My post of yesterday on the necessity that you should toss old, opened bottles of liquor away because they go “bad” elicited a comment from a friend:
“I never heard of this, and I don't think it's true. Brandy from colonial times, not all that well-sealed, has been resurrected in Williamsburg and pronounced excellent, for example. I sample our cognacs and scotches and liqueurs about once a year and have never noticed any deterioration. Some go back to my late father-in-law's lifetime, which is about 20 years.
“I think that guy must be a flack for the drinks industry.”
This friend knows way more about bibulous beverages than I’m ever going to, so I thought I should poke around the electrons a bit.
Apparently this is a topic of some discussion. Glenn Jeffers of the Chicago (possibly soon to be late-lamented) Trib gathered examples from his colleagues’ stashes & submitted them to a rep of the Beverage-Testing Institute for assaying. (I’m not making that organization up; here’s their web site.)
Now, having worked in print journalism, I am of the opinion that no one drinks like journalists, at least newspapermen—except possibly cops. So Jeffers had quite a range to test, with results reported here.
The ex sum is that distilled spirits don’t go bad, they fade. Cream, fruit & herb liqueurs will spoil. (I don’t do those nasty cream things, but I have to say that the B&B & Triple Sec bottles seem okay to me.) The less air in the bottle, the better the flavor will hold.
Amazon’s Askville concurs. The purer the spirit (whisky, vodka, rum, etc.) the less likely it is to fade. Once you start blending other additives (flavors, fruits, herbs), you give the air something to interact with. Sugary liqueurs will oxidize; exposure to light intensifies the reaction.
Finally, the Stealth Survival blogger has recommendations on how to maximize shelf life.
In short, no one came up with the somewhat arbitrary "three to four months" cited in the LA Times for keeping open bottles of spirits.
I offer this to you as a public service, & to confirm The Pundit’s Apprentice’s objection.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Liquor news
Jean T. Barrett, the LA Times’s answer to Eric Felten, recently wrote about artisanal gins, vodkas & whiskeys. Aside from the fact that I know I won’t be able to find anything she mentions in the liquor-restricted state of Washington, she makes a recommendation about one’s bar stocks that just stops me in my tracks.
Get rid of anything you haven’t used in a year.
Jeez—I’d have to empty out my stash except for the liqueurs I use in baking, the tequila & the single malt.
Apparently, booze can go bad. Barrett states,“Leading liquor writer F. Paul Pacult, author of ‘Kindred Spirits 2,’ a collection of spirits reviews and tasting notes, estimates the shelf life of opened bottles of spirits at just three to four months. I'm more liberal (or less discerning) and think up to a year is fine.”
Well, who knew?
Dunno what to tell you on this, folks. This is the first I’ve ever heard of this. I do know I’m not tossing out bottles of rum, vodka, cognac, Cointreau, bourbon, Calvados, etc. Not even the gin. Perhaps a huge cocktail party is in order.
You should exercise your own good judgment.
Get rid of anything you haven’t used in a year.
Jeez—I’d have to empty out my stash except for the liqueurs I use in baking, the tequila & the single malt.
Apparently, booze can go bad. Barrett states,“Leading liquor writer F. Paul Pacult, author of ‘Kindred Spirits 2,’ a collection of spirits reviews and tasting notes, estimates the shelf life of opened bottles of spirits at just three to four months. I'm more liberal (or less discerning) and think up to a year is fine.”
Well, who knew?
Dunno what to tell you on this, folks. This is the first I’ve ever heard of this. I do know I’m not tossing out bottles of rum, vodka, cognac, Cointreau, bourbon, Calvados, etc. Not even the gin. Perhaps a huge cocktail party is in order.
You should exercise your own good judgment.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Last-minute Christmas tips
So, for the day, a bit of this and that for your amusement.
An unknown reindeer. God bless dogs. Really.
If you’ve not yet had too much seasonal music, you can visit here, or here. There’s even this specialty station for those feeling the blues.
If you’re looking for something quieter, you can always reread A Christmas Carol. However, I really love the “Dulce Domum” chapter of The Wind in the Willows. Rat and Mole are hurrying home—to Rat’s home—on a freezing December night when Mole catches the scent of his own burrow. And it completely shatters him with longing and despair.
It takes Ratty a while to notice Mole’s anguish, but when he does, his response is all you could want from a friend.
