Whither Christmas?

That's a heavy question, man. Whither Christmas? What does "whither" mean, anyway? Do I even know? Yes, I know. & if I didn't know, why the fuck would I begin every Wednesday posting with the word? Don't I know there's a dictionary.com? Will I continue to ask a bunch of questions here only I can answer? Since I am the only one writing, I mean. I don't presume that you can answer because you can't really. Except in the comments section. So maybe I should write a bunch of questions & you can answer them. But what if you don't? Won't this already piss-poor blog seem even more pathetic? Is that really possible?

Surely someone listens to Self Help Radio. Even if that someone is my mother, who can't listen because she lives two hundred miles away & doesn't have a computer. Also, she's German. She does perhaps listen to recordings of the shows that I send her, but she is, after all, German. Anyway, if I am writing to a generic "listener," & that listener isn't my mother, to whom am I writing? I don't normally drink a lot before I write anything, so I can't be hallucinating, although I do sometimes have lucid dreams when I am really exhausted. Have I ever dreamed about writing stuff in this blog? I don't remember either way, but I have dreamed about finding my house rearranged in ways that are not structurally possible. Therefore, I believe the way that reality can be manipulated in dreams in such a way that makes a kind of irrational sense is the same way I should perceive the readership of this blog. You are the reader of my dreams.

Now, since someone listens to Self Help Radio & also reads this blog, at least in sleepytimeland, there is therefore the presumption that they are intriqued about why I choose the topics I choose. But surely this hypothetical reader is not a complete & total moron. Are you? You can at least read, right? Do you know what "whither" means? Have you ever read anything by Walt Whitman? I'm sure he said "whither" all the time. He was probably in the middle of a Washington DC hospital & he'd be like, "Excuse me, doctor, whither the lavoratory?" & the doctor was like, "Jesus Christ, Walt, it's the fucking 19th century, can't you talk like a modern man?" & Walt was all like, "Ooo, she's upset, isn't she?"

My sharp reader might notice that I used the word "whither" in the above sentence to mean something different than I use it to mean in the titles of my Wednesday posts. That's because I was trying to make you doubt your own understanding of the word's meaning. Did it work? Or did you think it was a lame, debate-team-ish move that deserves only scorn? "Whither" can mean "to where" both figuratively & literally. I use it figuratively; Walt Whitman used it literally when he was hitting on doctors.

To continue: you're not a moron & you're aware that it's the week before Christmas & some deejays enjoy - nay, feel compelled - to do Christmas shows. Some do them way too much. Some of them play that fucking Bruce Springsteen "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" song like it's some kind of classic & not the exact song they played at Abu Ghraib right before they sicced the dogs on the prisoners' legs. Seriously, I could take any amount of Windham Hill Christmas shit over that Springsteen travesty. I'm surprised it doesn't routinely clear malls. In a world where people weren't force-fed music on commercial radio, it would. & Springsteen would find himself lynched by the first group that ran into him.

In sum: it's the week before Christmas & I am doing the Christmas show I always do. But when I say "I always do," I don't mean, "I am playing the same recordings I usually play," like deejays who are less inventive than myself do. No, every song I play Friday will be a song I have never played before. & it will be a magical holiday show for the entire family. Or maybe not for your grandfather. He takes himself way too seriously. Put some valium in his egg nog - only then will he be truly able to digest my world-famous Christmas show.

You'll do fine, though.