I guess it’s because when I see the cover I know that the book is soon to follow and I am grateful again that this is all happening. Maybe if I were a NY Times bestselling author I would be more picky, but I doubt it. I love seeing the way an artist decides to translate my book.

Things are a little bit different now that I am epublishing. I am told that covers aren’t as important in epublishing. People who buy ebooks aren’t browsing covers they say, but I don’t know if I buy it. Either way, now that I intimately involved in the process of creating the cover, I definitely want it to be good.

I am lucky that I am good friends with someone who makes covers for actual books for a real publishing company and she (I’ll call her Joan since we both like Mad Men and she is a sassy redhead) will trade a good meal for a book cover. It’s a win-win for me, because I love her style and this is great reason to go back to Brooklyn Fare.

For my first epublished book MOMFRIENDS Joan gave me three different options. We went with a style that would appeal to my chick-lit fans. The cover was pink and had three different sets of shoes to represent the three women in the story. I asked for a tweak of the middle shoes to differentiate it more from the other two and Joan put in the cute blue kicks she happened to be wearing. I loved it. It totally got the vibe of the book.

Then I decided I was going to epublish some short stories. All of these stories were set around Y2K, and sort of went together in my head. What I really needed was six separate covers. I needed covers that were different, but tied together. It was probably time to move away from pink. Joan suggested keeping some stylistic elements like my name placement and certain typography. I suggested incorporating some iconography from the stories and this is what we wound up with.

Again, I love it! As I release each story that story’s name will be the boldest, but all the names are still there. I’m working on a little trailer based on the cover. I’ve wanted to publish these TURN OF THE CENTURY STORIES for some time and I will be epublishing one every couple of months over this year. It’s kind of an experiment and we’ll see how it goes.  In content and cover this is a departure for me and I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.

Because these books are epublished and I don’t get to hold the tangible book, seeing this cover was the moment where I started to feel like this book was going to be real.

What are YOUR cover stories? Are you always happy? Is epublishing changing how you think about them?

Stay away from the Lotharios. Numerous bestselling clients who don’t exactly write the kind of books you do? A few too many notches on the bedpost? Maybe it’s time to find the less popular kid at the party.

Is anybody vouching? Do other writers and editors say your agent scares them? Does a google of your new man turn up a secret identity?  You need to ask a friend or fellow writer if they know anyone to set you up with.

Trust Your Gut. You know, I mean c’mon! You KNOW. Listen to yourself.

Don’t kid yourself about who you’re with. Many people are waiting for the one. When they find someone who so clearly isn’t, they try to force it. Do you think you’ve got George Clooney just because he told you he once considered becoming a doctor? When I signed with an agent I was reading the memoir of Mary Wells Lawrence a brilliant no-nonsense advertising guru from the 60s. This agent was also no-nonsense. I think I tricked myself into believing I was going to be represented by Mary Wells Lawrence and my books were going to be as big as the “I love New York” campaign. It turns out sometimes no-nonsense is just a nice way of saying mean.

When they don’t call back, they don’t care. I think this is pretty straightforward.

Don’t go changing. Does he insist that you wear six-inch heels when you are prone to blisters? Does she refuse to read your book about friendship between Brooklyn moms and suggest you write a book about the cut-throat world of Upper East Side preschools instead? Would you even recognize yourself in the mirror if you did these things?

Listen to your friends. When you are tearfully calling your pals and they have to remind you that the definition of a boyfriend/agent is someone who simply cares about you, there is a problem. They will then tell you about the way their agent/boyfriend treats them. Their boyfriend makes them laugh ALL the time. Their agent wants to read ANYTHING and EVERYTHING they write. This is normal. It’s nothing like the way you are being treated. They have been trying to tell you this for quite some time. You just didn’t want to hear it. Now you should. You deserve better. Listen and let go.

