But even in the face of great tragedy we must move on. Only I haven’t moved very far because I’ve been sick. This stupid cold thing won’t go away, and apparently my head has become a source of never-ending fluids, rather like that porridge pot from the fairy tale.

You remember that, don’t you? You said a rhyme–”Little magic porridge pot, make me porridge piping hot”–and voilà, you had porridge. Then you said something else to make it stop. Only the greedy girl in the story didn’t say the right thing and the pot wouldn’t stop making porridge and eventually the entire town was drowned in the stuff.

Anyway, my head is like that.

However, there has been some fun. Today I received an e-mail from the delightful Laurel Ann, who writes the equally delightful Austenprose blog. Laurel is also a bookseller, and this week she had an encounter with a customer involving Jane Bites Back. It’s very funny, and you can read about it here.

Now I need to go lie down with dogs piled around me and see if I can get some sleep. Please try to keep it down.

It started on Sunday. Well, Monday really as the events occurred after midnight. See, both Patrick and I were coming down with coldy/fluey things. His first day at the new job was Monday, and of course I wanted him to get his rest. Besides, I couldn’t sleep, so I moved to the couch.

Teddy came with me. If you don’t remember Teddy, that’s us to the left. He’s the adorably cute one. Everybody thinks so. People actually stop us on the street and ask to take his picture. They think he’s sweet.

Well.

Teddy isn’t allowed on the bed, but he has full run of the rest of the furniture. As soon as I lay down he jumped up and snuggled next to me. Which was nice. He’s warm and soft and smells good, so I didn’t mind having him there.

I did mind, however, when he wanted to go out at 2:30 in the morning. This isn’t unusual for him, and in fact is more or less his regular schedule. I was just hoping he might be so excited about being on the couch that he would forget about the midnight pee.

But he didn’t, and so out we went. He did his thing and ran back in the house while I locked up. When I came around the corner I saw him furiously rubbing his snout against the carpet. At least that’s what I thought he was doing.

Remember Bob?

That’s him on the right. He’s a hamster. Quite small. Fuzzy. Cute. Brother to Jeff.

At least he was.

That’s right. Was. Because Teddy wasn’t rubbing his snout on the floor. He was shaking Bob. And Bob came out the worse for it.

How Bob got out is a mystery. He was something of an escape artist, and had gotten out of his cage on a number of occasions. In fact I’d already rescued him from Teddy twice and another time from Andrew, who actually had Bob in his mouth and brought him to me like a gift.

In those instances Bob got out because someone left a cage door open. But this time both doors were wired shut, specifically to prevent another nighttime adventure. The only conclusion I can come to is that Bob teleported. That would be just like him.

Anyway, now Bob is dead. If it’s any comfort to you, it was all over very quickly. Shiba inus are hunting dogs, and Teddy did his job with efficiency and precision. Much like a ginsu knife.

I put Bob in the composting bin.

So that was how Monday started. But things perked up on Tuesday when I received word that book reviewer Bob Lind of ECHO magazine named my novel What We Remember as both the best mystery novel and overall best novel of the year for 2009.

Thanks, Bob! It’s always nice when people like your books. And it’s particularly nice when they call them things like “the best book of the year.” And it’s great fun to be on that list with my friend Greg Herren,  whose mystery novel Murder in the Garden District was also in the Top 10.

As it happens, the paperback edition of What We Remember comes out on April 30. I’m not saying you should get it or anything. You know, if you really don’t want to read the best book of 2009. But if you do, the stores will have it. Just in case.

Now look. I’m sad about Bob (the hamster, not the reviewer) and all, but I’d be lying if I said this news about having written the best book of 2009 didn’t up my mood a little bit. I mean think about it. Bob had a pretty good life. He lived on the edge. He saw more in his 18 months than most hamsters see in twice that time. And he went out in a blaze of glory.

So let us remember Bob as he would want to be remembered — not as a tragic figure but as a hamster with a brave heart and fantastic whiskers.

