Christmas Song Review: Christmas Shoes

I hesitated to write this one today, because I’m not going to be writing reviews of just songs that I hate. Snark is fun, but it’s Christmas, dammit, and I want to be jolly. But Brand Gamblin and Jason Ramboz begged for it yesterday, and I figured I’d get it out of the way. It must be written about. I gotta get it out of my system.

Actually, I got tons of suggestions for future reviews. So I will be doing Christmas Wrapping, Dominic The Donkey, Wonderful Christmastime, and Baby It’s Cold Outside. If you have requests for reviews, leave them in the comments!

So. Christmas Shoes. Hans Christian Anderson’s skeleton is nodding happily to itself somewhere, so very pleased that people are still writing maudlin death stories for the holidays. Mama and the Little Matchstick Girl, hand in hand!

This review will contain swear words. It can’t be helped.

Rob Lowe proves there can be a 120% bounceback after a sex tape scandal. “I was in a shameful movie with Rob Lowe. No, the other movie. The shitty one about the shoes.”

It was almost Christmas time, there I stood in another line
Tryin’ to buy that last gift or two, not really in the Christmas mood

Is anyone in the Christmas mood while shopping? For me, I get to the store, smile at the decorations, but by the time I’m in line, I have exhaustion, anxiety that I’ve purchased the wrong thing or annoyance that I’ve not found what I wanted, and just want some hot chocolate or gin, or hot chocolate AND gin, and my home and a Christmas movie (Something better than The Christmas Shoes, a made for TV movie based on this song). That is to say, dude in line, you’re not unique in this feeling.

Standing right in front of me was a little boy waiting anxiously
Pacing ’round like little boys do
And in his hands he held a pair of shoes

OK, so there’s a kid (who needs to pee) in front of him. Carrying shoes. Nothing too weird about this on the surface, but not a lot of kids buy adult things on their own with no adult nearby. Kind of odd.

Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there’s not much time
You see she’s been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight

So kid, what you’re telling me is, your mom is dying (presumably of cancer, or more likely movie disease) and instead of being by her side, you’re shopping. No, your DAD has told you there isn’t much time, so that implies he knows you’re out here and you’re buying shoes instead of being with your mom. “There’s not a lot of time, Timmy, come back ‘afore she’s dead, OK? I’ll text you if she looks like she’s goin’.”

And I get that you want the pretty shoes, but your mom is likely in a hospital gown, and the best shoes in the world are NOT going to spruce that up. Also, you never see cadavers’ feet in the coffins, so she won’t need these for the viewing. I’d go for a pair of earrings, myself.

And fuck, kid, what kind of god do you worship that’s going to judge your mama on her accessories? Is that a Commandment I haven’t heard of? I’m suddenly seeing Jesus as Carson from Queer Eye who just rolls his eyes and purses his lips when you get to him, saying that you’re going straight to hell for those Birkenstocks.

And I know this is cynical, that it’s sweet that he wants to do this. But honestly, he should be with his family, and if they’re this poor, save the goddamn money for a morphine drip.

He counted pennies for what seemed like years
Then the cashier said, “Son, there’s not enough here”
He searched his pockets frantically
Then he turned and he looked at me
He said Mama made Christmas good at our house
Though most years she just did without
Tell me Sir, what am I going to do,
Somehow I’ve got to buy her these Christmas shoes

DUDE YOU ARE BEING PLAYED. Those big eyes, the sob story… The little shit probably doesn’t have a sick mom; he is going to turn right around and return the shoes and go buy some licorice or Bey Blades or whatever kids are buying these days.

So I laid the money down, I just had to help him out
I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said
Mama’s gonna look so great

I’m sorry kid, but she’s not. In fact, someone sick with movie disease is usually pale and emaciated, with limp hair. Mama’s going to need a LOT more than shoes to make her look great.

And what the fuck are we teaching our kids that the most important thing at a deathbed is how you look? How obsessed are we with women’s beauty being the most important thing in the world that a boy is worried his Mama is going to hell because she wears Keds?

And Jesus said unto them, ‘Lo, it’s easier for a rich man to fit through the eye of a needle than a woman with shit shoes to get to heaven.”

I knew I’d caught a glimpse of heaven’s love
As he thanked me and ran out
I knew that God had sent that little boy
To remind me just what Christmas is all about

OH MY FUCKING THOR. GOD PLANNED THIS?

God: “Hm, there’s a mortal who isn’t feeling the spirit of Christmas. Let me dedicate my all-powerful mind to solving this problem. Hey! I’ll send a little boy with a dying mom in to need his help, and then he will feel warm and fuzzy inside!”

Dying Mama: “Um. Over here? Dying?”

