trailer:
TCM has an overview. Rotten Tomatoes has a critics score of 100%.
various and assorted miscellany
They say my love for you ain't real
But you don't know how real it feels
All I want to do is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
Your sister says that I'm no good
I'd reassure her if I could
All I want to do is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
Plans fail every day
I want to hear you say
Your love won't be leaving
(Run run, run run)
Your eyes ain't deceiving
(Run run, run run)
Fears will soon fade away
Smile now, don't be afraid
All I want to do is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
And let me whisper in your ear
Don't you worry, they can't hear
All I want to do is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you
This year has been a little crazy for the Andersons.
You may recall we had some trouble last year.
The robot council had us banished to an asteroid.
That hasn't undermined our holiday cheer.
And we know it's almost Christmas by the marks we make on the wall.
That's our favorite time of year.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime,
Where we're working in a mine for our robot overlords.
Did I say overlords? I meant protectors.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime.
On every corner there's a giant metal Santa Claus, who watches over us with glowing red eyes.
They carry weapons and they know if you've been bad or good.
Not everybody's good but everyone tries.
And the rocks outside the airlock exude ammonia-scented snow.
It's like a Winter Wonderland.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime,
Where we're working in a mine for our robot overlords.
Did I say overlords? I meant protectors.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime.
That's all the family news that we're allowed to talk about.
We really hope you'll come and visit us soon.
I mean we're literally begging you to visit us.
And make it quick before they [MESSAGE REDACTED].
Now it's time for Christmas dinner - I think the robots sent us a pie!
You know I love my soylent green.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime,
Where we're working in a mine for our robot overlords.
Did I say overlords? I meant protectors.
Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime.
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
And in that region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, “Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased!” When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they saw it they made known the saying which had been told them concerning this child; and all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them.
But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.
And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
The English, from the great prevalence of rural habits throughout every class of society, have always been fond of those festivals and holidays which agreeably interrupt the stillness of country life; and they were, in former days, particularly observant of the religious and social rites of Christmas. It is inspiring to read even the dry details which some antiquarians have given of the quaint humours, the burlesque pageants, the complete abandonment to mirth and good-fellowship with which this festival was celebrated. It seemed to throw open every door, and unlock every heart. It brought the peasant and the peer together, and blended all ranks in one warm generous flow of joy and kindness. The old halls of castles and manor-houses resounded with the harp and the Christmas carol, and their ample boards groaned under the weight of hospitality. Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive season with green decorations of bay and holly--the cheerful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, inviting the passenger to raise the latch, and join the gossip knot huddled around the hearth, beguiling the long evening with legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas tales.The story illustrations are by Randolph Caldecott, and I have included a few in this post.
One of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement is the havoc it has made among the hearty old holiday customs. It has completely taken off the sharp touchings and spirited reliefs of these embellishments of life, and has worn down society into a more smooth and polished, but certainly a less characteristic surface. Many of the games and ceremonials of Christmas have entirely disappeared, and like the sherris sack of old Falstaff, are become matters of speculation and dispute among commentators. They flourished in times full of spirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed life roughly, but heartily and vigorously; times wild and picturesque, which have furnished poetry with its richest materials, and the drama with its most attractive variety of characters and manners. The world has become more worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has expanded into a broader, but a shallower stream, and has forsaken many of those deep and quiet channels where it flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of domestic life. Society has acquired a more enlightened and elegant tone; but it has lost many of its strong local peculiarities, its homebred feelings, its honest fireside delights.
What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the mass of knowledge? or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safe guides for the opinions of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is my own disappointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in[159] good humour with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have written entirely in vain.There's a short video from Today.com here at their site that talks about the influence of Washington Irving on the celebration of Christmas here in the U.S. His work was an influence on Dickens, and he was one of the "inventors" of Santa Claus. The New York Times writes,
Washington Irving profoundly influenced the American Christmas. His melding of jolly St. Nick and an English commemoration of old into a wintry celebration of nostalgia attests to the rich cultural legacy bequeathed to us by this native New Yorker. Within a decade of the publication of Irving's "Sketch Book," New Yorkers were greeting each other with Christmas wishes, and stores on Broadway extended their hours to accommodate shoppers.I love reading stories of older, more "traditional" holiday celebrations. They feel cozy to me. I enjoy the way our family celebrates Christmas, but I've always been interested in how things used to be done and how they are done by different people now.