Did I mention that my novel What We Remember was named the best book of 2009?

On Friday’s edition of WKAR’s “Under the Radar” segment writer Lev Raphael talked about Jane Bites Back. You can listen to it here.

This is a real thrill for me. Raphael is a wonderful writer. When I graduated from college and moved to New York in 1989 one of the first places I went was the now-closed A Different Light bookstore on Hudson Street. For a 20-year-old gay man who had just escaped from a conservative religious school this was a big deal. I had never seen a store filled with books by and about gay people. I returned again and again, trying to make up for what I saw as lost time by reading everything I could.

One of the books I bought at A Different Light was Lev Raphael’s short story collection Dancing on Tisha B’Av. It contained some of the most beautiful writing I’d ever encountered. For a young man who had yet to know any Jewish people well (the small country town I grew up in wasn’t exactly culturally diverse, and the college I attended was evangelical Christian) a lot of what Raphael wrote about was foreign to me. Yet the feelings of isolation and loss, joy and self-acceptance he wrote about were very familiar.

Although we have written about similar themes, published with some of the same people, and generally moved in the same circles over the years, I have never met Lev Raphael. When my agent e-mailed me this morning to say that he had featured JBB on his show I was surprised and slightly apprehensive. It’s a nerve-wracking experience to read–let alone hear–someone whose work you love critique your work.

Go take a listen to what he has to say. Then go get Dancing on Tisha B’Av and Raphael’s other books. You’ll be glad you did. And I’d say that even if he’d said hateful things about JBB. Well, perhaps not. But I’d still think he was a wonderful writer.

But now I am back to work. And I’m very pleased to announce the launch of a new project. It’s called The Year of Good Fortune. It’s a blog. I know, who needs another blog? But this one is fun.

As some of you may recall, every Thursday Patrick and I go to dinner with our friend Jill at Xiao Loong restaurant here in San Francisco. And every week we get fortune cookies. I decided it would be fun to chronicle the fortunes I get in 2010 and see whether or not there’s anything to them. Also, I’m going to be playing the lottery using the lucky numbers on the fortune.

The first installment is now up, and the results are interesting. Go take a look. And don’t worry. It’s just once a week. Besides, you know you’re curious.

PS: Did I mention that Jane Bites Back is out? And that it’s really funny? You might want to check it out. You know, if you have time.

Because I have been busy doing all of the thrilling things a soon-to-be-bestselling author does in the days following publication of his novel (that would be eating pint after pint of Häagen-Dazs Vanilla Bean and obsessively checking the answering machine to see if Oprah has called) I haven’t had time to do much writing. However, my lovely friends at VampChix asked me to be a guest blogger this week, and I’m re-posting it here in case you missed it. But you should totally go to their site too, because it’s a lot of fun and we love them.

They asked me to write about how my interest in vampires came about, which is an excellent question. And here’s what I said:

In 1972 my family was living in Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo), where my father worked for the U.S. State Department. I was four.

Every so often my father would bring home movies that the embassy received from the office in Washington. This was before the invention of DVD’s, of course, or even videotapes. The movies came on big reels, which my father played on an old projector using the living room wall as a screen. Movie nights were always a thrill for my sisters and me, even if the choice of films was limited to whatever the government thought we would like.

I remember only one film in detail. It was The Return of Count Yorga. Count Yorga, played by Robert Quarry, was a kind of second-rate Dracula crossed with Hugh Hefner. He masqueraded as a psychic in Los Angeles, wore velvet smoking jackets, and seduced a lot of pretty girls.

The image I recall most clearly from the movie is of a hand breaking through the earth and grabbing at someone running through a yard. I had nightmares about that hand for years. Actually, I had a lot of vampire dreams in general because I watched a lot of classic vampire films growing up. Nosferatu, Dracula’s Daughter, House of Dracula, The Brides of Dracula, Son of Dracula, Horror of Dracula, and of course Dracula. That was my favorite. Every Saturday, when one of the local television stations showed several hours of monster movies, I hoped one of them would be a vampire film. And often it was.