God: “No, sorry, I need you, see. If you’re not dying then this man won’t see the true meaning of Christmas.”

Dying Mama: “I will see the true meaning of Christmas if you heal me.”

God: “Hush. This man’s epiphany is more important than some poor dying woman.”

This view of God is utterly, completely baffling to me. God has infinite power, and he shows it by FUCKING UP SOMEONE ELSE’S LIFE JUST SO YOU CAN GET A WARM FUZZY BY HELPING THEM (and remember it’s a fake problem the kid has created, the ugly-shoes-that-make-Jesus-hate-you.) God doesn’t make life actually any better. He just puts you in a situation where you can let your Visa make you feel good even though the kid’s mom is going to fucking die anyway… But that’s OK, cause the narrator is who we’re following, not the kid. The narrator goes home to some eggnog and carols, and maybe decorates a tree and ponders the true Meaning of Christmas, yay warm fuzzies and fa la la. The kid goes back to his shack, or the hospital his father can never hope to pay for, and his mom’s probably so far gone she won’t even see the shoes, and he’ll always remember Mom died on Christmas, and fuck Christmas and Jesus anyway cause Jesus didn’t lift a finger to save my mom because he was too busy MAKING SOME FUCK FEEL THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS.

So. What has this song taught us?

Christmas is about looking good even if the last thing you want in the world is to shove your feet into the torture devices that is women’s shoes. Christmas is about leaving your mother’s deathbed in order to go shopping. Christmas is about worrying if you look good enough for Jesus.

Also, you see God’s work when He shows you people who need help, but He doesn’t actually help them Himself. Let the poor woman die, what’s important is we’ve taught this man an important lesson!

God has fucked up priorities. That’s what this song is telling me.

Grade: F-

Christmas Song Review: Last Christmas

Last Christmas, a darkly obsessive cry for help

The thing that gets me about Christmas songs and movies is their reliance on CHRISTMAS overshadowing any failure in the story. Some supposed holiday songs don’t even mention the holidays at all – Jingle Bells, Winter Wonderland, My Favorite Things (which was never played during the holidays as a child, so I’m always suspicious when it’s played during the holidays – but I can cover that song later), and Baby, It’s Cold Outside (hate hate hate rage hate. Again, for another time.)

One song that always makes me kinda sad is not the actual mournful songs, like Blue Christmas, or Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, but the one that sounds hopeful but has an underlying current of self deception and misery. I give you, “Last Christmas” by Wham! (written by George Michael.)

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
the very next day, you gave it away

Clearly, the singer had his heart broken by a terrible, terrible man. (What, you forgot George Michael’s gay? I know they had girlfriends in the video; they were beards. Let’s move beyond thinking that every song reflects your hetero view of the world, OK?) A man who enjoyed the romance of the season, toyed with the narrator, and then dumped him. We’ve all been there. It sucks.

This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special

The narrator – let’s call him George – is determined to move on. This year will be better than the last, bright eyes, open to possibility! Only…

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my distance
But you still catch my eye
Tell me baby
Do you recognize me?

He’s dwelling on the past, like to the point of me wanting to say, “Hey dude, you need to perhaps get some therapy if you can’t move on from this guy. Let’s hit some singles bars or something. Have a rebound, eat some ice cream, get good and drunk. Let’s burn his Christmas present to you! Catharsis!”

The whole song is like that. While he claims to be finding someone new to love, the message is targeted toward the past and the ex, the mean guy who broke his heart. There’s no, “This Christmas You’ll Help Me Forget Him, Baby.” Or “All I Want For Christmas is a One Night Stand,” or “Rebound Christmas.” Which are still sad but at least would be more honest with himself.

Hm. I bet I could write a book called Rebound Christmas about a woman who got dumped and just wants to find someone fun to be with, no strings, and OMG THEN THEY WILL FALL IN LOVE UNDER THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS. There may be mall elves involved. Because everything is better with mall elves. Hah. I’ll make a mint like those other vapid novels!

Uh, never mind. Moving on.

Now I know what a fool I’ve been
But if you kissed me now
I know you’d fool me again

Now it’s getting obsessive. He’s not moving on. He’s not even considering moving on. He’s standing under the mistletoe, tears glistening in his eyes, saying, “I’m totally over you,” with a slight quaver in his voice, hoping Mr. Heartbreaker will feel the MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS and take him into his arms for a big Christmas kiss. There may be glitter involved.

Now I’ve found a real love you’ll never fool me again

Riiiiight, George. And he lives in Canada and he’s six-foot four with broad shoulders and green bedroom eyes, right? And he was going to be at this Christmas party but he got called in at the last minute to do emergency brain surgery because he’s a brain surgeon slash rugby player slash model. He SO wanted to meet everybody.

