Oh, Mr. Weatherman...Wrong YET again!

Well, we didn’t really get ICE STORM 2011 here last night. I’m a little disappointed. I know areas around us got a lot more ice and the areas north of us got a fair bit of snow but our fair city got a little freezing rain that wasn’t really enough to even make the pavement that slippery.

I’m not disappointed about the ice. As I said, thick and heavy freezing rain is scary to both drive in and walk in. I’m more disappointed that we didn’t get our Weather Event.

Also, a lot of my Facebook friends who live in areas further north and west of us got either snow days or ice days from work today. I’m jealous of that and I don’t mind admitting it.
The problem with having the perk of living six minutes away from the office by car is that…I live six minutes away from the office by car. I have a have three left turns and a right and I’m at my office building. Things could be worse. It means I can run home to the pups at lunch, grab some food and get some puppy love before I go back to work.

It also means that I have no excuse to call into work unless there’s a level 3 snow emergency and you can get a ticket for being out on the road.

It’s a trade-off. It also means that when the weather is ropey, even though it’s scary for the short distance I have to drive, I only have a short distance. I’ve learned already where the areas of my ‘commute’ are the worst and so I’ve come to know where to be most cautious on my drive. Nevertheless, there are some days that would be nice if they were snow days. I blame Facebook for all the comments of my snow/icebound friends who were settling in with hot chocolate or pancakes or a movie or a book. Some of them still had to work from home but speaking from experience, some days, it’s quite nice to work from home while you’re wearing your pajamas.

Of course, I say that but I’m not actually the pajama-wearing-while-I-work type. I adore wearing my pajamas. However, my brain has this rather strict schedule about wearing pajamas. During the winter, it’s ok to take a shower or bath and put them on quite early…as long as it’s dark outside. Thus, in the winter it’s perfectly reasonable to get in from work, do some necessary things and then take a shower and be in my pajamas by 7 pm. In the summer, however, when it’s still light at 7 p.m., I cannot wear pajamas. It just feels…weird. The mornings are a little different. As much as I’d like to stay in my pajamas all day, once it gets passed 9 a.m., I feel rather odd wearing pajamas. You know in a dream where you realize you’re in the middle of a public place and you forgot to get dressed and put on your makeup? Being in my pajamas past 9:30 a.m. feels a little like that to me, even in my own living room.

So, that’s why I can’t work from home wearing my pajamas. I’m sure you don’t really care but I thought I’d share anyway.

Our little ice ‘storm’ last night wasn’t terribly newsworthy. It was enough to rim the trees with a thin casing of ice and enough to cause people who parked outside to have to chip their way into their cars but that was it. By the time we went to work, salt had been put down and the roads were travelworthy.

Also when I left for work, our forecast was for the temperatures to warm up, the freezing rain to turn to regular rain and eventually, overnight, turn to snow.

So, when I came out of work this evening and almost fell on my bottom, I was a little surprised to discover that it was raining heavily and freezing when it hits the ground. This, for those of you not used to it, is called freezing rain not regular rain. The temperatures did NOT warm up and thus, as I write this, the world outside is now encased with ice and looking a little lethal. It’s now supposed to turn to snow rather than regular rain.

What I find interesting is the forecast I heard was about seven hours before I came out of work. How is it possible to be quite so wrong about the weather, particularly when the people telling us it’s going to be warm make their living predicting the weather? I’m not the first person to say it and I won’t be the last but if most of us were as wrong in our jobs as weathermen and women, we’d get fired. They simply shrug and say “nature has a mind of its own.”This is true except, well, they have technology and gadgets and training that’s supposed to predict the weather accurately. If nature has a mind of its own, then why do we have weather reports? So, this evening, I’m now tempted to turn on the news and see if they’re back to the excited ICE STORM 2011 or they’re sheepishly reporting the weather as it happens? Given that most of us weren’t prepared for such an icy deluge, I think they have a right to be at least a little sheepish.