When I began writing fiction, my first book for young readers (Lights, Camera, Die! written for the Spinetinglers series under the name M.T. Coffin) drew on this love of monster movies, featuring some of the characters that had thrilled me so much, including of course vampires. Vamps would also have starring roles in some of my first fiction for adult readers, including the short story “Angel Baby” (included in Brothers of the Night, Cleis Press, 1997) and the novellas “Sting” (included in Masters of Midnight, Kensington Publishing, 2003) and “Carnival” (included in Midnight Thirsts, Kensington 2004).

Now that my novel Jane Bites Back is out, people inevitably want to know how I came up with the idea of turning Jane Austen into a vampire. The truth is that it was an accident. In the spring of 2008 I was talking to my agent about the sad state of publishing.

“The only things selling are vampires and Jane Austen,” my agent said.

“I should do a novel about Austen as a vampire,” I joked.

A week after we sent out the proposal I had a three book deal and was writing the first one. But that’s when another problem presented itself: Just how vampire-y were the books going to be? I knew I wanted Jane’s vampirism to also work as an allegory about her remaining “alive” through her work but unable to enjoy any of the profits being made from it. After all, the book is called Jane Bites Back. There had to be some revenge in it somewhere. But I didn’t want it to be too bloody. That just wasn’t very Austenish.

In the end the book leans much more to the comedic side, which I think works well. It suits Jane’s personality, as well as mine. But there’s an unmistakable air of the romantic vampire stories from those early films running through it as well, in the story of who turned Jane and why. After all these years I’m still in love with those stormy nights when the wind blows open the bedroom windows, letting in the Prince of Darkness.

Speaking of that, the other day someone asked me if I would want to be turned if I had the chance. The answer to that is absolutely. I would love to watch what happens to the world over the centuries. Yes, the whole blood thing would become tiresome, but would it really be any worse than wandering around the supermarket trying to decide what to munch on? As someone who dreads the “What should we have for dinner?” question, I think not.

I hope people like vampire Jane. I mean she’s no Bella Swan-Cullen. She spends more time agonizing over being perpetually middle-aged than she does fretting about being undead. Also, there are no hunky werewolves to distract her. But she’s feisty, and funny, and she has bad hair days.

Frankly, I think she could kick Bella’s butt.

That’s right, my new website. Go check it out at www.janebitesback.com.  Or just click on the pretty picture.

Also, I like to see the dresses.

I used to pay attention to awards as a way of deciding what I should see. I tried, fo r instance, to see all of the Oscar-nominated films and performances, and the 10 best films of the year as named by the National Board of Review. In recent years, though, the various awards bestowed on Tinseltown’s exports have served less as guides and more as a reminder of my rapid descent into pop culture cluelessness.

For instance, here is a list of Golden Globe nominations in the major film categories. They were announced Tuesday morning by John Krasinski, Justin Timberlake, and someone called Diane Kruger (more on her later).

BEST MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA
Avatar
The Hurt Locker
Inglourious Basterds
Precious: Based On The Novel Push By Sapphire
Up In The Air

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA Emily Blunt in The Young Victoria
Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side
Helen Mirren in The Last Station
Carey Mulligan in An Education
Gabourey Sidibe in Precious

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA
Jeff Bridges in Crazy Heart
George Clooney in Up In The Air
Colin Firth in A Single Man
Morgan Freeman in Invictus
Tobey Maguire in Brothers

BEST MOTION PICTURE – MUSICAL OR COMEDY
(500) Days Of Summer
The Hangover
It’s Complicated
Julie & Julia
Nine

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE – MUSICAL OR COMEDY
Sandra Bullock in The Proposal
Marion Cotillard in Nine
Julia Roberts in Duplicity
Meryl Streep in It’s Complicated
Meryl Streep in Julie &

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE – MUSICAL OR COMEDY
Matt Damon in The Informant!
Daniel Day-Lewis in Nine
Robert Downey Jr. in Sherlock Holmes
Joseph Gordon-Levitt in (500) Days Of Summer
Michael Stuhlbarg in A Serious Man

Of the 10 nominated films I have seen 1: Julie & Julia.