This is the only line in the song where he says he’s actually in love with someone. Who I’m sure, if he exists, is totally thrilled with the fact that his boyfriend just wrote an entire “nyah nyah” song to the guy he’s clearly not over. This new, “real love” boyfriend will probably dump him after the party…

Wait a minute. Wham! just blew my mind…

AND THEN NEW BOYFRIEND WILL BECOME NEXT CHRISTMAS’ “LAST CHRISTMAS!” George Michael is stuck in a downward spiral of being dumped on Christmas, finding someone new, obsessing over the old guy, and getting dumped on Christmas again. Like elephants, it’s Last Christmas” all the way down! What was once a kind of sad Christmas song now becomes a terrifying dark look into an obsessive’s soul.

Well played, Wham!. You have more depth than I thought.

Grade: C-

Books, Personal, Projects, Travel

Post holiday catchup

What’s that word when you have been away for a while and you drive 12 hours – broken up by a 1.5 hour funeral along the way home – and you get home and have a migraine and take a pill and wake up completely brain dead and unable to get to work because brain not work good?

Right. The word is AUGH.

I’m home from Thanksgiving in Buffalo and pretty useless. Still in my robe and need to go get the dogs from the kennel soon. So I’m going to keep this short. The biggest thing is people are letting me know that the service I’m using for direct purchase of Merry Christmas from the Heartbreakers (Look! Sidebar! Buy it! Yay! Cyber Monday! Booyah!) is not delivering immediately in some cases. If this happens to you, PLEASE email me (mightymur at gmail). I’ll already have proof of your receipt in my inbox, so if you mail me directly I’ll shoot the files over to you.

[EDIT- As of 12/2/12 I have removed all links to the offending site that didn’t deliver. Remember if you bought from me and didn’t get your files, EMAIL ME.]

Secondly, I got an awesome thing in the mail when I got home from the trip.

The ARC for The Shambling Guide to New York City is here!
Personal

My dress isn’t pretty enough.

This is Victoria. I don’t know her but she has a pretty dress. She deserves to be invited to all the parties. Photo CC licensed by Robert Douglas – BY-SA

Some people like the fact that I show my insecurities on I Should be Writing. It tells them that they are not alone in their insecurities, that they are something to overcome, that you can reach publication while still feeling like someone’s going to knock on your door and demand the advance back because they just found out that YOU ARE A FRAUD.

Others don’t like it because they think I shouldn’t feel that way once I have reached the level in my career that I have. Get over it. I should quit whining; it’s obvious I’m doing OK, I have the writing creds to prove it. And their emails do so much to regulate my emotions. Thanks guys, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

But in reading [REDACTED] online today I discovered a new negative feeling that comes with the low level of pro writing that I have achieved. It actually comes from reaching a small sense of self worth. Where the feeling USED to be, “Wow, I’d love someday to be invited to contribute to a book like that,” now it’s, “Hey, wait, I’m totally qualified to contribute to that. Why didn’t they invite me? Wait. Am I done? Am I over? Did I never arrive? Did they sample my work and decide, ‘hm, no, not again.’ Or worse, did they read something I wrote online or hear me on a podcast and think, ‘yeah, we’re not inviting that asshole to a project.’ WHY WASN’T I INVITED TO THE PARTY? I WORE MY PRETTY DRESS AND EVERYTHING!” *runs off to eat frosting*

I often liken this career thing to a domed party in the desert. You think that you’re in the desert and all the pro writers are inside the party, and you need but ONE break to open the door and be invited in where there are water, showers, and waiters carrying trays of champagne once you dry off. But once you get in, you realize the party is only along the outer perimeter, and there is ANOTHER party right inside. And inside there? More parties. The parties of the multi-book deal, or the six-figure deal, or the movie option, or the actual movie being made, or the award winners. I had accepted this Dante-esque view of a writing career, but I had never expected that some people who I think are at the same party I am will get invited to other parties while we’re mingling. I mean, we’re all with the cocktails and the humorous WorldCon stories, and then a waiter in tails comes by with a little engraved notecard to hand to my companion, and he reads it and then excuses himself and goes on to the next party. Why didn’t I get one? Did I not wear the right pretty dress?

This is, of course, all metaphorical insecure BS. First, you don’t measure your career with someone else’s career as a yardstick. Second, not everyone can be invited to a party, just the law of averages, or some other mathematical rule, says that they can’t invite every talented person to every project. Third, maybe you’re not the right person – or even good enough – for that project, and that’s OK. Really. As long as you persist, your chances will improve, as will your talent.

