10 December 2008

Happy Finals Week, Part 4: Yule

Okay, I love Christmas music.  No lie, November 1st finds me busting out the "Christmas" playlist on my iTunes and getting into the spirit of the holidays thanks to Alvin and the Chipmunks.  That being said, there are some places where playing Christmas music is completely inappropriate:

Funerals.  
Mosques.  
Gatherings of the KKK.  

I thought that list was pretty all-encompassing until this afternoon, when I found myself serenaded by the melodious tones of "Sleigh Ride" while trying to memorize the difference between Sephardic and Ashkenazic Jews on the stationary bike at the gym.  Apart from the complete irony that I was studying Judaism during the aforementioned Christmas music incident, this situation bothered me mostly because, well, I was at the gym.  

I'm all about yule and cheer and tidings of whatever one wishes to tide, but at the gym?  No, I don't want to go on a sleigh ride together with you, not while I'm all sweaty and definitely not in my "If you think it's tough to be a cop, try being a cop's girlfriend" t-shirt that has a pair of handcuffs cutely arranged into a heart at the bottom.  I'd rather stay here on the elliptical, ellipticalling as fast as possible just to see if I can get the calorie count from 196 to 200 in the last five seconds of my workout.  I hear no bells caroling, unless you count the guy next to me who keeps nonchalantly dropping his free weights after grunting every time he does a rep.  Seeing as North Park does not posses a hockey team, I'm pretty sure everyone here has their two front teeth, so we're all set, thanks.

Furthermore, I'm pretty sure that anyone there who was trying to work off that extra cup of egg nog really didn't appreciate the reminder of the extra weight that often comes with Christmas.  Thanks a bunch, guy who set the radio station at Helwig, not only am I depressed about my winter padding, but you have the gall to remind me that that's why I'm working out today.  Merry Christmas to you too!  

So now I sit on my bed, listening to Amanda play bad 80's music (like Linda Ronstadt bad 80's, not something respectable like Aerosmith) in the living room because she's "feeling nostalgic".  Now, if Linda Ronstadt were a Jew, it could work.  Maybe I'll go back to the gym.

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