Of the 20 Best Actor/Actress nominated performances I have seen 3: Meryl Streep in Julie & Julia, Carey Mulligan in An Education, and Colin Firth in A Single Man.

In my defense, a lot of the nominated films just came out or haven’t even opened yet. So I still might get to Up in the Air and Nine, or perhaps The Last Station and It’s Complicat ed. But probably not. Well, maybe Nine. That looks interesting. And I could be convinced to go to The Last Station, but only because of Helen Mirren and the costumes.

The rest don’t really appeal to me, although I’ll probably put them in my Netflix queue. Except for Invictus. I love me some rugby, but you’d have to pay me a lot to sit through that one. Oh, and The Blind Side. Just not happening. Come to think of it, Precious and The Hurt Locker look like bummers, so I might skip them as well. And Avatar? Really? No.

But the others are total maybes.

I used to really love awards shows. I watched the Oscars every year and was angry when my favorites were snubbed. I debated with my friends who should win and (even more fun) who shouldn’t. But somewhere along the line this enthusiasm turned into indifference. Actually, I can pinpoint the exact moment the Oscars were ruined forever. It was watching Gwyneth Paltrow accept her Best Actress award in 1998 for the wretched Shakespeare in Love while Elizabeth’s Cate Blanchett clapped politely in her seat while we all wondered what the hell had just happened.

Since then I just really don’t care anymore. I can occasionally be drawn back in for a moment, such as when Jennifer Hudson was nominated for Best Supporting Actress in 2007 for her work in Dreamgirls. I wanted her to win. Not because she gave the best performance (ironically, that would probably be the once again overlooked Cate Blanchett for her work in Notes on a Scandal) but because it made a good story. Last year I was rooting for Mickey Rourke in the Best Actor race even though I was supposed to want Sean Penn to take it for playing gay rights pioneer Harvey Milk (which he did).

Side Note: I am soooooo sick of people winning awards for playing real people. Sure, it’s nifty that you can recreate So-and-so’s voice and mannerisms, but whatever. I’m more impressed when you can make me care about a character I didn’t know before I sat down in the theater. So thank you, Mickey Rourke.

This year may pose a problem. Part of me wants to see Gabourey Sidibe, the newcomer who reportedly brings Precious to life, stand up there in some gorgeous gown holding a little gold man. Again, it’s a great story. But I actually saw An Education and said that Carey Mulligan should get an Oscar, so I feel I should sick with her. Then again, Helen Mirren or Emily Blunt could change my mind. But not Sandra Bullock. I love her, but come on. Not for what looks like a movie of the week.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably just watch the pre-show to see the dresses.

I think this indifference is part of a larger waning of interest in pop culture in general. I still keep up here and there, but I admit that I’m not nearly as intrigued by it all as I was even 5 years ago. More and more I listen to the radio and think, “Who’s that?” Frequently Patrick and I will see some current heartthrob or starlet interviewed on the morning news shows and have absolutely no idea who it is or why we should care. And to be honest, we don’t care. A week or so ago someone called Blake Lively was the guest host on Saturday Night Live. Patrick and I had no clue who she was or why she was there. We still don’t. We couldn’t be bothered to google her.

Another example: Diane Kruger. As I mentioned earlier, she was one of three presenters who announced this year’s Golden Globe nominations. I did google her, because I assumed she must be Someone Big in Hollywood to be given such a responsibility. Turns out she was in Inglourious Basterds, which explains that. Also, she has apparently been dating actor Joshua Jackson since 2006, which explains why he never returns my calls and for which I must dislike the little tramp.