Still, we listen to the weather reports even though they’re frequently wrong. We care about the weather a lot because it governs so much of our life. It’s fascinating, really. People can always find something to talk about in the weather.

My dad in particular likes the weather. He has one of those fancy indoor weather gadgets that tells you absolutely everything you want to know from wind chill to barometric pressure. He likes to inform us of dramatic things such as “the temperature….is dropping.” If there’s a weather event predicted, he frequently checks his weather gadget. If it’s a winter weather event, my mother shrinks with each passing moment into a little ball in her chair because she simply despises winter. I think, if she had her way, she’d put a paper bag on her head and pretend winter wasn’t happening. Or, more likely, she’d hibernate because, honestly, who wants to put a bag on their head? I’ve tried it. It’s not comfortable. Also, it’s quite hard to get the eyeholes and nosehole to line up so you can actually see and breathe.

I digress. Again. Sorry, mum, by the way. I didn’t mean to divulge your secret desire to be a Mrs. Paper Bag head.

I think my mother should embrace winter. She should build a snowman and turn her face up to the falling snow and let it tickle her face the way I do. If she could just turn that frown upside down, she’d realize snow is lovely.

More likely, though, she’d tell me that it was cold and that there was no way she could like the stuff. Everyone’s different, I suppose. She likes summer which is my least favourite season.

Still, this time of year, the weather is unpredictable. When even the weather forecasters have to come up with alternate forecasts because they don’t know what the weather is going to actually do, you know that they can’t really predict anything. I suppose this is why they were so very wrong this morning. Last night, at least, they gave two forecasts for what could happen. Perhaps if they gave us multiple forecasts every day, just in case something changes, they’d be right more often.

But that still wouldn’t be very helpful, would it? Ah well, you live and learn. Stay safe if you’re reading this from an icy/snowy clime!

Happy Wednesday!

The Gift of a Rainy Day

Before I write today's blog, I'd like to thank Nathan Bransford for responding to yesterday's blog about "Writing as Identity". It's always nice to know that people are reading the words you write and I do actually agree with him after rereading my blog: Our opinions are not so different after all, just different vantage points, I suppose.

Moving on. It's a really rainy day out there today. It's been thunderstorming on and off since yesterday. It's a very Midwestern spring day. Even down here in my basement cubicle, I can hear the heavy rain beating down and making me glad to be inside. It's supposed to be like this for the next few days.

I love days like this. I think it harkens back to the fact that I was born and raised in the UK where rain happens as often as it's sunny. When I moved to Indiana, it also rained a lot. Thus, when I moved to Los Angeles and I had too many ham sandwich days thatI realized how much I did enjoy rain. Rainy days like this are the best because if you look at the weather on Google, it shows rain for the next few days. This means it will keep raining and I won't be disappointed because the sun will come out.

That probably sounds a little strange. Imagine that. What I mean is that when it's a rainy day, I like the idea of a rainy night in which I can go home from work, make something comforting and rainy-dayesque for dinner and then curl up with a book or good TV show, listening to the rain beat down. Better yet, it's good writing weather which means I can sit at my PC and hear the rain pouring down and mixing with the music I have playing. There's nothing more disappointing than planning an evening like that and then, when you get home, the rain has stopped and the sun is trying to come out from behind the clouds, thin and weedy but still managing to brighten up the world and stop the rainy day.

I don't hate evenings like that. Sometimes after a couple of rainy days, they're rather nice. In those cases the sun isn't greedily trying to steal the thunder from the rainy day but, instead, is making a guest appearance to promote the sunny day that lies ahead tomorrow. It's welcome then. We can't have all rainy days.

I think today I'm safe. I think the rain will continue and I'll be able to enjoy it through at least the next couple of days. I'm hoping to squeeze in a little writing tonight. Of course, given my penchant for writing darker stuff when it rains, perhaps I should wait. I'm trying to write something a little happier. Well...maybe not happier but a little less "world of the dead" like Sleep or less gritty like St. Jimmy or even less brother vs. brother like Rainlight.

