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I gotta say, the holiday season never really touched me much. Growing up we as a family didn’t celebrate it with decorated trees or any such thing. Nor am I a fan of the incessant Christmas pop music that accompanies the month of December. But this year, I have an Ohrwurm

A few weeks ago Kal herded a group of us into the city to film a music video. The weather cooperated by not completely freezing us mid-shoot, and by providing a little decorative precipitation, appropriate to the season. Kal brought the music and we brought the cheer (and quite some goofiness,) mixed it together and enjoyed the holiday “that old merry way.” Check out the video for Jukebox Christmas and enjoy your holidays!

Excerpted from a letter to a friend

Frankly, if you ask me, telling someone not to cry when the impulse strikes is like telling someone not to pee when they gotta go. Have you ever held it in so long that you totally relish the relief of the bathroom? We are trained to disdain the catharsis of tears. My grandfather used to tell me that real men don’t cry. He was a military man. I was an eight year old boy. I thought he was absurd for saying that. Maybe when you’re that old you don’t need to cry, I thought. But at the age of eight I was somehow wise enough to know that stifling my tears was just a bad idea. They want out, and one way or another they’ll get out.
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So, as I mentioned, I got the news of the birth of my nephew while I was in Munich. Rest assured, I was only vacationing, I have not returned to live there. A few days later I was in Slovakia for Joerg and Stanka’s wedding. In my hotel room I got to speak to my mother for the first time since she was crowned “Grandmother.”

I have heard how parents, in moments of concern for their own mortality, plead with their single children to hurry up and get married. This conversation with my mother demonstrates that even times of great joy and celebration of new life are cause for the same pleas. The exchange went something like this:
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I was standing in a laundromat in the Harras neighborhood of Munich when I got the news in the form of a voicemail from my younger sister. Our sister Prameela had delivered a baby boy. As I jumped up and down with a delighted grin on my face “Ich bin Oncle!” was my explanation of my behavior to the proprietors, who looked on disapprovingly.

Somehow those words did nothing to change their disposition, let alone their countenance.

His name is Vikram. He’s cute quiet and well-behaved, crying pretty much when he requires servicing, and sleeping at all other times. He is the first grandchild on both sides of his family, so he will be “peddannaya” (elder brother) to all his siblings and cousins as I was to my mother’s side of the family. Already we have some excellent photos of Vikram to share. For certain, there will be more to come…

I can’t say I quite understand what benefit anyone derives from posting comments which contain nothing more than the name of a drug to a personal blog. Maybe it’s the ping-backs that matter, enriching the connectedness of some other site to with which I’d really rather have nothing to do. Nevertheless, it has happened: Something on the order of about 200 instances of comment spam have been bothering the heck out of me. So, until further notice I’ve deactivated comments on these blog entries. Maybe a newer version of this WordPress software will help address the issue…