Besides, you don’t stay hungry and scrappy by having every opportunity handed to you. The occasional disappointment/letdown/failure will make you fight all the harder next time.

And by you I mean me, obviously.

Personal

Happy Thanksgiving!

I had a migraine most of today, but I did manage to bake 3 pies, cook breakfast, feast with the family, and tell y’all how grateful I am for you who are my friends, listeners, readers, or just someone who stumbled on this site looking for something… else.

Although the site is new enough that I’m not sure weird-ass search strings will lead you here. But whatever. Welcome. Thankfulness.

Did I mention I was coming off a migraine? I’m kinda loopy now. But I’m grateful for all sorts of things. Boy howdy.

The book! In case you failed to look to the right to see the sidebar.

Did I also mention I had a Christmas story collection ebook out? I mean, I know I did, but that’s a subtle way to remind you in case you haven’t purchased it. And it’s SCREAMING up the charts. Well. It’s #92 in SF Anthologies on Amazon, which IS A CHART. You can buy directly from me, epub and mobi, via the image below, or buy from the Kindle store.





(Buy directly from me.)

And hey, if you’ve purchased it, THANK YOU! And if you can’t or don’t want to, but you have enjoyed my Xmas stories in the past, throw a review at Amazon, would ya?

Books, Projects

Merry Christmas from the Heartbreakers and Other Stories

My collection!

I have finally gathered my dozen Christmas short stories into a collection, and have published them via ebook! Fans of Escape Pod’s holiday stories, of which i’ve been part for years, will hopefully appreciate this collect, as it comes with seven I’ve published through them, and five that have only been read by people who donated to the EP fundraiser last holiday season. You can find

  • Merry Christmas from the Heartbreakers (obviously!)
  • Santa in My Pocket
  • Zuzu’s Bell
  • 750,000 of Your Friends Like This
  • Citytalkers
  • As Solitary as an Oyster
  • MESSAGE REDACTED (which is based on Jonathan Coulton’s song “Chiron Beta Prime“)

and several others. If you want to ask “Is XXX in there?” It probably is, as I’ve left nothing out.

You can buy directly from me, epub and mobi for the cost of a caloric bomb of a Gingerbread Latte from Starbucks ($3.99).





(Note, I am no longer using the site I was using before. This is paypal –> download page. No waiting!)

You can also buy from the Kindle store.

I’m a big fan of Christmas and loved writing these, and hope you love reading them!

(Thanks to my buddy Matt Wallace for the intro to UploadNSell, which will take the money, distribute the files, and not charge a dime. Matt has used it for his awesome book launch, The Failed Cities (definitive edition), which everyone should buy right after they shop here.)

Personal

What I hate about blogging

I did
I did not, however, sell my kidneys on the Internet.

Is that you get distracted and blink and suddenly OMG days are gone and you haven’t updated!

The trip took a lot out of me, but was ultimately awesome. Then I came home and had some health issues for about a week, and that’s resolved but now I’m all “WHEW- oh fuck, wait, I’m behind on everything.”

So happy Thanksgiving, safe travels, and good luck with NaNo, if you’re still in it. (Travel, school, and other projects have me saying, again, “next November…”) I’ll be updating some audio soon.

Meta

Forums coming to Murverse!

No, not THAT Community…
Drawing copyright Len Peralta, used with permission. Buy the print!

Next week I’ll make the forums live. I was going to make them live now, but thought that doing that while I’m on the road is monumentally stupid.

So Monday! Community! Forums! Yay!

Personal, Travel

Good morning from NOLA

Everything you want to know about vomit inside a space suit is here.

So instead of fretting at home about the elections, yesterday I sat in the car for around 15 hours yesterday driving from NC to New Orleans with my friend Ursula Vernon. While one of us drove, the other obsessively read Twitter, FiveThirtyEight, IsNateSilverAWitch.com, or #RomneyDeathRally. We also listened to the Mary Roach book Packing For Mars.

Cool thing: Did you know that the best thing to do if you’re in a falling elevator is lie down on your back?

Currently I’m in a dark hotel room working while Ursula sleeps, and then we will go wander the city and do research for my next book, the sequel to The Shambling Guide to New York City. (Guess what city it takes place in. Go on. Guess.)

Will post pics and more of our adventures. Stay tuned.

And while my state went more conservative (Kinda expected since our previous liberal governor turned out corrupt – thanks, Easley) I’m absolutely thrilled by the reelection of Obama, the resounding support of gay marriage (whether it was legalization or refusing to pass anti-gay amendments), the shutting down of the rape-apologists, and having the most women in the Senate than ever before! Things aren’t 100% peachy, and I pretty much agree with Dr. Phil Plait here, but damn, I’m so glad my uterus can stop clenching.