christmas joy. However, as someone who did not grow up with Gene Autry (thank you, Mom & Dad. THANK YOU), I have no such feelings of sentimentality. To me, it sounds like an overdone, ten minute long snoozer that skirts way too close to pedophilic jokes to ignore. Forgive me.

*I in no way condone pedophilia nor find its occurance in reality humorous in any way. Sometimes, however, you just can't let the joke go. It's too easy.