“The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, ‘What is it, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.’”
Mole’s disjointed response is enough to give his pal the rough picture, and Rat leaps into action. They hunt down the old home, “Mole End”, & Ratty’s delight and energy propel Mole out of his depression and into joy.
“Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark despair and burying his face in his duster. ‘Rat,’ he moaned, ‘how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to give you—nothing—not a crumb!’
“What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully. ‘Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.’
“They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines—a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full—and a German sausage encased in silver paper.
“‘There's a banquet for you!’ observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. ‘I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!’
“‘No bread!’ groaned the Mole dolorously; ‘no butter, no----’
“‘No pate de foie gras, no champagne!’ continued the Rat, grinning. ‘And that reminds me—what’s that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.’
“He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm, ‘Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,’ he observed. ‘Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.’”
The friends are just sitting down to dinner when they are serenaded by the caroling field mice, who are invited in for a feast and a bit of ad lib playacting. It’s warm and jolly & one of the best Christmas scenes in all of literature.
I’ll confess to feeling a bit like Mole lately. I’ll be rereading the chapter myself (online, because my very well-worn copy of Wind is still packed up in the Scarlet O’Hara room), a glass of champagne to hand and a fire warming my toes.
I wish you a holiday as full of happiness and friendship as the one at Mole End.
An unknown reindeer. God bless dogs. Really.
If you’ve not yet had too much seasonal music, you can visit here, or here. There’s even this specialty station for those feeling the blues.
If you’re looking for something quieter, you can always reread A Christmas Carol. However, I really love the “Dulce Domum” chapter of The Wind in the Willows. Rat and Mole are hurrying home—to Rat’s home—on a freezing December night when Mole catches the scent of his own burrow. And it completely shatters him with longing and despair.
It takes Ratty a while to notice Mole’s anguish, but when he does, his response is all you could want from a friend.
“The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, ‘What is it, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.’”
Mole’s disjointed response is enough to give his pal the rough picture, and Rat leaps into action. They hunt down the old home, “Mole End”, & Ratty’s delight and energy propel Mole out of his depression and into joy.
“Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark despair and burying his face in his duster. ‘Rat,’ he moaned, ‘how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to give you—nothing—not a crumb!’
“What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully. ‘Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.’
“They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines—a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full—and a German sausage encased in silver paper.
“‘There's a banquet for you!’ observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. ‘I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!’
“‘No bread!’ groaned the Mole dolorously; ‘no butter, no----’
“‘No pate de foie gras, no champagne!’ continued the Rat, grinning. ‘And that reminds me—what’s that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.’
“He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm, ‘Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,’ he observed. ‘Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.’”
The friends are just sitting down to dinner when they are serenaded by the caroling field mice, who are invited in for a feast and a bit of ad lib playacting. It’s warm and jolly & one of the best Christmas scenes in all of literature.
I’ll confess to feeling a bit like Mole lately. I’ll be rereading the chapter myself (online, because my very well-worn copy of Wind is still packed up in the Scarlet O’Hara room), a glass of champagne to hand and a fire warming my toes.
I wish you a holiday as full of happiness and friendship as the one at Mole End.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Seasonal news update
So, as we make the run up to Christmas, the retail news seems pretty dreary. Here in the PNW the spiraling economy has been compounded by snowstorms that have kept even the would-be spenders at home (because they can’t get out on unplowed streets or park in unplowed lots). Even if you’ve shopped online, when you track your packages you see a steady stream of nothing happening.
Nationwide, stores were offering huge price cuts in hopes this past weekend—usually a solid one even in bad times. Macy’s tried to entice shoppers with 24-hour openings at 13 stores (on the east coast)
Naturally, as you might expect, there are pathologies associated with hard times compounding the holidays. We can expect shoplifting to rise as those who financed their beyond-their-means lifestyles on the hope of next month’s paycheck are reduced to reality. Since they deserve stuff…
It’s not all doom-laden; apparently aesthetic procedures & treatments are on the “necessity” side of some women’s lists; not the “extras”. Of course, the manufacturers & providers are offering price-slashing discounts to keep the flow of patients coming.