Don’t ever go back. The guy may call to tell you he was thinking about you and wants to get together. Is he calling in the wee hours of the morning? Nothing good can come of this. The agent may email you two years after you last heard from her wondering if you still consider yourself a client (you don’t) and would you like the “added value service” of having her epublish the novel she never could sell for you? A simple check of your website would have told her you had already hopped on the ebook train, but she was always too busy care about you. Now is the time to tell her that you need her help like a fish needs an agent. Make sure you do it in a no-nonsense way. It will help turn the bitterness into a feeling of closure.

A mop for every rag.  Eventually that guy who you know is an a-hole will sweep someone off her feet. The agent who treated you like crap will have books on The New York Times bestseller list. That’s okay. It just never would have worked for the two of you. One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure. Way it goes. Accept and move on.

What do you think? What are your good and bad experiences with agents? With boyfriends? We’ve all got stories.

So please indulge me while I improve my mental health. I am grateful for:

One year of Momfriends Epublishing a book has been a fun, frustrating, empowering, and exhausting experience. I’m glad I did it and I will do it again. Very soon. But for now Momfriends is on sale. Check it out

Farm fresh eggs I love these things. My CSA just ended and I am in serious withdrawal. Is there a food more perfect than the egg? Perhaps bacon. Someday maybe pigs will lay eggs.

The internets Is there anything I can’t find? With very little to go on and many wrong words I found a Robert Pinsky poem that had been swirling though my head for weeks in no time flat thanks to that crazy series of tubes.

My dad My family probably could not function without him. He knows about cars. He knows about cutlets. He knows about Costco. Plus he babysits.

Florence and The Machine. Her voice is strong and womanly and doesn’t hold back. I aspire to that. And is there something about redheaded women that automatically makes them cool? Tori Amos, Joan Hollaway, Kelly B and Maggie L. I guess you just have to be born with it.

Connie Britton A similar vibe to Flo. Strong and beautiful. I laughed and cried with her in FNL and I couldn’t imagine how much I would laugh and shudder with her in another role. Now I love her in American Horror Story. But Dylan McDermott’s got nothing on Coach.

Kids And not just my own. Kids remind me that there doesn’t have to be a ceiling on your imagination and that is a lesson I almost always really need.

Pork It takes a backseat to turkey this time of year, but we must never forget the power of the pork. And that power means that one day pigs WILL lay eggs. Eggs of bacon.

Parking Gods I live in Brooklyn and suffer through alternate side of the street parking. I bow before the altar of the parking gods. You kind and benevolent gods, you. When it rains, you give me spots on the block. When it snows, you cancel alternate side. When I really have to be somewhere, you use your magic to make others pull out of their spots. And sometimes you don’t give me a spot when I really need it and I understand that in those times, I need to sacrifice. But I have faith. You are all knowing and wise.

YOU Thank you for coming from all over to this site and for all your emails and support. Even if you are lurking, I hope that maybe one day you will comment or make contact. I would love to hear from you and find out what you are thankful for.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING.

Last week, my kindergarten son’s school newsletter announced that the library was going to be open after school for parents and kids.  Not exactly believing my good fortune, I questioned his teacher at pick-up on the designated day. She confirmed I could go up, only slightly taken aback by my enthusiasm. I rushed into school  announced to the guard where I was going.  She wasn’t sure parents were allowed up, but I was only armed with permission from the teacher and she relented. And then we were there in the library. The only ones. The librarian was shutting down and she said we could stay because the parent coordinater would soon be there. Would she need to turn the lights back on or would the natural light be okay? You bet it would.

My kids thought this was bliss and so did I.  We sat on the rug and read book after book. They kept asking me why we were they only ones there and I said I didn’t know. I couldn’t imagine why there wasn’t a line of parents down the hall and a bouncer at the door.  I mean this was the library. I’d been smiling every day that my son came home after a library visit. I had been dying to get in there myself and take a look. For as long as I can remember books were friends and the library was a haven.

