25 December, 2004
Brilliant� holiday

perhaps the best gift i could have wished for is dodging the plague that seems to have gripped everyone in my intimate circle of friends. everywhere, the dripping, oozing, hacking snore-on-the-inhale-and-exhale so you can't rest pestilence.
cheers to that, Powers-That-Be.
ironically, as fast-paced as the past week has been, the Eve/Day was much more sedate than i would have expected. even Charlottesville, a quagmire of motion on the best days, was serenely bereft of cars when i made my way out of the studio in the late afternoon.
cosseted in FortressLambeth, entering only with the aid of pre-approved plastic entry devices, it was more like solitary confinement or a boy-in-the-bubble situation before and during the times when the "on air" light came on... thanks-and-praises for the telephone for some human contact, especally when i was wondering whether anyone was listening on the other side of the speakers. fellow DJs, new converts shouting out for "making their day" with an island slant... confirmation for why i still do this after thirteen years.
and an ironic note, with the last song: sidestepping the usual skanking, i threw on JohnLennon's "Happy Christmas, War Is Over" for its poignant truths before the BBC took over. SlickWillie, just leaving my mom's house, passed the car park where the Jag expired on our attempted pilgrimmage to NYC the day he was gunned down the minute the tune began. goosebumps.
mission accomplished.
afterward signing off (and trading stories of Ol' Blighty with Pierre of Birmingham), the flurry of activity hunting for amaretto cookies, sushi, and frothy comestibles took over.
then, for copious amounts of Gin & Tonic, babbling and greeting the holiday on the coldest night of the year, the landscape tinted blue with the frigid moonlight... safe by a blistering fire with Eartha Kitt.
today, the story continues. more miles.
more companionship.
speaking of which:
since the majority of hits to this spot on the dial are usually for "russiangirls" and other equally unsavory excuses, there's no way of knowing who actually reads my customary caterwauling. regardless, to those that do (and those whose lives affect me in ways too numerous to mention), know that i wish only the best of days, and extra days, be it a holiday or not.
(whispers) "Merry Christmas, Yoko."
"Merry Christmas, John."

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