One of my favorite things about Christmas is the music. I especially like the magnificent chorales singing with such gusto and emotion. The old English carols where revelers go wassailing, the Nutcracker, Vivaldi's version of winter.
Not in contention are the "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" pop songs -- bearable only because their life span is those few weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Frankly, by Christmas Eve I'd like to roast the singer's chestnuts on an open fire.
I'm not sure what it is about "The Little Drummer Boy" that brings out the Scrooge in me but the excessive ba-rum-pa-bum-bumming undoubtedly is a factor. It's also the molasses-speed it's sung in. Chunks of my life are frittering away while the kid bangs on that blasted drum.
Everyone has a breaking point -- the moment where you'd spill secrets of the universe just to make the torture stop. For me? Lock me in a room with "The Little Drummer Boy" CD and I'll tell you anything you want to know in record time.
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