Two Butt Kitchen’s Neighborhood

My favorite Christmas Carol is "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman." It is probably no coincidence that this is also the only actual Christmas carol mentioned by name in "A Christmas Carol." The Christmas in my head is a decidedly English affair, and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen strikes me as the most English of carols.

I got a yen to hear my favorite Christmas song earlier today, so I headed on over to iTunes to buy myself a copy. I was hoping for a version sung by fat, jolly English baritone types, possibly with an orchestra. This is what I got.

Tidings of comfort and joy

The Greater Washington Metropolitan area suffered a snowpocalypse this weekend, and I've been apartment-bound with CarrieNation for going on 36 hours now. If Facebook is any indication, people are just beside themselves about all their lost productivity during The Great Blizzard of 2009, but we think it's just dandy. I don't know how long it would take me to get bored of hanging out with my wife, watching movies, reading books and playing video games, but I'm willing to find out. 

I've never been a big fan of dance music. It might have something to do with the fact that I can't dance...or that most dance music sucks, or maybe it's a little from column A and a little from column B.

Not only have I never been a big fan of dance music, but there has also never been a time in my life at which I've had less use for it. I was never a big clubber (clubbite) even as a young single fellow. Now that I'm married I can think of approximately 7,000 things I'd rather do than go to a dance club, including #4,506 (staring into middle space) and #5,092 (flicking around a ball of lint).

So it is a little surprising to me that my new favorite artist is kabillion-selling dance-pop sensation Lady Gaga.

It started when I downloaded her ubiquitous hit Poker Face in an effort to make our wedding playlist more relevant to the young folks. Unlike most dance music, which I find gets worse with repeated listening, I found myself coming back to Ms. Gaga's weird ode to whatever it is she's singing about. Lately I've been scouring YouTube for more gaga clips, including my latest favorite, Bad Romance.

With two weeks to go in December, I've posted 104 times in 2009, and am well on my way to successfully completing my second challenge in as many years. It's a little disappointing that Jodi hasn't failed just yet, but 'tis the season for miracles, and I remain hopeful.

In other news, I bought "Flash's Theme" on iTunes and have been listening to it obsessively this week.

So I was in the Whole Foods today, like any good yuppie, buying my hemp cereal and gmo-free, eight-dollar milk, when I noticed something funny in the tea aisle.

Smooothh

Now, I like a vile scatological pun as much as (read: a lot more than) the next guy, but I'm not expecting them at my local overpriced green grocer. And it wasn't just the one. Smirking poop jokes seem to be the norm for upscale laxative teas.

Oh by all means

My friend Hotrod has a lot of things going for him: excellent taste in baked goods; strong public speaking and some very nifty dance moves, but on matters sporting, he is -- I think we can all agree --  a hypocrite.

For those of you not interested in sports, this may require a little explanation. It is typical, in sporting circles, for fans to choose their favorite sporting teams in early childhood. It may seem cruel to force a child into such a critical lifelong decision, but in virtually all cases, the choice is a simple matter of geography. You root for the team that comes from where you come from. Sometimes a child will chose a team based on his parents' sporting affiliations, but in general, it's a pretty obvious decision.

Cut to Hotrod. He was born in Michigan...or Ohio -- depending on which day you ask him -- two states with excellent representation in the National Football League. Now while it may be true that the Detroit Lions, Cleveland Browns and Cincinnati Bengals have not been world-beaters, they are all proud franchises with rich histories. Sadly, not all people have the the intestinal fortitude to support a team that occasionally loses, so young Hotrod randomly chose to support a team from Pennsylvania: the Pittsburgh Steelers...who just happened to be the best team in football.

Now we might be inclined to give him a pass on this less-than-gallant behavior, if it were an isolated incident, but sadly, it's not.

One of the corollaries to the geographic rule of sports affiliation is that if you root for one team from a city, you also support the other teams that represent that city. Hotrod, not one to support the proud, but underfunded Pittsburgh Pirates, chose for his favorite baseball team the New York Yankees : winners of the most championships in baseball history.

