O Come, All Ye Frenzied

I wanted to write a column this week. I swear I did. I yearned to slowly, inconspicuously crawl away from the taxing tumult of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year™ and dive into a wistful disquisition on Oregon’s potential legalization of psychedelic mushrooms — or whether “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is really the date-rapey jingle we’ve long suspected.

But my head was having none of it, occupied as it is with visions of sugar plums. And shipping deadlines. And parade parking. Each time I sat down to my keyboard, cracked the ole knuckles, and tried to channel witty & erudite, but what came lurching out instead was spacey & lunatic. In gushy, paroxysmal spurts and sloppy, involuntary dribbles of language. Like this:

DON’T FORGET THE ADVENT CALENDAR! (Wait … WTF is an “Advent”? Look that up in case kids ask.) “Giddyup, jingle horse, pick up your feet!” Need eggnog. Write check for newspaper delivery dude even though I’ve never laid eyes on the guy. Ooh! I know! I’ll bring a zombie garden gnome to the white elephant party! Wait … WTF is a “white elephant”? “Good King Wenceslas looked down something something something!” Pick up carton of eggnog. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m going 100 percent gift bags this year and calling it a “sustainability” thing. “Run, run, Rudolph, ’cause I’m feelin’ like a merry-go-round!” Remember to grab eggnog. Wait … WTF is “eggnog”?