We had the place to ourselves for awhile. Only later did a few tween girls show up and start quietly reading some books of their own. No one made much noise These were girls I could totally relate to. When I was about 10, I volunteered at the local library in my city. I know I organized and put books back on their shelves, but mostly I enjoyed having access to the special area behind the information desk where I could sit and just read.  These are happy peaceful memories of adolesence.  And it’s pretty amazing that all those words can live together in one sentence.

At my son’s library there was a teeny little part of me that, recognizing the Papa clan’s enthusiasm, heard the word “nerd” repeating again and again in my head, but I fought that.  I used to get in trouble in class for reading books under my desk, thus drawing more attention to the reader (nerd) that I was. I don’t want my children to ever be ashamed of their love of books. So we chose to celebrate this exclusive privilege we had to be in this special place. It was better than any velvet roped VIP room.

And since we were talking about what our education was and how and why we became writers, I have to say that the reason I am a writer is all this time spent in the library.  I hope it will also provide the education to my kids for whatever they chose in life. Though now I am a strong supporter of ebooks and ereading, libraries will always make me a little bit breathless and a big bit in awe.

I have a confession to make: I’m afraid of technology. I don’t like it and I suspect it doesn’t like me either. I’ve been called “poison to computers”. If a computer is going to crash and cough up every picture that has the smallest amount of sentimental value or say, that little novel that’s been about ten years in the works, chances are it’s the computer I happen to be sitting in front of at the moment of virtual Armageddon.

It started in high school when I spent three hours working on a Social Studies essay on mySmith Corona word processor (remember those? no? I’m old). When I got up to get a drink, I knocked the plug out of the wall and lost everything. I didn’t even freak out, I just accepted this as my lot in life, plugged it back in and started from scratch.

Maybe the machines have noticed my resistance and are rising up against me. After all, with the exception of email, I have fought every major technological advancement in the past fifteen years. I used subway tokens for as long as I could.

I’ve lost hours of my life driving (or more appropriately parking) in the “cash only” toll line. But at the time I preferred that “they” not be able to keep tabs with E-Z Pass. What if I wanted to break the law? I’m not even sure I understand that logic and I blame it on too much Law & Order.

So, like any good technophobe, I resisted Facebook with all my being. I had concerns about privacy. I take the word friend seriously and I was disturbed by the idea that I would use the term to describe people with whom my only contact would be the occasional “poke.” I worried that opening the door to Facebook would be a Pandora’s Box of people I hadn’t had a discussion with since my Smith Corona days. But more than anything else, I didn’t want the time suck.

I should note that I cheated a little by lurking on a dear high school (actual) friend’s account when she told me I absolutely had to see someone we graduated with. 3 hours later my fears about the time suck were confirmed.

So no matter how many invitations I got to be on Facebook or to be anyone’s “friend,” I refused.

But then I decided to do something that nobody could believe this technophobe/book lover would do – I digitally published my novel, Momfriends.

What I realized immediately was that in the five years since my last novel had come out traditionally, there was no way to have any kind of publicity without social networking. My original publisher offered webinars on social networking. I signed up and fell in love with not only the word webinar, but the concept of being able to release all my observations out in to the world on twitter. If I wanted to rave about Jeff Bridges (still love him) or fret about how the book was doing (still fretting) or rant about the irresponsibility of the Lost creators (still angry), I could tweet it. It was an amazing release. What can I say? It’s fun to pretend everyone cares.

And then . . .I set up a Facebook fan page. I even did Facebook ads. We bought a bottle of champagne and put it in the fridge for when I reached 100 fans. Soon enough we were popping it. I felt connected to readers I didn’t know before, readers in far away places. Yes people from my past found me, but each time it was exciting and fun to reconnect. What was I ever afraid of?

Of course I’m taking baby steps. I’m only doing the fan page because I would like to use it for book promotion and not for personal stuff. I joke that I want people to “like” me without having to be their “friend”. I am still slightly disturbed when Facebook asks to go through my email contacts and automatically send them invitations. A little presumptuous, no?