In college football, Hotrod backs Michigan, quite simply, the winningest college football program of all time. But he stops being a Wolverine during basketball season, so that he can root for Michigan's deadly rival, Michigan State, a perennial basketball powerhouse.

Finally, we come to Hockey. During last year's Stanley Cup Finals, I tried to take a shot at Hotrod, who'd been rooting hard for the Pittsburgh Penguins against my Washington Capitals in the semi-final round. When informed him that I hoped the the Detroit Red Wings beat his Penguins in the finals, he calmly informed me that he was a fan of both teams, and thus couldn't lose. That pretty much says it all.

F. Terrible.

A few months ago, I made a shameful admission. At the time, my new favorite band was Matt and Kim, a band I had discovered by way of a television commercial for Bacardi Rum. I posited that this was surely the lamest manner in which I had ever discovered a band that I liked. I was pretty low about it at the time, but this weekend, I sunk far, far lower.

I was minding my own business, enjoying a virtual stroll through my Vox neighborhood when I stumbled on a Thanksgiving post by Laurie. In it she remarked that the tin-eared Capn' Crunch had turned her on to a band called Metric. Hoping to find something new to ridicule, I fired up the old YouTubes to sneer at Cappy's recommendation. And sneer I did...for about 30 seconds until the hook cut in and damnit all to hell if they aren't really good. I'm not big on the whole Broken Social Scene, uh, scene, but this was different: poppier, sharper, more engaging. After searching in vain for a song I didn't like, I put in an Amazon order for their latest effort, Fantasies.

This is a new low for me. I don't feel good about it. Now that I've crossed this line, I'm not sure what's next. Before you know it, I'll be eating cheese stakes steaks (it has already begun - ed.) and beating up innocent tourists. Pray for me.

A couple years ago, I began a highly original annual feature here on Dabysan in Hammersmith Palais listing the many things that I'm thankful for on, uh, Thanksgiving. This year, I've got more to be thankful for than ever before, so here, in no particular order, is what I'm giving thanks for today.

- My beautiful wife
- My amazing family
- My awesome friends
- My smelly, ornery, deaf, lump-ridden dog
- Jim Webb, the crippled, pugilistic guppy who refused to die...until just now. R.I.P. Jim Webb.
- Football (actually, football has been one of the few dark spots on an otherwise amazing year).
- My job
- Video games
- Mexico
- Sunshine
- Cold weather runs
- Yoga
- Top Chef
- The Toy Dolls and Madness (the 1980s are currently in heavy rotation in my iPod)
- World travel
- My wedding present
- True Blood
- New coffee maker
- Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee
- Hotrod's Thanksgiving chili
- CarrieNation's Thanksgiving ginger cake
- Dabysan's Thanksgiving indolence
- The beach
 

Well I could have stood for that to be a lot longer. If it weren't for a certain deranged pug waiting for us at home, I think Carrienation and I might have extended our stay until our bank account ran dry. I realize I'm not going to find a lot of sympathy for this sentiment, but I'm not sure nine days in paradise was quite enough.

Our destination was a beach resort in Tulum, Mexico, a resort area about two hours drive away from Cancun that caters to smug bohemian types. Most of the resorts along the beach make their own electricity with wind turbines and encourage conservation in various ways. The result is a beautifully preserved, thinly populated stretch of beach with no jet skis, no jorts and very few drunken college students.

Our main activities consisted of:

1) Sitting on said beach, and

2) Bailing on the many sight-seeing opportunities people warmly suggested for us.

We really meant to get to Chichen Itza -- the most famous Mayan ruin -- and to the Sia Kian Biosphere just down the road, and to the cenotes (fresh water underground caves) that the area is famous for. But we kept waiting for a bad weather day to do those things, and it just never came. Sad, really. We did get to the Mayan ruins at Tulum (because we could get there by bicycle and they had iguanas) so that's something.

Proof we left the beach

These are the ruins at Tulum. See if you can find the Iguanas in the picture.

Where I be at

I think I averaged about six hours a day on these chairs. I'm really good at it.

Thank god for shutter speed

I held this for like an hour.

My lovely bride

CarrieNation is a little more graceful.