This is what mine looks like:1 1/2 pounds hot ground pork sausage
1 (8 ounce) package refrigerated crescent roll dough
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
4 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup milk
salt and pepper to taste
Brown sausage. Drain, crumble and set aside. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Lightly grease a 9×13 inch baking pan. Lay crescent rolls flat in the bottom of the pan. Spread cooked sausage over crescent roll dough. Cover sausage with cheese. Mix beaten eggs, milk, salt and pepper. Pour eggs/milk mixture over the top. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes, until bubbly and rolls are baked.
Born under a bad sign
Been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck
You know, I wouldn't have no luck at all
Hard luck and trouble
Been my only friend
I've been on my own
Ever since I was ten
Born under a bad sign
Been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck
You know, I wouldn't have no luck at all
I can't read
I didn't know how to write
My whole life has been
One big fight
Born under a bad sign
I've been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck
I say, I wouldn't have no luck at all
That ain't lie, ah, oh
You know, if it wasn't for bad luck
I wouldn't have no kinda luck
If it wasn't for real bad luck
I wouldn't have no luck at all
You know wine
And women is all I crave
A big legged woman
Gonna carry me to my grave
Born under a bad sign
I been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck
I tell ya, I wouldn't have no luck at all
Yeah, I'm a bad luck boy
Been havin' bad luck all of my days, yes
Here is a perfect Christmas gift for the person who has everything -and plans to leave it to you. Murder for Christmas contains twenty-six tales of seasonal malice to keep you in the Christmas spirit all year round.
It has been said that Christmas brings out the best in everyone, and this has been especially true of mystery writers who seem to have been inspired to their best work by the holiday season.
So come to a unique yuletide celebration and rub elbows with such greats as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Dame Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, and Ellery Queen, while Georges Simenon and Dame Ngaio Marsh drop a few hot coals into your stocking. Master of suspense John Collier and Stanley Elkin will be on hand with a few terrifying tales to send shivers up your spine. Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, and Baroness Orczy also will be present with some surprise contributions. There will be a few laughs, too, with Damon Runyon, Wyndham Lewis, and Woody Allen, as well as visits with old and new masters of the genre such as Margery Allingham, Dorothy L. Sayers, G.K. Chesterton, Edward D. Hoch, and H.R.F Keating. John Dickson Carr will favor us with a locked room story, while O. Henry contributes some Christmas criminality from the Old West. We'll even go Christmas shopping with Robert Louis Stevenson.
Best of all will be the presence of the great detectives of literature -Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Nero Wolfe, Lord Peter Whimsey, Albert Campion, Jules Maigret, Father Brown, Roderick Alleyn, and Bombay's Ganesh Ghote -all tacking the kinds of cases that made them famous.
Murder for Christmas contains something for every taste -lying, cheating, shoplifting, stealing, spying kidnapping, and murder- in short, everything to make the holidays bright.
I had no luck finding reviews online, and the book seems to be out of print. That's a shame, as the collection of themed seasonal stories sounds like a real winner. I know I enjoyed it, and I don't usually read short stories.Back for Christmas -John Collier
Mr. Big -Woody Allen
The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle -Arthur Conan Doyle
The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding -Agatha Christie
Dancing Dan’s Christmas -Damon Runyon
Cambric Tea -Marjorie Bowen
Death on Christmas Eve -Stanley Ellin
A Christmas Tragedy -Baroness Orczy
Silent Night -Baynard Kendrick
The Stolen Christmas Box -Lillian de la Torre
A Chaparral Christmas Gift -O. Henry
Death on the Air -Ngaio Marsh
Inspector Ghote and the Miracle Baby -H.R.F. Keating
Maigret’s Christmas -Georges Simenon
To Be Taken with a Grain of Salt -Charles Dickens
The Adventure of the Dauphin’s Doll -Ellery Queen
Markheim -Robert Louis Stevenson
The Necklace of Pearls -Dorothy L. Sayers
Blind Man’s Hood -Carter Dickson
Christmas is for Cops -Edward D. Hoch
The Thieves Who Couldn’t Help Sneezing -Thomas Hardy
The Case is Altered -Margery Allingham
Christmas Party -Rex Stout
The Flying Stars -G.K. Chesterton
Mother’s Milk -James Mines
Ring Out, Wild Bells -D.B. Wyndham Lewis
Auguste Rodin (1840–1917) was arguably the most celebrated sculptor of the nineteenth century, and was regarded as the greatest sculptor since Michelangelo. The remarkable works of Rodin will make their triumphant return to the Dixon Gallery and Gardens with Rodin: The Human Experience, an exhibition of fifty-one works in bronze.I remember the last Rodin exhibit the Dixon hosted back in 1988 -The Passion of Rodin-, and his sculptures make a striking display. The staff has gotten less cranky over the years, which makes visits much more enjoyable now than they used to be. The Dixon is a great way to spend a few hours, whether you like art, or flowers and gardens, or both. I feel so fortunate that Memphis has this.