But little by little I am joining the rest of society. All of it is an effective tool that has helped me connect to new readers and old (gulp!) friends.

I even got an E-Z Pass this summer. If I ever do commit that crime, I think I’ll take the train. They can’t trace metro cards can they? Curses…they can can’t they? Man I miss tokens.

But there is always negative energy that one needs to channel and for this I have my HATE TRIFECTA. We spend so much time trying to appear agreeable that sometimes it’s fun to be a hater. Below some frequently asked questions to help you better understand the wonder and the satisfaction that is the HATE TRIFECTA:What is a HATE TRIFECTA?

A HATE TRIFECTA is three things that are uniquely hated by a single person. Others may hate one or two of the items, but probably not all three. It’s almost like a fingerprint. I avoid these things at all costs. Whenever one of these things comes up in conversation, I mention that it is on my HATE TRIFECTA.  I find that people — especially women — want a HATE TRIFECTA of their very own.

What’s in a HATE TRIFECTA?

A HATE TRIFECTA is unique to you. And many of you know immediately what the three things in your own HATE TRIFECTA are. My HATE TRIFECTA consists of three distinct items: vollyeball, olives and Robert Downey, Jr.

Why these things?  How do I find my HATE TRIFECTA? Haven’t you seen Sherlock Holmes?  And I think I might have an olive you would like.

So many questions. Some of you need guidelines on how to figure out your own individual authentic HATE TRIFECTA. So, I use my own as a guide.  I didn’t plan it this way, but as I analyze it seems my items fit into categories that I think may be helpful as a blueprint as you craft your own HATE TRIFECTA

The obvious-volleyball: If you know me, you know that I shun sports at all costs.  I’m not a team player by any means. Many a friend has try to entice me into playing softball with her, but I have never succumbed.  If a ball comes towards me on a playground, I will scream and turn the other way. If you want me to throw something, say keys, at you I will walk them over and remind you that I don’t like throwing things. I hate volleyball specifically because it reminds me of being the new girl in 6^th grade who moved to the suburbs after never even having gym class in the city. It reminds me of being humiliated when I had to serve the ball that very first time and having to play the same stupid sport for several months every year for the next seven years. It reminds me of all the assholes I went to high school with specifically one named Ed who always happened to be in my gym class.  You know that room in George Orwell’s 1984 where the thing you are most afraid of happens? If that really exists and I visit it I will have to serve a volleyball again and again and again.

If I close my eyes I can clearly remember when the whistle blew that ended the last gym class I would ever have to play volleyball my senior year. That was bliss.

The surprising -olives. I am what many would call a foodie. I’m told the current politically correct term is food person. But by any name, I like to eat.  And eat well. I know how to put a cheese plate together. I spent a year sampling the best pork dishes in NYC. I have been known to drive my family quite far off course just because I read that something “was good” at some hole in the wall in the middle of nowhere.  This is why NO ONE believes I don’t like olives. I come from an Italian American family. I was raised in a Greek non volleyball playing neighborhood. I lived in Italy. I spend time with many other food people. When I mention I don’t like olives, I am first met with disbelief and then, without fail, I am told that there is this one type of olive I just have to try.  At first I tried all of them.  I indulged everyone.  But you know what? To me all olives taste the same. Yucky.  Really no one has an olive that I like. Trust me it doesn’t exist and please stop offering. The same goes for tapenade. No thank you.

And ever notice how olives sneak onto things and hide?  Sometimes you order a plain pizza and there is a random half olive stuck on a piece.  And try picking them out of a greek salad. Impossible.

