Ahhhhh! Not to mention ooooh!
I know I grouse a lot about Christmas decorations, but once in a while I come upon a house so precisely decorated that I can’t help employing sounds and exclamations that are most commonly reserved for fireworks. Oooooh, in other words. Not to mention, ahhhh! There’s a house on Webster Street in Lewiston, just beyond Webber, that provokes just such a reaction. It’s decorated from one side of the property to the other, shrubs and trees included. Dang, I think they went so far as to decorate a cat who just happened to be passing the neighborhood at the time. But it’s not the abundance of lights and ornaments that so dazzles me, it’s the combinations that are used. Or maybe it’s the dominate colors. Or the rate of twinkling. I don’t know for sure, but the lights there on Webster Street fill me with the spirit even as I try to reject it. And with that in mind, let’s all join hands and sing about how we’d like to buy the world a Coke.
Put your hands down, fool
You look ridiculous.
Who?
Up there in Whoville, just north of Lewiston, word on the street is that on Christmas morning, all the Whos gather in the center of town and sing:
Fah who foraze! Dah who doraze!
Welcome Christmas, come this way!
Fah who foraze! Dah who doraze!
Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day!
This is stunning news to me because all of my life, I thought they were singing “Ah, you saw me. You’ll be sorry . . .” which I took as some sort of musical threat directed at me personally.
I had a strange childhood.
Worst Christmas songs amendment
Nancy Mahar of Lewiston wrote in to say she would like me to make a change to my Top 10 Worst Christmas Songs list. “Although some people might be amused, I find that ‘I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas’ to be one of the worst songs of the season,” she writes. “Any chance you would agree and swap it for one on your list? Just asking.”
Now the problem here is that to change a song on that list would mean a complex process of committees, subcommittees, petitions, ballots, filibusters, accoutrements, s’mores and some guy named Rudy who cracks his knuckles a lot. The best I can do, Nancy, is to review the song and present my findings at a formal hearing. This may take a while.
OK, I’m done
By executive fiat, I’ve decided to accept Nancy’s proposal and to place “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” on the list. Why? Because the voice of whomever sings it is like shards of broken Christmas tree bulbs ground into my ears, that’s why. It was fun for five seconds and then it just hurt. Still not as bad as that Paul McCartney horror, though.
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