Nationwide, stores were offering huge price cuts in hopes this past weekend—usually a solid one even in bad times. Macy’s tried to entice shoppers with 24-hour openings at 13 stores (on the east coast)
Naturally, as you might expect, there are pathologies associated with hard times compounding the holidays. We can expect shoplifting to rise as those who financed their beyond-their-means lifestyles on the hope of next month’s paycheck are reduced to reality. Since they deserve stuff…
It’s not all doom-laden; apparently aesthetic procedures & treatments are on the “necessity” side of some women’s lists; not the “extras”. Of course, the manufacturers & providers are offering price-slashing discounts to keep the flow of patients coming.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Musings on the holiday
My neighbors had me over to dinner Friday night—a lovely evening with a good meal & excellent conversation with them & another couple, just as it should be.
Barbara & Jerry have lived in their own Rambler for 54 years, since it was built. They’re retired now, but still very active. Among other things, Barbara belongs to a poetry group. Friday she shared a couple she had brought to their December meeting—two poems on Christmas. The first was a child’s letter to Santa; she read it with great verve.
For the second—which had left her poetry group in utter silence—she prefaced it by reading this story (full story at http://www.stop-stoning.org/):
“4/11/2008: 13-year-old Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow was killed on Monday, 27 October 2008, by a group of 50 men who stoned her to death in a stadium in the southern port of Kismayu, Somalia in front of around 1,000 spectators. She was accused of adultery in breach of Islamic law but, her father and other sources told Amnesty International that she had in fact been raped by three men, and had attempted to report this rape to the al-Shabab militia who control Kismayo, and it was this act that resulted in her being accused of adultery and detained. None of men she accused of rape were arrested.
“Some of the Somali journalists who had reported she was 23 have told Amnesty International that this age was based upon a judgement of her age from her physical appearance.
“She was accused of adultery in breach of Islamic law but, her father and other sources told Amnesty International that she had in fact been raped by three men, and had attempted to report this rape to the al-Shabab militia who control Kismayo, and it was this act that resulted in her being accused of adultery and detained. None of men she accused of rape were arrested.
“‘This was not justice, nor was it an execution. This child suffered a horrendous death at the behest of the armed opposition groups who currently control Kismayo,’ said David Copeman, Amnesty’s International Somalia Campaigner.
“‘This killing is yet another human rights abuse committed by the combatants to the conflict in Somalia, and again demonstrates the importance of international action to investigate and document such abuses, through an International Commission of Inquiry.’”
& here’s the poem Barbara read:
“A Good Husband” by Mike Bartholomew-Biggs
I knew the Law of course –
and there seemed to be no doubt
that she’d done wrong.
Yet God knows we’re all human
and I’d no wish to break her.
I knew the Prophets too –
but you don’t expect their words
so close to home
to mix you up in matters
beyond your understanding.
So what’s the greater sin –
to dare to believe her story
or deny my dream?
Some questions will not let you
put them quietly aside.
I shall let you think about this the way Barbara did her poetry group & the dinner party. Consider it…a Christmas gift.
Barbara & Jerry have lived in their own Rambler for 54 years, since it was built. They’re retired now, but still very active. Among other things, Barbara belongs to a poetry group. Friday she shared a couple she had brought to their December meeting—two poems on Christmas. The first was a child’s letter to Santa; she read it with great verve.
For the second—which had left her poetry group in utter silence—she prefaced it by reading this story (full story at http://www.stop-stoning.org/):
“4/11/2008: 13-year-old Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow was killed on Monday, 27 October 2008, by a group of 50 men who stoned her to death in a stadium in the southern port of Kismayu, Somalia in front of around 1,000 spectators. She was accused of adultery in breach of Islamic law but, her father and other sources told Amnesty International that she had in fact been raped by three men, and had attempted to report this rape to the al-Shabab militia who control Kismayo, and it was this act that resulted in her being accused of adultery and detained. None of men she accused of rape were arrested.
“Some of the Somali journalists who had reported she was 23 have told Amnesty International that this age was based upon a judgement of her age from her physical appearance.
“She was accused of adultery in breach of Islamic law but, her father and other sources told Amnesty International that she had in fact been raped by three men, and had attempted to report this rape to the al-Shabab militia who control Kismayo, and it was this act that resulted in her being accused of adultery and detained. None of men she accused of rape were arrested.