The frivolous/celebrity –Robert Downey, Jr. This is the one that’s most easy for people to pick. It’s usually Renee Zellwegger. Maybe Dakota Fanning. Some say that chick from Knocked Up. I say why hate the women all the time?  For me it’s clearly Robert Downey, Jr. I know, I know. Iron Man. Yes, there was Oscar buzz for Chaplin.  But really it wasn’t so long ago that this guy was waking up his neighbors in their beds when he was super strung out?  How many chances have we given this RD Jr.? Is it really worth it? Didn’t any of you see his awful overwrought Elton Johnesque musical performance on Regis and Kelly many years back? How about the Golden Globe award speech he gave when he won for Ally MacBeal of all things? He thinks he’s such an acTOR. Awful. I just can’t.  He is the worst.

What happens when your HATE TRIFECTA fails you?

Unimaginable, I say. Or would have said before the baby incident.

Oh, the baby incident took me by surprise.  Friends of mine were having breakfast with their one-year-old in LA when the Robert Downey, Jr walked in.  Dadfriend went over and asked Bob if he would take a picture with his daughter who “loved Iron Man”. Junior agreed and then even when he saw how old she was and that she had most likely never seen any movie that wasn’t Baby Einstein, he STILL took the picture. Now, I have seen said picture and it is adorable. I am no match for the cuteness.  Much like the Grinch felt when he heard the Whos of Whoville singing, something changed in me immediately.  My heart grew.

I guess the thing is I respect when celebrities want their privacy. You hear those stories about how some big actor was a dick because he didn’t want to sign an autograph or some singer just wanted to have her slice of olive pizza and not make eye contact.  I ALWAYS side with the celebrity. These people owe us nothing but entertainment.  They don’t want to talk to your Grandma Helen in Oradell on your cell phone. So the fact that Mr. Downey, Jr was so cool about it and the picture is so strange and wonderful with adorable babe and well tanned man makes it almost impossible for me to still hate him.  Believe me, I have tried.  HARD. I just can’t hate Robert Downey, Jr. anymore.

So, now I have this void.  What is a trifecta without three?  Where do I put the negative energies?  Do I try that olive you think I would like?  No, that’s crazy talk.  Have we learned nothing? The HATE TRIFECTA is necessary.  Jamie Foxx, it’s all on you now. I’ve got not real reasons, you just annoy me. But I shall build a case and report back soon.

In the meantime . .  . what’s on your HATE TRIFECTA?  And how cute is this?

I have been thinking a lot about process lately. It’s our topic for this cycle and it’s also something I’ve been trying to refresh for a few months now. I seem to go through periods where process means difference things: scribbling random unedited thoughts in notebooks as teen or opting to do writer’s workshops in my early twenties. The best process I’ve ever had was in my late twenties/early thirties. This was right after my first novel came out and when I had a two book contract. I lived in a sunny apartment in Brooklyn. My writing desk fit perfectly in a little nook against the bright yellow wall. I arranged my freelance work schedule to be every other day and every other day I wrote non-stop for at least four hours. I fully surrendered to the characters who spoke to me as I banged on my keyboard while listening to Tori Amos. I didn’t edit myself, I didn’t worry about the time. I just wrote. I only turned away from my computer when I felt my puppy’s eyes boring into my back because the treat tin was on my desk and she wanted something tasty. It was my most productive time as a writer. It was ideal.

These days I have a room that we call an office that I never use to write fiction. I also have more creatures demanding more treats much more often. Circumstances have meant that I have needed to freelance almost full time since the beginning of the year. We call it perma-lancing. “Writing time” has been replaced by “trying to market the e-book I published in November” time and “finishing an essay for the deadline” time. And then of course the favorite though not at all productive “sitting on the couch with my husband when the children are finally in bed” time.
The process of creatively writing seems to have fallen by the wayside. The trial and error, the freedom to be led by characters to places that might not work just doesn’t seem as possible to fit in to the moments I do have. Steven King says you must not come lightly to the blank page. I pretentiously wrote this on the blackboard in my little yellow writing nook. I was young and knew enough to erase it when people came over. But I still believe it and writing in tiny spurts seems like it might just be coming lightly.
I know writers who have specific and sacred processes. The Nora Roberts’ “ass is the chair” comes to mind. I envy that. I also have heard of writers who take long palate cleansing breaks from writing and while I can understand this it seems to be the antithesis of what I want to do. Shouldn’t I want to write fiction every day and if I don’t or can’t shouldn’t I force myself?
Recently my oldest friend wrote me that Jane Austen was a writer every day of her life not just when she was working on a novel. I understood that and was encouraged, yet still I need find a new more disciplined approach to make time for fiction writing. Slowly characters who have been silent for awhile are starting to call to me when I’m doing other things. I know I must find the process, the room and the space to let them out.