Rodin: The Human Experience examines the artist’s multi-faceted explorations of the human figure in bronze, ranging from small scale sketches to the artist’s well-known monumental works. Alongside commissioned works of specific individuals will be Rodin’s sculptural experiments with the human figure, ranging in style from the classically-inspired to the gothic. Visitors to the exhibition will be greeted in Garrott Court by the monumental sculpture, The Three Shades, Rodin’s interpretation of the souls of the damned who stand at the entrance to hell in Dante’s Inferno.
Long Piddleton had always been wary of newcomers, but the quiet town was stunned when the first stranger was found dead, upended in a butt of ale in the cellar of The Man with a load of Mischief. Then the second body appeared, swinging in place of the mechanical man above the door of the Jack and Hammer.
Suddenly, Long Piddleton had good reason to be wary of everyone! Its cozy pubs and inns with their polished pewter and blazing hearths had become the scenes of the most bizarre crimes. Who were the victims? And who was the murderer? A maniac? A stranger? Or the disarmingly friendly man next door?
The English inn stands permanently planted at the confluence of the roads of history, memory, and romance. Who has not, in his imagination leaned from its timbered galleries over the cobbled courtyard to watch the coaches pull in, the horses' breath fogging the air as they stamp on dark winter evenings? Who has not read of these long, squat buildings with mullioned windows; sunken, uneven floors; massive beams and walls hung round with copper; kitchens where joints once turned on spits and hams hung from ceilings. There by the fireplace the travelers of lesser quality might sit on wood stools or settles with cups of ale. There the bustling landlady sent the housemaids scurrying like mice to their duties. Battalions of chambermaids with lavendered sheets, scullions, footmen, drawers, stage-coachmen, and that Jack-of-all-trades called Boots waited to assist the travelers to and from the heavy oaken doors. Often he could not be sure whether the floor would be covered with hay, or what bodies might have to be stepped over or crept past on his way to breakfast, if he slept in an inner room. But the breakfast more than made up for the discomfort of the night, with kidney pies and pigeon pies, hot mutton pasties, tankards of ale, and muffins and tea, poached eggs and thick rashers of bacon.....
....
The Man with the Load of Mischief was no exception -a half-timbered, sixteenth-century coaching inn through the archway of which Melrose Plant now drove his Bentley, parking it in the unused stableyard.
They stood now in the low, dimly lit hall, hung about with sporting prints and stuffed birds, his aunt and Simon Matchett making small talk smaller.Kirkus Reviews says, "Grimes is working in the grand old English-village style--successfully recalling (without lapsing into parody) the humor of Marsh and Allingham, the red-herring smorgasbord of Christie, and some of the richer textures of Sayers."
...we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob!A perfect way to work out relationship problems, make restitution for past mistakes, and start a better way forward with someone, I think. Yes! Invite them to share a seasonal hot beverage.
1 gallon apple cider
4 cinnamon sticks
1 1/2 teaspoon whole allspice
1 teaspoon whole cloves
Slices of an orange, as many as will attractively fit
Slices of a lemon, as many as will attractively fit
In a large pot, heat the cider with cinnamon sticks, allspice, cloves, orange slices, and lemon slices just to boiling over high heat. Reduce heat to low; cover and simmer 30-45 minutes.