That's the thing. I'd love to come up with something nice and safe, like chastely brooding vampires who sparkle in the sunlight. The problem is I like the other kind of vampires better, the ones who drink human blood, hide in dark alleyways and always have a witty comeback. I like the sensual dark side of traditional vampire, rather than the current popular version.

I suppose I should stick with what I enjoy. Besides, I'm crap at trying to keep things on a happy, uncomplicated path. I try that and then I ask myself, "ooh, what if..." and then the nice sunny path takes a detour in the dark shadowy woods and it begins to rain and...

...You get the picture. Hence the fact I enjoy the rain as much as I enjoy sun. I'm a firm believer in needing the shadows to emphasize the light and vice versa.

Thus, I shall enjoy this lovely rain day, letting myself get wet as I go home so I can shower and throw on my lazy clothes and curl up with a hot cup of tea. There's nothing better sometimes. It's a renewing sort of day, the world around me closing down for a while so that when the sun comes out, it knows it's appreciated.

Happy Thursday.

These Boots are Made for Walking...on snow...

It's freezing outside last night. When I went to bed, the wind was howling around my apartment building, rapping at the windows and generally just making a lot of noise. It was a nice night to sleep. It had snowed earlier in the day. It was the perfect snow that makes the ground and trees white but miraculously doesn't stick to the roads. That's the best snow.

My feet are cold now even though I have my furry boots on under my jeans. I bought my boots this year realizing that my nice skate shoes, flipflops and heels from California weren't exactly going to cut it in the midwest when it's icy and snowy. The boots I bought are comfy. They're mostly warm, very waterproof and are great on snow. On ice, however, it's another matter. I know, aside from spikes, there's not much that will grip on ice. Yet I do think there are degrees of grippage. My boots are at a zero degree of grippage. If they so much as see ice, they start slipping. It's a little like ice-skating. If I get out of my car after a bout of freezing rain, I have learned that unless I grip onto my car for dear life and then slowly make my way across the parking lot by gripping other cars, I'm fine.

You might wonder why I don't just walk slowly. Well, I can't make any sudden movements in my boots. I tried that once. Let's just say I came microscopacally close to falling down, my legs in the air, resembling a fly in its last minutes of life. If I were braver, I'd go ice-skating in my boots but since ice-skating to me is a bad idea, I think I'll leave that to my stray. My idea of ice-skating is clinging to the rail of the rink, slowly getting up enough balance and courage to move away. I can usually make it round the rink after about half an hour as long as I don't stay too far from the edge. I still end up falling down but it's still quite fun.

You're probably laughing at me now, and my desire to live in a place that actually has snow. Whatever. I still love snow. It's ice I'm not a fan of. Ice is mean. It hides. You can be looking at the snow around you, ambling slowly along and admiring it's beauty and then, boom! you hit a hidden patch of ice, concealed by the snow and then, hey, look- pretty sky! No...ice is too sneaky for me. It's also a lot more brutal. The ice storm I mentioned a few weeks ago in Indiana was brutal. Beautiful, yes but also much crueler than snow. Snow falls, landing softly, a soft coating of cold whiteness. Ice....ice comes down in the guise of rain, harmless, wet, gloomy and cleansing rain. When it hits the frigid landscape, it changes form, forming a hard coat of ice on everything. The more the rain falls, the thicker the ice gets. It's heavy stuff- tree branches that are tired to begin with can't withstand the weight and they crack, hurling downwoods until there's nothing but a pile of wood on the ground.

No, ice is nasty stuff. It makes roads impassable, takes out power lines and still makes for a breathtakingly beautiful sight with its crystaline glaze.