Coming lightly seems better than not showing up at all.

So I am a little late in instituting what I hope will be a “thing” for 2011.  Momfriends of the Month.  Here at the Momfriends HQ, we like to celebrate actual friends, not just characters in books.  So for February we meet Ratha and Pam from New Jersey.  Find out in their own words what makes them such great Momfriends.

Describe your first meeting.  Was it love at first sight?  Who approached who?

Pam: The first time we met was at breastfeeding support group. But the first time we talked was at the Mom & Babies Group. I asked you to join the playgroup and you said no.

Ratha: Oh my God, I totally forgot about that! I can’t believe I said no!

Pam: I don’t think playgroups were your thing.

Ratha: I know, that’s right. I was like a bit anti-social a bit at first.

Pam: No, you weren’t! It just wasn’t your thing. Then I brought Colby back to see the breastfeeding teacher, Elaine,

And we talked again. Colby was about 7 months and at the end of the group, so Ava was 4 months.

Ratha: Oh, I remember Elaine, she called Colby her boyfriend.  He was such a little cutie. He was always so happy and smiling!

Pam: So she had us introduce ourselves and we were both from the same town, and we exchanged information. It was like asking someone out on a date!

Ratha: Totally! It seemed somehow easier though, when you’re a mom… and you have the excuse of your baby.

Pam: Moms aren’t so quick to reject. Desperate! Especially a new mom!

What was the first time you guys made a separate playdate?  Where was it?  What was it like?  Were you nervous?  Did you wear lipgloss?

Ratha: Ava and I came to your house.

Pam: And you brought a pie.

Ratha: That’s right! From ShopRite.

Pam: . . . And I cleaned.

Ratha: . . . And we had turkey sandwiches. We were always so polite, we always had lunches or snacks. Now it’s take what you can get. We’re on the run moms!

Pam: I doubt I wore lipgloss. But I might have dried my hair and not put it in a ponytail.

Ratha: In those days, it was an occasion, just to get out. I remember, I used to dress Ava in her nice outfits to go to your house.

Pam: I don’t know if I was that thoughtful. They don’t have as many cute outfits for the boys.

Ratha: True.  I can’t remember if I wore lipgloss. I might have dressed a little nicer than usual though.

Pam: We used to bundle them up and go for walks outside too.

Ratha: Yep, it was always nice to get out.

What is one thing (or the most important thing) you feel you learned about parenting from each other?

Pam: That I’m not unique in my situation with my children, and there’s someone else that can help me through it: Someone to laugh with. Your patience is unmatched by anyone else in the universe. My children would agree.

Ratha: Pam’s an amazing sounding board who helps put things in perspective. She’s like family – one of the first phone calls I make. She’s also a teacher, and has such a vast knowledge of educational and fun ways to play and teach the kids. I pick up so many tips from her! And her birthday parties are amazing!

Have you had a night/day out without the kids?  How awesome was that?

Ratha: Yes! We try to get together every so often either just us, or with our husbands. I have to just also mention, after I had Jack (my second child), you took me out to Panera, and that was the first time I got out of the house after having the baby. It was the best time, and I’ll always remember that.

Pam: Aww…

What was the first meeting of the spouses like?  Were you happy that they got along?