I suppose this happ ens to every generation. I remember my parents wincing every time Prince or Cyndi Lauper came on the car radio. Now when I hear some 15-year-old raving about Daughtry I roll my eyes and think, You have no idea what real music is. Similarly, I don’t get the fuss over the new wave of movie “stars.” Robert Pattinson? Megan Fox? Give me George Clooney and Cate Blanchett.

What’s that you say?

I am not old. You take that back.

Okay, I kind of am. I suppose it is time to get out of the way and let the kids have their turn in the spotlight. But they better keep the noise down. I’m trying to get some sleep.

This is because yesterday was Andy Goes to the Vet Day. This was not a planned holiday; it was a spontaneous celebration. It began when Patrick decided to take Teddy for a walk in the morning, as Teddy has been a little bit peevish lately and we think it’s due to the arrival of the new puppy. Before Lillie came Teddy was the puppy. We even called him The Puppy, despite his being two years old now. But now Lillie is The Puppy and Teddy is just Teddy. Although he tends to be a loner, I think we underestimated how much he would be put out by this change in status.

We found out just how upset he is when, after coming in from his walk, he decided to release what was left of his pent-up frustration by giving Andy a good, hard bite. He and Andy have always had a contentious relationship, but generally it’s been confined to a lot of growling and posturing on Andy’s part. Teddy knows exactly how to push Andy’s buttons, and he does so at every opportunity. Andy, who is prone to fits, responds with lots of snarling and spitting.

I don’t know exactly what transpired yesterday, as I was down here working. I heard a lot of barking and paws scrabbling on the floor, then a minute or two later Patrick come down holding Andy and asked, “Does this look bad?”

It did. And so off to the vet went Andy. Having had eight dogs we’re used to these kinds of visits. After being here less than a week Andy required a trip to the vet for a throat infection. Sam was here an even shorter amount of time before tearing open his paw while digging under the fence and requiring stitches. And Roger and Spike were at the vet so often in their last days that we basically lived there.

As I had to work it fell to Patrick to take Andy to the vet, and I’m sure he would much rather not have had to do it. Andy is a handful under the best of circumstances. At the vet he’s a monster. He’s not a large dog, but what he lacks in size he makes up for in ferocity. When he was neutered it took three vet techs to get the collar on him afterward. His last vet put a sticker on his folder that said CAUTION.

As I waited for Patrick to call with the verdict I prayed that the vet would say, “Oh, it’s just a nip. We’ll bandage it up and he’ll be good to go.” But I knew I was fooling myself. I have never once taken a dog to the vet and come out without handing over several hundred dollars.

Sure enough, when Patrick called it was with the news that Andy would be spending the day at the vet getting stitched up, for which we would wind up with a bill “somewhere between $575 and $800.”

The exact total ended up being $662.07. What cost so much? See for yourself. Here’s the itemized bill:

Now I don’t mind paying for my dogs’ health care. I’ve spent more on them than I have on anything besides our house. I’m still paying off Roger’s cancer treatments, and he’s been gone four years.

But I can’t help but have a few questions about this bill. O/R setup and cleanup for $20.41? Surgical site preparation (which I assume means shaving his neck and irrigating the wound) is $24.44? Sterile surgical instruments $26.16? What does that mean, exactly? It’s not like we got to keep them. And would it have been cheaper if we’d used rusty old surgical instruments? Then we have surgical disposables at $20.41 and medical waste disposal for $6.61. Well, that last one is a bargain so I won’t complain. But what are these surgical disposables, and why are they $20.41?

You may recall that Patrick was in the hospital a few months ago. His final bill was just under $7,000, which when you think about it makes sense since Patrick is about 10 times bigger than Andy is and so could reasonably be expected to have a bill ten times the size of his. And his bill was just as perplexing, with charges for all kinds of things we still can’t figure out.