If you disrespect anybody
That you run in to
How in the world do you think
Anybody's s'posed to respect you
If you don't give a heck 'bout the man
With the Bible in his hand
Just get out the way
And let the gentleman do his thing
You the kind of gentleman
That want everything your way
Take the sheet off your face, boy
It's a brand new day
Respect yourself, respect yourself
If you don't respect yourself
Ain't nobody gonna give a good cahoot, na na na na
Respect yourself, respect yourself
If you're walking 'round
Think'n that the world
Owes you something
'Cause you're here
You goin' out
The world backwards
Like you did
When you first come here
Keep talkin' 'bout the president
Won't stop air pollution
Put your hand on your mouth
When you cough, that'll help the solution
Oh, you cuss around women
And you don't even know their names
And you dumb enough to think
That'll make you a big ol man
Respect yourself, respect yourself
If you don't respect yourself
Ain't nobody gonna give a good cahoot, na na na na
Respect yourself, respect yourself
Respect yourself, respect yourself
The fact was that Ives, uncertain of many things, could at that time of year sit rather effortlessly within the incense and candle-wax-scented confines of a church, like Saint Patrick's, thinking about the images, ever present and timeless, that seemed to speak especially to him. Not about the cheery wreaths, the boughs of pine branches, the decorative ivy and flowers set out here and there, but rather about the Christ child, whose meaning evoked for him a feeling for "the beginning of things," a feeling that time and all its sufferings had fallen away.Ray Suarez at NPR describes it as "a Holiday hymn to New York" and says, "It is the story of Edward Ives, an adopted boy of uncertain ancestry raised by a loving father in Brooklyn, who grows to middle age in mid-century New York." Kirkus Reviews says the book "sails close to the shoals of sentiment but remains an honest, moving account of a man, his family, and the changing city they live in."
Ives, in the Gospel phrase, hungers and thirsts after righteousness, but in spite of the Gospel promise he is not satisfied. Mr. Hijuelos shows us what Ives's lifelong hunger costs him and what it costs his wife, Annie, an artist turned English teacher, yet he makes us love the two of them...
It's early in the morning
About a quarter till three
I'm sitting' here talkin' with my baby
Over cigarettes and coffee, now
And to tell you that
Darling, I've been so satisfied
Honey, since I met you
Baby, since I met you, oh
All the places that I've been around
And all the good looking girls I've met
They just don't seem to fit in
Knowing this particularly sad, yeah
But it seemed so natural, darling
That you and I are here
Just talking over cigarettes
And drinking coffee, oh
And whole my heart cries out
Love at last I've found you
And honey, won't you let me
Just be my whole life around you
And while I complete, I complete my whole life would be, yeah
If you would take things under consideration
And walk down this hour with me
I would love it, yeah
People I say it's so early in the morning
Ooh, it's a quarter till three
We're sittin' here talkin'
Over cigarettes and drinkin' coffee, now, Lord
And I'll like to show you, well
I've known nothing but good old joy
Since I met you, darling
Honey, since I've met you, baby yeah
I would love to have another drink of coffee now
And please, darling, help me smoke this one more cigarette now
I don't want no cream and sugar
'Cause I've got you, now darling
But just let me enjoy
Help me to enjoy
This good time that we'll have, baby
It's so early, so early in the morning
So early, so early in the morning
And I've got you and you've got me
And we'll have each other
And we don't, we don't want nothing but joy
I was leaning against the bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-second Street, waiting for Nora to finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been sitting with three other people and came over to me.There! A Christmas book!
Nick and Nora Charles are Dashiell Hammett's most enchanting creations, a rich, glamorous couple who solve homicides in between wisecracks and martinis. At once knowing and unabashedly romantic, The Thin Man is a murder mystery that doubles as a sophisticated comedy of manners.The Wall Street Journal says, "a careful reading of this novel ... reveals a still-sparkling comedy of manners within which lurks a vision of human affairs as grim as any social realist's." The Crime Segments says, "The core mystery is entertaining, and despite the twists and turns in the story, Hammett's writing is direct, witty and to the point" and concludes with this: "Highly and definitely recommended." GreatDetectives.net says, "it's amusing mix that features Dashiell Hammett's talents at his peak" but seems to like the movie better. MysteryFile.com says,
It would have been nice to come back to this fresh, not knowing the ending, just to see how well Hammett constructed this tricky mystery, a tale so well put together that one scarcely knows where to look among a cast of cleverly conceived (and, for the most part, sympathetically observed) suspects — or just what it is we’re looking for.
Once Again It Didn't Snow
And I Turn on My Radio And "Blue Christmas" Plays.
When the Clock Rolls Past the Twelve
We Put Time Up On a Shelf Just For a Day.
Chorus:
It's Not The Presents Or The Lights Up On The Tree
It's Not The Santas Ringing Bells Out In The Streets
It's That I'm Home and There's No Place I'd Rather Be
Because It's Christmas in Memphis
Christmas in Memphis
Christmas in Memphis, Tennessee