I must open this soliloquy with a confession, dear reader: I don’t like Christmas music. But Trevor! you’re likely shouting into your computer screen, Your Christmas playlist was without question the halcyon that soothed the raging waters deep within my being! And while I begrudgingly agree that it was quite the opus, I must also admit that my original plan was to only blast the One Good Christmas Song for the entirety of our workout. That’s right: Maria Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You,” nonstop, as both a celebration and an objection to the holiday season. Now, this doesn’t mean that I don’t listen to Christmas music. No, quite the contrary: I have a decent collection of holiday vinyl that fills the house with holiday cheer for the entirety of December¹. But it acts as filler, something on in the background while I go about bringing good tidings to you and your kin. No, I prefer my usual music selection, which consists of mainly Wu-Tang, Childish Gambino, Die Antwoord², 90s boy bands and show tunes³.
Last night was the darkest of the past 500 years. Of course, living in the Big City, light pollution brightens things a touch; but the fact still stands that it was nearly pitch black, especially with our Guards of Darkness, the buttes, refusing all artificial light.
But no, not this morning. Rick brought his usual flair, and Michele strung lights across the stairs to great fanfare. Kendra went full Santa on us. Then there was the new guy in all black, with no headlamp. He was pretty quiet, and probably isn’t much for all the singing and carrying-on that we do. Ah well, we’ll turn him soon enough.