“‘This was not justice, nor was it an execution. This child suffered a horrendous death at the behest of the armed opposition groups who currently control Kismayo,’ said David Copeman, Amnesty’s International Somalia Campaigner.
“‘This killing is yet another human rights abuse committed by the combatants to the conflict in Somalia, and again demonstrates the importance of international action to investigate and document such abuses, through an International Commission of Inquiry.’”
& here’s the poem Barbara read:
“A Good Husband” by Mike Bartholomew-Biggs
I knew the Law of course –
and there seemed to be no doubt
that she’d done wrong.
Yet God knows we’re all human
and I’d no wish to break her.
I knew the Prophets too –
but you don’t expect their words
so close to home
to mix you up in matters
beyond your understanding.
So what’s the greater sin –
to dare to believe her story
or deny my dream?
Some questions will not let you
put them quietly aside.
I shall let you think about this the way Barbara did her poetry group & the dinner party. Consider it…a Christmas gift.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Weathering Seattle
Just as “oh, it never gets really hot here in Seattle” was a lie, it turns out that “but we have such mild winters” is also wishful thinking. Since Saturday the 13th, we’ve had three sizeable dumps of snow
& just as this area doesn’t have any mechanism for handling heat—the PNW apparently has not heard about air conditioning for residential purposes—government & business alike are pretty much useless when it comes to dealing with snow.
The drop overnight on the 13th wasn’t really unmanageable, which was good because the city of Bellevue didn’t get around to plowing residential streets until late Sunday. & they don’t seem to understand the concept of sanding the plowed roads. Thank God for TCS.
(What was interesting was that the storm had been predicted for Friday evening: highways from the Eastside into Seattle were clogged starting at 1400, presumably with people trying to get home before the onslaught. Only I was returning from Seattle at 1930, & the incoming traffic was still blocked—presumably with people who thought they’d miss the early panickers. There had been no accidents; it was just traffic.)
Well, fine—we make it through the weekend & onward into the work week. Then comes the storm of Wednesday/Thursday, which really counts as a storm. At least six inches.
When I left for work Thursday morning, I saw only two pick-up trucks with front-end plows attached; they were on a main street in Bellevue. When I turned onto the ramp to I-405N, I was momentarily discombobulated to see no traffic. There were cars on the southbound side, but I was the only one going north.
Good thing, as it hadn’t been plowed & you couldn’t tell where the lanes were. Same for highway 520, although there were cars on that.
I made it into work, but most people “worked from home” (even though the VPN seems to be very problematic). When I got here I understood why many of the long-timers would have stayed away: an email from Facilities announcing that the company was open for business, but that employees who made it in were on their own. Cafeterias operating only in about four buildings, no transportation, walkways not cleared, limited (= no) mail services, etc.
What it didn’t mention was that no one would be replenishing the coffee or beverage cases, restocking cups & eating utensils, or performing any cleaning services. Trash hasn’t been emptied nor washrooms cleaned since Wednesday.
Think about it.
Out in the wide world, traffic was a mess. On Thursday there were multiple closures of interstates & major highways due to accidents; & on Friday you might have seen news footage of two charter buses that broke a guardrail & hung over I-5 for much of the day.
Well, we were sorting things out (barely) when Nature dumped another two to four inches on us late Saturday night. Evidently this was just more than the infrastructure could handle. When I left for work this morning, my street still hadn’t been plowed.
However I struggled in to find the office even emptier than Thursday & Friday & another in the series of emails from Facilities announcing what not to expect. But I had to come in. My neighborhood lost power at 2000 last night, & it’s still out. The temperature in The Rambler this morning was 48°F. Temperature outside was 30°F. It’s going to get colder inside.
A call to Puget Sound Energy customer “service” revealed that they have no earthly notion when it will be restored. A visit to their website indicates that 1096 customers are powerless. & they don’t seem to be all that fussed about getting us back online.
The roads aren’t much better. They’ve been plowed, more or less; grit to come, I suppose. Or maybe they'll just wait for it all to melt. King County's transportation department's efforts seem to be limited to advising citizens not to drive if they can avoid it.
Well, I wouldn’t have, except that I can’t live in 40-degree conditions. Plus, no working from home when you don’t have power.
More snow predicted for tomorrow night, deep joy. Turning to rain on Wednesday, which will muck it up even further.