All of which begs the question: How can anyone in their right mind be against universal healthcare? Seriously, $7000 for two days in the hospital? And that was only the part insurance wouldn’t cover. The actual total was something like $40,000. Is it any wonder medical bills are the number one cause of bankruptcy in this country?

Anyway, I didn’t mean to start ranting about that. The point is that Andy is more or less fine. He’s currently hiding under the bed, coming out only to eat and go pee. Teddy clearly feels terrible about what he did, as he moped around all day yesterday and looks as if someone took away his best friend.

Which sort of is what happened. Despite their animosity I think Teddy and Andy really do like each other. Or if not like, at least need. Kind of like Batman and The Joker, or Superman and Lex Luthor. Without the other, neither is terribly interesting. Well, that’s not true. They’re both pretty interesting. But you know what I mean. They’re like peanut butter and chocolate–both great on their own but miraculous when brought together.

As for the bill, we’re now referring to it as our Christmas list. With money tight for everyone, we were already planning on a trimmed-down Christmas as far as gifts are concerned. Now it appears we’ve gotten each other sedatives and medical waste. But that’s okay. It’s better than socks.

I was stuck on days 9 through 12. I knew they involved lords leaping, drummers drumming, pipers piping, and ladies dancing, but I wasn’t confident of the order. Eleven lords a leaping sounded nice what with the alliteration and all, but I was fairly confident that there were 9 ladies dancing, and it didn’t make sense to have the lords separated from them by a day.

Anyway, it was making me nuts, so while Teddy was out back doing his thing I looked up the lyrics and sorted everything out. Drummers, pipers, lords, ladies, and so on. I still think eleven lords a leaping works better, but nobody asked me.

I blame my friend Jill for this. The other day she and I were talking about Christmas songs. Jill recently found on CD a song she remembered from childhood but hadn’t heard in years. It’s “Christmas Tree” by the Voices of Walter Schumann. Schumann, by the by, composed the theme for Dragnet and scored movies including The Night of the Hunter. The song is brilliantly awful. Jill and I particularly like the vamp who purrs “presents niiiice” in the chorus. After Jill introduced me to the song I went around saying that every minute and a half for the next 48 hours.

For Jill this song heralded the beginning of the Christmas season. For me the opening bell was something slightly different–the CBS television network special programming intro. They don’t play this anymore, but for a generation of us hearing the familiar tune had us salivating like Pavlov’s dogs, as it meant something fabulous was about to happen. Frosty the Snowman, maybe, or Rudolph’s Shiny New Year.

There were maybe a dozen specials that aired annually when I was a kid, but I particularly loved The Year Without a Santa Claus and it’s campy brothers Heat Miser and Cold Miser. The highlight of TYWASC is the duet between the brothers when each explains why his version of Christmas is the best. It’s a bit like the song “Dancin’” from Xanadu, where Olivia Newton-John and the Tubes go back and forth in battling musical styles. Only it’s better because there are little mini Heat Misers and Cold Misers doing Rockette-like choreography all over the place. Of course at the time I didn’t know they were campy. I just thought they were fun. But looking back on it, I’m pretty sure they turned me gay.

Of course the pinnacle of the holiday season arrived with the airing of A Charlie Brown Christmas. First shown in 1965 this special–along with The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (which first aired in 1966)–is a holiday memory for a generation of Americans. And a big part of that is due to the amazing music provided by the Vince Guaraldi trio.

I don’t think A Charlie Brown Christmas could be made today. Unlike most holiday specials, it featured a strong religious theme. Although I think most of us remember the sad little Christmas tree, the haunting music of the ice skating scene, and the lively party dance number, there was also a Nativity pageant. Linus, who has been practicing for his role as a shepherd, delivers what many consider the show’s highlight when he quotes from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 2, verses 8 through 14:

⁸And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. ⁹And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. ¹⁰And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. ¹¹For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. ¹²And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. ¹³And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ¹⁴Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’

Ironically, although reviewers praised the special’s reminder that Christmas was less a secular celebration than a commemoration of the birth of Christ, apparently Peanuts creator Charles Schulz and director Bill Meléndez had to fight network executives to include the Bible passages. They won, but you know that today they’d never get away with it.