My boots don't like this ice. They like the snow. Yes, that's probably projection. By now, you're probably thinking I lost my mind- writing an entire blog about my boots. All I have to say to that is you're just now thinking I lost my mind, I'm highly flattered. I can assure you, it's been gone for a while. Probably somewhere around the time I wished George Michael would propose to me.

It's suppose to rain this weekend. I hope it remains rain and doesn't turn into sleet or freezing rain. It's my birthday this weekend and I'm really looking forward to actually be able to spend it with my family. It's been a very long time since I had a birthday with them and it would be lovely to be able to drive the two hours north without worrying about sliding off the road. I'll be wearing my boots, just in case though.

Happy Thursday.

The Memory of Oranges

Today is one of those days I often talk about in which staying in bed seems like a perfect way to spend the day. It's raining outside and when the rain lands, it freezes. I knew it was going to be a horrid drive just by listening to the traffic report on the radio. Traffic in and out of Cincinnati is a nightmare, roads are closed and there are so many accidents, they're having to make extra time to report them all. Fortunately, I have a short drive to work which, I will say even though I've been in the Midwest for over three months, still seems like a luxury when I think back to my hour long commutes in L.A.

No matter how short the drive to work, however, I still have to see out of my car windows to get there which means de-icing the car. I cheat by letting my car run for ten minutes. By the time I'm ready to leave, my car is toasty warm and the ice is a little easier to remove. I got this nifty gift for Christmas from my good friends in L.A.- an ice-scraper attached to a furry mitt. I used it this morning. It's awesome. My hand stayed warm, the ice came off in a thin wet sheet by the mere tap of the scraper and voila! I could see out of my windows.

The drive to work took longer, the parking lot at work was an ice-rink and by the time I sat in my chair, all I wanted to do was to be back in my nice, warm bed. I have a ton of good books to read at the moment which may be why these past two postings mention snow days and staying home from work. The temptation of a good book is a powerful force.

Yet I'm here now. One of the few lone rangers. It's dark and gloomy outside. I'm drinking tea. I love tea. I also, unfortunately, now have orange stuck between my teeth because I had one for breakfast. I seem to be on an orange kick. I've discovered that if I cut them into four wedges with the peel still on it and take it to work in Tupperware, I'm far more likely to eat it than if I simply bring an orange to work. I'm also trying not to think about the fact that less than a year ago, I could go to the L.A. Arboretum- one of my favourite spots on earth- and sit in a rose garden, surrounded by an orchard of orange trees. The scent of orange blossoms is one of my favourite scents and it would waft gently on the breeze, perfuming the spring air. There were also hidden orange trees at the L.A. Arboretum that only someone who wandered off the beaten track would find. These are the trees whose fruit I would pick. There were no signs saying not to pick the fruit and, if you didn't, it would fall down, wasting away on the ground. So I'd often pick an orange, settle under a tree and read.

Eating an orange in my office just isn't the same especially on a gloomy day like this. I love a good spot of rain, as I've mentioned. I also love snow as I'm sure, by now, my readers have figured out. I'm just not quite so keen on the combination. What can I say? I like absolutes. I like Oreo cookies and I like a glass of milk. I do NOT, however, like the two things together. The thought of the inevitable sludge in the bottom of the glass turns my stomach. Someone told me this weekend that they'd bought cheese that had a coffee flavour. It was some kind of tiramisu cheese. That's revolting. I like cheese. I like coffee. I think coffee flavoured cheese sounds like one of the most vile things ever.

Anyway, I digress. Again. It's as gloomy out as when I started my blog which means it'll probably remain that way for much of the day. I don't mind when I'm at work. I don't really have a window anyway. And, when I go home, it'll make it easier to curl up with a mug of something hot and enjoy the gloom for a while before I begin the sad task of de-Christmasing my apartment. It's time to take down those decorations, remove the Christmas music from my iPod and start living the New Year properly. Maybe the rain will make that easier.

Happy Tuesday.