Metro Seattle has once again done what I hadn’t thought possible: it makes Metro DC look like a paragon of preparedness when it comes to weather management.
& just as this area doesn’t have any mechanism for handling heat—the PNW apparently has not heard about air conditioning for residential purposes—government & business alike are pretty much useless when it comes to dealing with snow.
The drop overnight on the 13th wasn’t really unmanageable, which was good because the city of Bellevue didn’t get around to plowing residential streets until late Sunday. & they don’t seem to understand the concept of sanding the plowed roads. Thank God for TCS.
(What was interesting was that the storm had been predicted for Friday evening: highways from the Eastside into Seattle were clogged starting at 1400, presumably with people trying to get home before the onslaught. Only I was returning from Seattle at 1930, & the incoming traffic was still blocked—presumably with people who thought they’d miss the early panickers. There had been no accidents; it was just traffic.)
Well, fine—we make it through the weekend & onward into the work week. Then comes the storm of Wednesday/Thursday, which really counts as a storm. At least six inches.
When I left for work Thursday morning, I saw only two pick-up trucks with front-end plows attached; they were on a main street in Bellevue. When I turned onto the ramp to I-405N, I was momentarily discombobulated to see no traffic. There were cars on the southbound side, but I was the only one going north.
Good thing, as it hadn’t been plowed & you couldn’t tell where the lanes were. Same for highway 520, although there were cars on that.
I made it into work, but most people “worked from home” (even though the VPN seems to be very problematic). When I got here I understood why many of the long-timers would have stayed away: an email from Facilities announcing that the company was open for business, but that employees who made it in were on their own. Cafeterias operating only in about four buildings, no transportation, walkways not cleared, limited (= no) mail services, etc.
What it didn’t mention was that no one would be replenishing the coffee or beverage cases, restocking cups & eating utensils, or performing any cleaning services. Trash hasn’t been emptied nor washrooms cleaned since Wednesday.
Think about it.
Out in the wide world, traffic was a mess. On Thursday there were multiple closures of interstates & major highways due to accidents; & on Friday you might have seen news footage of two charter buses that broke a guardrail & hung over I-5 for much of the day.
Well, we were sorting things out (barely) when Nature dumped another two to four inches on us late Saturday night. Evidently this was just more than the infrastructure could handle. When I left for work this morning, my street still hadn’t been plowed.
However I struggled in to find the office even emptier than Thursday & Friday & another in the series of emails from Facilities announcing what not to expect. But I had to come in. My neighborhood lost power at 2000 last night, & it’s still out. The temperature in The Rambler this morning was 48°F. Temperature outside was 30°F. It’s going to get colder inside.
A call to Puget Sound Energy customer “service” revealed that they have no earthly notion when it will be restored. A visit to their website indicates that 1096 customers are powerless. & they don’t seem to be all that fussed about getting us back online.
The roads aren’t much better. They’ve been plowed, more or less; grit to come, I suppose. Or maybe they'll just wait for it all to melt. King County's transportation department's efforts seem to be limited to advising citizens not to drive if they can avoid it.
Well, I wouldn’t have, except that I can’t live in 40-degree conditions. Plus, no working from home when you don’t have power.
More snow predicted for tomorrow night, deep joy. Turning to rain on Wednesday, which will muck it up even further.
Metro Seattle has once again done what I hadn’t thought possible: it makes Metro DC look like a paragon of preparedness when it comes to weather management.
Blagging for booze
Chicagoans being Chicagoans, it didn’t take long for local bartenders to come up with cocktails saluting the latest Illinois governor to be headed to the slammer. The WSJ’s Eric Felten reports on a few efforts. Their common ingredient is peach flavor—as in “im-peach”.
O, those clever Chicagolanders!
Felten goes on to discuss a “classic” Chicago cocktail, the Cohasset punch (read the story to make the connection between the hog butcher to the world & a Massachusetts town).
I have to say that, the idea of finding half a canned peach in a glass of booze is somewhat off-putting. It’s awkward enough eating the spear of pineapple in a mai tai or the orange slice in an old fashioned. Half a canned peach? Get outta here!
But still—in the interest of keeping you au courant, I offer it up for your drinking rota.
O, those clever Chicagolanders!
Felten goes on to discuss a “classic” Chicago cocktail, the Cohasset punch (read the story to make the connection between the hog butcher to the world & a Massachusetts town).