This raises what, for me, is the biggest problem with Christmas music. If you aren’t Christian, a lot of it is difficult to enjoy. Sure, you can try to ignore the content and just listen to the music, but that’s like trying to enjoy the gooey center of the Tootsie Pop when you can’t stand the candy coating. It’s not worth the effort. Also, you could break a tooth.

I’m already annoyed that Christmas is an appropriation of the pagan holiday of Yule. Asking me to listen to “Silent Night” and “What Child Is This?” just adds insult to injury. Which is too bad, because I really like some of the religious-themed holiday songs. “O Holy Night,” for instance, is really lovely. And who doesn’t enjoy a nice round of “Good Christian Men Rejoice”? I do try. But somewhere around the second verse I start to get a little cranky about the whole thing and want to give the Baby Jesus a kick in the pants.

The alternative is to listen to secular Christmas music. Sadly, most of it sucks. I don’t know about you, but “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” just doesn’t cut it. “White Christmas” is fine as it goes, but after hearing it eight million times you want to poke your eyes out with a holly sprig. What makes it worse is that the same nine or ten songs are recorded over and over and over. And just between you and me, I really don’t need to hear “Blue Christmas” done by Celine Dion, Toby Keith, Barenaked Ladies, Dolly Parton, Lou Rawls, Barbra Streisand, Kimberly Locke, Amy Grant, Chris Isaac and Elvis. Actually, I don’t want to hear it done by any of them. It’s a depressing song to begin with.

Not that the artists are entirely to blame. The ugly truth is that they either have to stick to the traditional holiday songs we know and love or they have to do something new. And no one wants to hear new. They especially don’t want to buy new. I love Cyndi Lauper’s take on “I Saw Three Ships,” but what the hell was she thinking with “Christmas Conga”? This is a problem, the end result of which is bargain bins filled with albums that could be interchangeable except for the artwork on the covers.

I do have a couple of go-to Christmas albums. One is 1963’s A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector, which features songs produced in Spector’s famous Wall of Sound style. It’s a brilliant album. Sadly, now that he’s a convicted murderer every time I play the album I have to fend off visions of him sitting in that courtroom with his crazy cotton candy hair. But the music is worth it. I also love Shawn Colvin’s Holiday Songs and Lullabies. It’s one time when the religious themes of some of the songs are eclipsed by the beauty of the music and Colvin’s singing. I sometimes put her version of “In the Bleak Midwinter” on repeat while I’m writing and listen to it for hours. Ditto Aimee Mann’s gorgeous One More Drifter in the Snow.

But my all-time favorite Christmas song is Bing Crosby and David Bowie’s “Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy.” I know I’m contradicting myself, but I don’t care. Not only is it a supremely weird pairing, it combines the sacred and the secular aspects of the holiday season into one beautiful song.

According to those in the know, the song apparently came about when Bowie arrived at the studio for the taping and said he didn’t want to sing “The Little Drummer Boy.” And who can blame him? It regularly tops the list of most hated Christmas songs. My friend Vince despises it so much that if you mutter “rump-a-pum-pum” within his hearing he screams like a 5-year-old girl and runs off. He doesn’t even like the Joan Jett and the Blackhearts version, which if you ask me is a pretty awesome tune.

In order to keep Bowie on board, the show’s writers dashed off a new song, “Peace on Earth,” and wove it into the more familiar carol. The result was strange and magical, combining tradition with innovation and essentially marrying two generations. But we almost never heard it. Crosby died a month or so after the special was taped, and the network considered not airing the show because they thought people would find it depressing.

I, for one, am glad they changed their minds.