Friday Rants

It's pouring with rain outside. It's lovely. It's good rain, not the scary freezing stuff that makes it hard to drive. It's also Friday which means I'm done at work for a whole week after this. Finally, it's less than a week until Christmas. All these things should mean Captain Monkeypants is ready to wax poetically about the beauty of the holidays, the soothiness of the rain, the twinkly lights of the beautifully decorated houses she's seen.

However, I'm actually in a mood to rant. Maybe it's because I'm tired. I went to bed too late and I woke up too early. That's my excuse anyway. It also may have something to do with the fact that while fudge may seem like a nice easy way out of a cookie exchange, preparing ten bags with a dozen pieces in it is a sticky and time consuming way to spend the evening.

I was already in a bad mood when I sat down to put the fudge in the pretty cellophane bags I had ready for it. Mostly, it was because of online retailers. Correct me if I'm wrong but we are in a bad way with our economy, right? Which means businesses are failing left, right and center? So, hypothetically speaking, as a business, wouldn't NOW be the time that you would be paying a little more attention to your business practices and customers so that you don't go under with the rest of the victims of this horrible economic environment?

It would seem not. I started Christmas shopping before Thanksgiving. I did a lot of it online this year, thinking it would save time and money. Well, it hasn't done either. I ordered two items within two days each other in the first week of December. Neither has arrived. You're probably thinking, that's ok, there's a week until Christmas.

Except there's not. One of the items needs to be rerouted to California. I'm still waiting for that. I paid for regular shipping, they decided to send it media mail. I am not happy about this. The other company did the same but they didn't even ship it until ten days AFTER I had ordered it. Seriously, online stores, do you really want to screw your customers now? I know how to leave feedback and, trust me, I will.

So, last night, I packed my boxes full of gifts for my Los Angeles friends but there's a big gift missing. This does not make me happy.

This morning, I'm already crabby. I shouldn't listen to the radio in the mornings. Have you heard the new McDonalds ad campaign? I think they're trying to be clever and start a trend. They're trying to get people to say they're "Nug Nuts", meaning they're nuts for chicken nuggets. "Nug Nuts" sounds stupid. It sounds like some overpriced advertising company sat in a roomful of desperate marketing people and said "Hey, let's come up with a catchphrase."

You can't manufacture a catchphrase. They're organic things that grow out of a natural ease of saying them. They're clever or funny. "Nug Nuts" is not funny. It's desperate.

The thing that is amusing about that is I'm a HUGE fan of calling people "NumbNuts" which sounds a lot like "Nug Nuts." To me, "Numb nuts" is just hilarious. It sounds funny and it makes me giggle to say it. "Sugar Tits" also makes me giggle. I thank Danny DeVito and Mel Gibson respectively for those insults. They're fun to say.

"Nug Nuts," however, is not fun.

Speaking, of commercials, there's another one that irritates me. It's for the X-box 360. Have you seen them? Basically, the commercial starts with a family sitting on the couch in a living room watching Netflix. Then the camera pans and moves out and the scenery rotates and you're looking in the back of someone's skull. I don't get it. Also, it's vile. Why do you have a family watching Netflix in the back of your head? I get the whole 360 degree rotation thing and the tie in to the X-Box 360 because I'm not THAT bad at maths but why are we looking at the back of someone's head. STOP IT. I don't want to see that.

In other advertising rants, I'm still irritated by the jewelry commercial in which the guy gets up in the night, gets the pretty necklace for his wife, lays it over her throat while she's sleeping and the first thing she does in the morning is reach for her throat and find it. I get that it's supposed to be romantic and sweet but let's be realistic for a moment. First of all, ladies, is the first thing YOU do is reach for your throat in the morning? Not me- I look at the bloody clock to see what time it is. Secondly, he didn't do up the clasp so even on the stillest of sleepers, the necklace wouldn't stay in position. And I AM the stillest of sleepers, seriously. I've had friends check to see if I still have a pulse in the morning because I don't move while I'm sleeping.

