The Great Christmas Record Odyssey, Ep. LVII

Time for another round of festive turntablin', America . . .

Album Title:  Christmas with

Album Artist:  Slim Whitman

Typical Christmas selection, here.

So, not going to lie, I have no idea who this guy is.  Before I go into this, I just wanna ask, who the hell names their baby 'Slim?'  And, if it's a self-imposed monicker, why 'Slim'?  Was he rail-thin growing up, and people made fun of him for it, or was it the polar opposite - was he a fat kid and people called him 'Slim' as a way of making fun of him?

Or, most likely, did he just move to Nashville, have difficulty booking gigs as a mediocre country musician who sounded just like hundreds of others trying to break into the business, and changed his name from 'Ottis' to 'Slim' in order to book the occasional dive-bar gig?

I'm going with the last one.

Anyway, as we've seen before time and time again in this here Record Odyssey of mine, I got suckered into picking this up by the cover art alone.  There's such a sleazy vibe to this Christmas album I couldn't not drop $1 on this one (which, if memory serves correct, was picked up at Radio Wasteland about a month ago.)  One glance at Slim on the front of this cover and you know what's about to go down.

You're about to be drugged and raped.

Just look at this guy and his decor and tell me I'm wrong, folks.

I might not know who this guy was when I read his name on the album cover, but I knew who he was when I saw this picture.  Slim lives in a gawdy ranch house, filled with shag carpet and gold-colored everything, somewhere down in Florida like Sarasota, or maybe out in Texas.  He drives a pastel-colored cadillac and all his attendants where bolo ties and alligator skin boots.

Slim acts like a mix between a cowboy and a princess, and walks about his mini-mansion (probably not a legit mansion, because I've never heard of this guy before) in slippers and a silk smoking jacket (like the one you see in the pics.)  Across his walls are his records and awards - hell, maybe he has a gold record for a random single up there somewhere, you never know - and pictures of him with more famous people who are more household names.  He has animal heads on his walls, too, but he didn't shoot them - he just thought they added to the decor that proves his country music-ness.

You CAN'T resist the Slim. . .

Now, let's say your a young woman and get invited back to Slim's ranch house after some award show or variety TV special or whatever.  Let us further say that it's around the Holiday season.  Slim is just the sort of guy that would put this very album - his own album - on the Hi-Fi, as he cha-chas across his living room shag carpeting to make you a Christmas cocktail.

Little do you know, he's about to give you the Bill Cosby treatment:  there's some serious shit he's just dropped into your drink.

As you start to sip on your cocktail, and Slim flashes you the same, dirty-as-f*** car salesman smile that he's flashing you on this album cover, you start to feel drowsy and a little out of sorts.  At first, you assume it's the Vaseline-slathered sound production of this snooze-fest of an album that's putting you to sleep:  God knows this record sounds just like every other country singer's lame attempt at the classic Holiday Crooner approach to making a Christmas album.  Like when Glenn Campbell tries to be Frank Sinatra. . . except when Slim does it, it just sounds creepy, as if he's about to put something in your drink.

And that's when it hits you, Young Missy:  you're about to be date-raped by Slim Whitman.

Happy Holidays!

VERDICT:  4/10 - Borophyll (Bad things will happen to you if you fall asleep to this album. . . and you will fall asleep while listening to this album.)

- SHELVED -

'Twas the Night Before Christmas... Again.

Yule.

Around these parts, the Night Before Christmas is just as much of a big deal as Christmas Day itself.  We enjoy the buildup of the Holiday season just as much - if not moreso - than the actual Holiday itself.

I don't know about you folks, but every year after all the presents have been torn apart, I find myself sitting back looking at a living room full of debris and thinking, "Seriously?  That was it?"

Christmas Eve, in contrast, is all about the build-up, and so for the last few years we've really gone out of our way to make the most out of it.  Cooking a feast, having a marathon of Christmas movies, exchanging some gifts, having some Holiday cocktails, etc.  I think having Christmas Day (and all those presents) still on the horizon takes some of the pressure off Christmas Eve to be some almighty, whoop-ass Holiday event:  there's still more to look forward to in the season.

Make sense?  Of course it does.

Then there's this movie. . . 

Anyway, this year was slightly different from our previous Night Before Christmas-es.  Now that we're back in the not-yet-snowy lands of our forefathers (seriously, Michigan - where the hell's my White Christmas?), we have more access to family. . . and seeing how it's the Holidays and everything, they kinda want to hang out with us.  With Christmas Day being split up between our own family, Chris/Nicole, and the extended family over at my Mom's house, and the day after being spent in Clare with my Dad's side of the family, it came to pass that Kris' mom would be coming to our house on Christmas Eve to celebrate the Holidays.

This isn't an entirely new concept, mind you:  when we used to fly up to Michigan for Christmas back in 2009 - 2011 we always celebrated the Holidays with Kris' family on Christmas Eve.  This time around, however, we were hosting it; and in addition, Kris' aunt, Mickey, and her grandchildren (Victoria, Scarlett, and Kyan) would be coming as well.

A full house, a ton of food, and a whole crap-load of picture-taking.

Here we go. . .

The girls prepare to play a "boardgame" that Abby invented.  Who knows why they're sitting on their desk - I don't ask a lot of questions around here anymore.

. . . I don't get it.