Pam: I think it was at our house.

Ratha It was casual, I think we ordered a pizza.

Pam: And we hoped they (the husbands) got along.

Ratha: And they did. Then we got the husbands together for a drink at a bar by themselves. Kevin accused me of trying to set him up on a “mandate.”

Pam: And I think our husbands probably go out w/o the children now more than us! Not that they do it that often either.

How has having a momfriend made being a parent easier for you?

Pam: Because somebody can relate to what you’re going through. You don’t have to sugarcoat situations.

Ratha: And it’s also like you get a whole new chance to make friends. You have your friends from school, college, work … then becoming a mom opens a whole new door. It’s a whole new opportunity to make friends -Which isn’t always easy as an adult.

Pam: Yeah, all my other friends were still dating, and didn’t have kids. They were not around the hours of say . . . 9am to 5pm (not that they didn’t still get it!) but you know.

Ratha and Pam got into the spirit by getting together (without children) to drink some wine and celebrate their friendship.  I encourage you to do the same and send in the results to be Momfriends of March. Or, even if you don’t  want to be immortalized on my website, go have a drink with your best Momfriend this week. She needs it.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside:  Every time I hear this song I want to tell the male singer that no means no. There’s something really creepy and desperate about this guy.  Especially when the guy is Rod Stewart because I love Dolly and I know she really wants her fancy warm tour bus to get her the heck out.  I would be checking the medicine cabinet for Rufinol.  Please remind your daughters that it is NEVER too “cold outside” to go home

But if you want a classic and old school song try.  ‘Zat you Santa Claus by Louis Armstrong. ‘Zat awesome? Why yes, ‘zat is.

I really can’t stand the Mama met Jesus song: I don’t even want to know the title. Some guy goes to a store for shoes and meets a kid whose mother is about to DIE.  Really?  This you want to play during Christmas time?  I know people die 365 days a year.  This is an awful fact.  But I don’t think preying on our emotions when I want to know that Santa is coming to town as long as I am nice is fair.  This song makes me say words that are naughty and I don’t want to jeopardize anything with St. Nick.  No more worst carol ever.

Instead how about Feliz Navidad? I know, I know. It’s predictable, but predictable is good.  At least we can be confident no one’s mother is going to die at the end. Try singing this with your family this Christmas and I guarantee everyone from the toddlers to the senile will get into it and all the family drama will be forgotten (for a little while).

And please stop with Dan Fogelberg’s Same Old Lang Syne. You totally know this song. You just don’t know the title.  It’s NOT the New Year’s classic.  It’s about the guy who meets his old girlfriend in a parking lot and they get a six pack and talk about how miserable they are.  There’s a sax the snow turns into rain.  You remember now?  Yeah.  I guess I used to be this person who thought I would feel slightly melancholy about lost love, but you know what?  I’m not.  I got out of my 20s.  I’m lucky. Life is good.  So give me Mariah singing “All I want for Christmas is You” one more time and skip this or I’m changing the channel to the alt-rock station.

If you must reminisce or you yearn for slightly melancholy try 2000 Miles by the Pretenders and  River by Joni Mitchell  These songs I could listen to all year long. They are just that good.

Here’s what else I want more of on my Christmas radio station.

Good King Wenceslas and We Three Kings: I love these songs and they don’t get no love.  Are they too religious for pop channels? Next year I am launching a campaign to bring them back to the people.

Dominic the Donkey: I’m not sure if this song is supposed to be offensive to Italians but I love it. Boun Natale

And finally Must Be Santa When someone comes out with a new carol, it’s exciting.  When it’s Bob Dylan, it’s interesting.  When it’s this song, that’s incredible. My kids could watch the video on youtube 24/7.  Check it out. Someday I want to have a party like that. Maybe this New Year’s Eve to celebrate the end of all my off-key singing.

What are you listening to or not listening to this season?