That necklace would be lost somewhere in that bed. Couldn't he do something more romantic like give it to her with her coffee and toast? For me, toast=love. A man that makes me toast AND gives me a necklace at the same time? That's true love. I'm still waiting for that.

Ok, I know, I know, I'm getting wordy. And I'm ranting. I haven't had a rant in a while. Now that I have a nice working iPod, I can't complain about that anymore. So I have to find other things. Bear with me; ranting is the same as venting, it's therapeutic.

Yet it is Friday which means things can't be that bad. I'm heading home for the holidays on Saturday evening which means I can relax, eat too much and not worry about work for a while. There's a lot of good to be found in that. I'll be blogging at least some of next week and I promise to be in a better mood. Hey, at least I'm not ranting about Stephanie Meyer again.

Have a great weekend.

The Joys of Literary Schizophrenia

I've discovered it's impossible to plan these blogs. I've tried. Some days I have every intention of having a rant and then I get sidetracked and I end up waffling about something completely unrelated.

I have a feeling today will be one of those days. It's a Monday again. It's a rainy, windy Monday morning. It reminds me of England when the weather is like this. The sidewalks are shiny with puddles, the wind tosses the fallen leaves which stick to everything with the dampness. The wind manages to blow the rain so no matter whether you have a hood or an umbrella, there's no fighting the rain and you end up wet. As is always the case on Mondays, I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lie longer, listening to the howl of the wind outside. Yet, as is also always the case on Mondays, I knew I couldn't.

I take pleasure in the fact that this my last week of work before the holidays. That, alone, made it easier to emerge from my covers and get out of bed. This week is actually already better. I have 95% of my shopping done. I giftwrapped last night. My Christmas cards are mailed. And, writing wise, I think I'm back on track.

Now I'm pulling out of my mini-funk, writing is easier. I'm editing the first novel I ever wrote at the moment. I'm intending to try, once more, to throw my lot into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest this year with this novel. I know a lot of writers hate to edit but I have to say, I actually enjoy it as long as I don't do it immediately after I write a novel. I tend to work on other projects for a while and then, when I'm ready, I go back to the novel and edit. I love doing that; it's a luxury to have already created that fictional world I'm reentering and just being able to look around, listen to the characters whose story I'm telling and see if it still fits. It's like getting to hang out with old friends again.

That's what's happening at the moment. I love my first novel, Rainlight. That's just an opinion, not an expression of arrogance. It's a novel about three teenage boys who all have their own issues to deal with. One of them, David, is hearing strange voices, mysterious whispers that he doesn't understand. His brother, John, is just trying to survive under the tyrannical thumb of his religiously zealous father. John's best friend Michael, has been diagnosed as bi-polar. The three of them are just trying to survive, to seem normal although normalcy keeps eluding them. It's a strange novel but it's not really mine; it belongs to David, John and Michael. They're just nice enough to let me tell their story. And I'm not nice back which is a little unfair. I'm not good at telling stories with puppys, rainbows and sparkles. Their story is funny, poignant and, at moments, heartbreaking. You'll hate me at the end if you ever read it but it's only the first novel in a series of five and in order for the larger story to be told, sacrifices had to be made.

So I'm revisiting that novel at the moment. I still love it but since I wrote it, I've written seven more and lots of short stories. My writing is better now, more fluid. I'm not trying to be Stephen King or Neil Gaiman anymore; I've figured out who I am as a writer. I've a thousand influences but, in the end, it's my writing that has to shine. Editing Rainlight after writing so much other stuff feels like a treat. I've mentioned before how I don't think I'd be a good fit in a writing program. The truth is though I think there are things I can gain from them, ultimately, the goal of a writing program is to make me into a better writer and if writing eight novels hasn't done that, no writing program will.