I have to say that, the idea of finding half a canned peach in a glass of booze is somewhat off-putting. It’s awkward enough eating the spear of pineapple in a mai tai or the orange slice in an old fashioned. Half a canned peach? Get outta here!
But still—in the interest of keeping you au courant, I offer it up for your drinking rota.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Music for the season
If you’ve been anywhere but an unwired cave for the past month, you’ve been listening to holiday music. Whether you wanted to or not.
This appears to be a subject of much interest to journalists, even when it’s not a slow news year. Earlier this week the WSJ gave a forum for a former exec of 415/CBS Records to explain to us why retail establishments play holiday songs & also why the same songs start to make us puke after a short while.
Well, whatever.
The NY Times went into greater depth a couple of years ago, analyzing the “upbeat and inviting shopping atmosphere” that shops aspire to. It shouldn’t be surprising to know that the marketers have squeezed every conceivable drop of blood from that turnip, but it is a bit depressing to note the extent to which they have us in their manipulative little clutches.
But the mix cited by Spencer’s, that schlock-o-rama staple of every mall in America, brings me to other musings on seasonal music: worst-ever holiday songs.
Ah, the field is so wide here, but hardly un-trodden. Everyone, it seems, has a die-die-die list of holiday songs—mostly Christmas.
Spinner totes up twelve of them, including Springsteen’s cover of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town”. (He made other lists, too.) Thankfully, I don’t believe I’ve heard any of them. I have a hard enough time getting through December as it is.
A syndicated column available on many sites also takes a stab at a list. It starts out with “Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer” and moves on. This one includes two that would be in my inventory—dogs barking “Jingle Bells” and “Little Drummer Boy”. The columnist specifies Jessica and Ashlee Simpson on the latter, but I hate it no matter who’s singing it.
But apparently NPR had a program called the “Annoying Music Show”, and a few years ago the hosts provided another top-ten, which included “Material Girl” by Petty Booka (embodying “the true meaning of Christmas—a Japanese bluegrass tribute to Madonna”), a medley of “Jingle Bells” (performed by The Klezmonauts, a Klezmer band that plays Christmas carols; performed on rubber bands; and performed on power tools), and “O Holy Night” by the Brady Bunch.
I’m sure you can come up with lists of your own. See if there’s not something that just makes your teeth hurt when it comes on in the elevator.
Happy Holidays, all!
This appears to be a subject of much interest to journalists, even when it’s not a slow news year. Earlier this week the WSJ gave a forum for a former exec of 415/CBS Records to explain to us why retail establishments play holiday songs & also why the same songs start to make us puke after a short while.
Well, whatever.
The NY Times went into greater depth a couple of years ago, analyzing the “upbeat and inviting shopping atmosphere” that shops aspire to. It shouldn’t be surprising to know that the marketers have squeezed every conceivable drop of blood from that turnip, but it is a bit depressing to note the extent to which they have us in their manipulative little clutches.
But the mix cited by Spencer’s, that schlock-o-rama staple of every mall in America, brings me to other musings on seasonal music: worst-ever holiday songs.
Ah, the field is so wide here, but hardly un-trodden. Everyone, it seems, has a die-die-die list of holiday songs—mostly Christmas.
Spinner totes up twelve of them, including Springsteen’s cover of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town”. (He made other lists, too.) Thankfully, I don’t believe I’ve heard any of them. I have a hard enough time getting through December as it is.
A syndicated column available on many sites also takes a stab at a list. It starts out with “Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer” and moves on. This one includes two that would be in my inventory—dogs barking “Jingle Bells” and “Little Drummer Boy”. The columnist specifies Jessica and Ashlee Simpson on the latter, but I hate it no matter who’s singing it.
But apparently NPR had a program called the “Annoying Music Show”, and a few years ago the hosts provided another top-ten, which included “Material Girl” by Petty Booka (embodying “the true meaning of Christmas—a Japanese bluegrass tribute to Madonna”), a medley of “Jingle Bells” (performed by The Klezmonauts, a Klezmer band that plays Christmas carols; performed on rubber bands; and performed on power tools), and “O Holy Night” by the Brady Bunch.
I’m sure you can come up with lists of your own. See if there’s not something that just makes your teeth hurt when it comes on in the elevator.
Happy Holidays, all!
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