Another Christmas Eve, another masterpiece of a turkey in the making.

This dude's pathetic.  He didn't leave the kitchen the entire time I was preparing food.  He's a bum.

Ready for firing

The Cannonball requested a picture of the gingerbread house she made with Kris at school.  Every year the kids make one of these we always tell them they can eat if after awhile, and every year we just end up tossing it (seeing how the kids eat so much damn sugar throughout the Holiday season anyway.)

The 5-O lose their shit over a walking, talking snowman.  I hate this movie with a passion.

Midway through our Holiday Movie Marathon, while the turkey was baking and Kris was still at work (she didn't get out until 2pm), Marcy, Scott, Mickey and the kids showed up.  Marcy was good enough to keep all the kids busy with arts and crafts stuff so I could focus on my ongoing shenanigans in the kitchen.

Making rice-filled snowmen with Grandma Jordan.

Pissed.  As always.

After an hour or two of arts and crafts, we not-so-gently directed the kids into the basement so they wouldn't be running around like savages upstairs.  Karaoke became a fan-favorite after awhile.

Kyan became enamored with my retro videogame collection.  Good to see the classics still hold some appeal to the younger demographic.

BAM.  It turned out much better than last year's, I was pleased.

Scarlett, Kyan and Victoria - Crystal's kids (I wasn't in the room for any of the gift-exchanging, as I was slaving over the carving and meat-separating of the Christmas Turkey for at least an hour.  Thug life.)

Exchanging gifts

Anything even remotely pertaining to Star Wars is a big deal to this kid (this was some art kit box, but she ended up converting it into an action figure storage box for her Star Wars toys, which worked out pretty well.)

Better 'hot' than 'tramp.'

Sisters.

The girls picked out ornaments for Marcy and Scott this year (when we were at Bronner's, back on African American Friday.)

Giving Grandpa Jordan a Lions ornament

More presents being opened while I was hacking away at a dead bird with a 12" knife. . .

John and I recently inspected the fireplace so that we could use it over the Holidays.  A previous inspection had come back satisfactory, so John came over a few days before and gave it a quick once-over.  Originally, when the house was built, it had been a wood-burning fireplace, but at some point in the grand scheme of things, it had been converted to a gas fireplace.  When we turned on the gas, however, the pilot light wouldn't function properly, so John cut the gas at two different locations and told us to just go ahead and use it as it was originally intended:  as a wood-burning stove.

Kids love fire.

Still creepy.

Mickey and the kids had to leave after dinner (they had to drive all the way back up to Charlevoix, which takes a couple hours), so once they left Marcy had the girls do one last craft:  mouse cookies.

This was kind of a lengthy process, but the end result was pretty cool - little chocolate-covered cherries that resemble mice standing on cookies.

More than a few of these were devoured in the process.  Rest assured.

(Kris didn't help at all.)

Eventually Marcy and Scott left, and we let the girls open their traditional, lone, Christmas Eve present.

We usually go with a matching-theme present, as it tends to reduce fighting and drama between the two girls.  Last year, for example, we got them each these high-end, plush cats from the Hallmark store.  The year before, they got Hello Kitty fleece robes.  The year before that. . . I forget.  Anyway, point being, they got matching crap again this year: pajamas.

Abby got some Star Wars pajamas from us (she asked Santa for Darth Vader pajamas and slippers, and so she'd be opening those up tomorrow morning - I apologize for the spoiler), and Alayna got a button-up set with those annoying Minions on them.

Our attempt at a family picture in front of the Christmas tree this year.  Didn't turn out as well as last year's, on account of the lighting and 'special' looks a few of us are sporting, here.

We let the girls watch one, last movie before they went to bed:  A Muppet Christmas Carol (another one of my personal favorites.)  A fitting end to the night's craziness.

Heavily rotated Holiday jamz.

Abby continued to leave notes and "presents" for Santa right up until the moment we forced her to bed.  She's become borderline obsessed with Santa Claus this year.

Wouldn't be Christmas Eve without reading this ol' chestnut. . .

Once the girls were in bed, we realized we had a dilemma on our hands.  Aside from the usual cookies (the mouse things the girls made earlier with Marcy - seen here) and milk, Abby also left a stack of old Chuck E. Cheese tokens and a letter of instruction for Santa.  She really wanted the dude to swing by her room. . . for whatever reason (remember the previously shown note on the fireplace?)  Seeing how that was a definite impossibility, Yours Truly was forced to come up with an acceptable Exit Strategy for the Fat Man.

After I finished writing this, I taped it on the ladder next to her bed.  I then wrote a second, shorter letter for Alayna (she didn't care as much, so I wasn't about to write as lengthy a note as I did for Abby. . . that shit took forever, what with all the swirly lettering and what-not.)

After the letters from Santa were written, Kris and I quickly set about preparing the house for the following morning.  We crumpled all cookies (Kris ate a couple, I tossed mine in the garbage), poured the milk down the sink, stuffed all the stockings, and began arranging the presents underneath the tree.  This process took an hour or so, but we had the greatest of all Christmas movies - National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation - and a couple of festive cocktails to help us along.

The house, primed and ready to go for tomorrow morning's Holiday chaos.

Some random Christmas decor from the dining room. . .

The stage is set.   Now it's time for four hours of sleep. . .

- Brian