But writing those other novels has done that. It was hard to write Revelation, the last book in my series about John, David and Michael. It meant I had to leave those characters and move on. Yet they never really left me, they lie low, waiting until it's their turn again. In the meantime, I've 'found' other characters: Jimmy DeLeon, a modern day Joab from the Old Testament, trying to be a loyal soldier for his boss, Ethan, the modern day King David. Briar Richards, whose love for her skater boy threatens to destroy the fragile connection to life to which she clings. And then there's Ryder, Bastian, Foster and Gaz, my Sleepers. Some of them are dead, some of them are not but they all have ties to Sleep, a place where a few chosen go when they die in hopes to find meaning and redemption from their troubled lives.

I don't know which characters will find me next though I have a suspicion that Gaz, from my novel Sleep, will not be appeased. He's the type who knows how to get his own story; no matter how quiet my other voices, Gaz is willing to pipe in and let me know he's waiting.

You probably think I'm crazy. I probably am. Though a friend who is also a writer told me that she, too, hears the voices and she calls it her literary schitzophrenia. I love that term. It's so accurate and true. When I hear my voices, my heart leaps, just a little. No matter how dark life can get, those voices sometimes get me through. They let me follow them into their world for a while and they let me sketch it with words. It's a haven and I love it.

I've only edited Rainlight for one night and already I feel different. I feel like there's a piece of me missing when I'm not writing or talking to my characters. That piece of me is back and it feels right. While I'm editing, I'm still submitting, still trying to find that one agent or publisher who really does want to take a chance on a new writer. Somehow the rejections are a little less painful when I'm content with writing or editing because I remember again why I write in the first place.

I can't wait to get back to editing tonight. It makes getting through the workday easier. It makes the numbing dullness of my day job tolerable because my night job is waiting.

Happy Monday.

Christmas Songs Do Not Always Inspire Comfort and Joy

Once again, it is Monday. And, like most Mondays, I did not want to come to work today. It's supposed to sleet, freezing rain and snow and be generally nasty on the roads later today. Combine that with the fact that, being a light sleeper, I woke up to the sound of my neighbour's alarm this morning. It's fairly loud and it's one of those incessant beeps that make you want to throw it across the room. Either my neighbour is the heaviest sleeper in the world and doesn't wake up after even an hour of the beeping or he's gone away and forgot to shut his alarm off. Since I didn't hear his large dog barking, I'm going to go with the latter option.

Needless to say, it feels very much like a Monday. It snowed this weekend though. I have discovered that while I adore snow and love it when it falls, I prefer not to drive in it. It's a little less friendly and peaceful when you start to slide on the road. This morning, fortunately, the roads are clear. I'm hoping they stay that way. If it freezing rains, it's going to be awful. I don't know if you've ever seen an ice storm but it really is one of the more beautiful acts of weather. The rain falls and encases everything into this ice shell, like you're looking at a crystalized landscape. It's absolutely lovely to see. The downside is that freezing rain is a nightmare to drive on. Your car feels like it's trying to ice-skate. Not fun. Hopefully if it does freezing rain, it'll be after everyone is home for the evening.

While I was driving in to work, I had my radio tuned to one of those 24 hour Christmas music stations. Now it's the season, I don't mind some Christmas music. Since it's a small Ohio town, I don't have many options for music on the radio unless I like country music (which I don't) or that deep-fried Midwestern rock where everyone sounds like they swallowed a pound of gravel and only know about three chords. So, Christmas music it is at the moment. It occured to me that Christmas music is a little odd at times. I'm a bit of a traditionalist. I like my Christmas Carols- to me, that's real Christmas music. I love the Transiberian Orchestra with their rock spin on Christmas carols. I don't mind some of the contemporary stuff, I mean, who could NOT like "Do They Know it's Christmas" by Band Aid?

