Christmas rapidly approaches. The older I get, the trickier the whole gift-giving thing becomes. When you're 5, not only are you not responsible for giving gifts to anyone, but you are legally entitled to get pissed off at people who don't give you enough stuff. That's amazing. Now, 18 years later, I feel like I should fall to my knees and weep should someone get me so much as a chewed up biscuit from KFC. Not only that, but I find myself giving increasingly elaborate gifts to more and more people. At this pace, by the time I hit 40, I'll be giving handmade HDTVs to every person in Africa and receiving, in exchange, tuberculosis. And you know, that doesn't sound that bad.
I'm old enough now to purchase pretty much every piece of crap I want. However, I don't think I'll ever reach the age where I tire of seeing someone unwrap something from me, then furrow their brows as they attempt to compute what it is I've purchased for them and why. Not only must they determine what it is, but they have to quickly decide whether to be insulted or delighted. I expect that by the time I'm 80, my gifts will be so inscrutable, the receiver of the gift's head will explode immediately when they open the box. It's fun to be confusing, and it's fun to be confused. Christmas does change as you get older, but it stays just as good.
Okay, it's becoming increasingly clear just what a bad idea it was to share my list of favorite music from 2004 during the week of Christmas. However, as anyone who's seen me at Jazzercise class can attest, a bad idea alone isn't enough to stop me.
3. A tie between The Legendary Shackshakers, "Believe" and Nikola Sarcevic, "Lock Sport Krock"
The selection of these two should illustrate that the only music I like is either really weird or really embarrassing. The Legendary Shackshakers are a cajun/ragtime/polka/punk band; I wouldn't be surprised to learn they're the side band for a burlesque show that features only bearded ladies. Great, raw, crunchy stuff. Nikola Sarcevic is the lead singer of Millencolin, a Swedish punk band. His solo album is surprisingly melodic and douche baggy, the perfect soundtrack to stack sweaters at Banana Republic, and yet I listened to it constantly. These two are the perfect combo when one half of the group wants to do some origami, while the other half wants to shoot some rats down at the dump.