I'm talking about the songs like "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer". Have you ever really thought about that song? You have this poor creature who is born with an odd nose. He can't help it. It's red and it flashes. I agree, that wouldn't be terribly easy to ignore but apparently, all of the other reindeer laughed and called him names because of his nose. They wouldn't let him play their reindeer games. Then, the minute he proves to be useful, they suddenly turn around and are his best friends. I suppose it's good that they had a change of heart but I don't think I'd be trusting those reindeer any time soon. They sound a bit fickle to me.

I'll ignore the "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" abomination. I despise that song. I know it's supposed to be funny and, maybe it was, the first time I heard it. Yet the charm wears off extremely quickly. There are these really, really syrupy songs on the radio this time of year. I know I'm likely to offend but have you heard "The Christmas Shoes"? Oh, wow, talk about your insipidly manipulative method to try to tug at your heartstrings. It's about this kid who has no money and his mother is dying. Yet she's always wanted these special Christmas shoes (or something) and since his mother is going to die, the kid goes to the seller of the shoes and tries to buy them when he doesn't have enough money. Naturally, in the end, the kid gets the shoes and takes them home to his dying mommy.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not heartless. I just find that song sickly and disturbing. I know the kid was trying to do the sweet-little-kid thing and get his mommy what she wanted most before she died but don't you think his mommy would rather have him there than have him appealing to strangers to help him buy a pair of shoes for her? Just a thought.

I heard another depressing song on the same radio station. I don't know what this one's called but it's by Dan Fogelberg and it's about this man and women who apparently were involved once upon a time and they meet up (in the rain, of course), I think on New Years. I say that because the song doesn't really say but it ends with the strains of "Auld Lang Syne". Anyway, the man and woman still love one another but the woman is married to an architect but doesn't really love him. After some mournful conversation where they both regret not being together, they seperate. Cheerful little ditty, that one.

There are a lot of other Christmas songs that I don't like much. I get fed up with "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" too. I mean, you'd think that song would only be good for about a week because, technically, once it's begun to look a lot like Christmas, wouldn't it then be "It Now Looks a Lot Like Christmas?"

I could go on but I don't want to see completely embittered. After all, there are some songs I love to hear over and over. Like I said, I'm a sucker for a Christmas carol. I love "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and "Oh Come All, Ye Faithful." I even like some of the non-carols like "Walking in a Winter Wonderland." I don't know the words to "Sleigh Ride" but I love to make it up and sing along loudly with a chorus of "LA LA LA LA" because it's fun. Then again, I do that with a lot of songs.

I tend to make my own Christmas CD's, once a year. They're usually a combination of old favourites: "Christmas Canon" by Transiberian Orchestra is one of my all time favourites. I love it when punk bands do covers of songs. I have an awesome Pennywise version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas".

But part of me still likes to listen to the radio because it's so much more spontaneous. I mean, I might have to flip too often when I hear "The Christmas Shoes" but then they'll surprise me by playing Band Aid, Paul McCartney, Transiberian Orchestra, even Mannheim Steamroller. Mostly, I like Mannheim although occasionally it takes at least a couple of minutes to figure out what song those synthesizers are actually playing. The only other song that rubs me the wrong way is "The Little Drummer Boy." That song gets stuck in my head. I'm not fond of that little drummer boy because I find the "Rup a Pum Pum's" rather obnoxious. Though, they're really great if it gets quiet and you feel like waking people up. A rousing chorus of "RUP A PUM PUM, RUP A PUM PUM" does the trick rather nicely.

Anyway, that's my random musing for a Monday. As is usually the case, I was going to blog about something completely different but the mean-spirited and fickle nature of Rudolph's new best friends got me to thinking and thinking usually leads to blog-babble. You're just lucky I didn't hear that "Christmas Shoes" song because then I'd be ranting in a manner I usually reserve for Breaking Dawn. The bad news is that now I have the stupid "I want to buy these shoes" line stuck in my head....That's what I get for complaining, I suppose.

Happy Monday!