NYE

Coma

You know when your life relates to a song that your life is not authentic. Oh ye, floodgates. I just realized I will be the world's most loneliest person.

When I would refuse to eat my peas, when I thought my parents were displaying exceptional cruelty by taking me to a Thai restaurant, when I was forced to try hummus in my childhood and bought junk food to cover up the taste, whenever adults would tell me that my tastes would change and my palate develop. I thought the notion ridiculous. I was pretty sure this was the same from birth to adulthood. Well, it's true. Tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, onions, and yes, even hummus; all of these are among what often makes it on my plate. If young me could see current me and the things I like to eat, he would be disgusted at the betrayal.

At Christmas time, I think especially of the song "Little Drummer Boy." The first time I heard the song, I cried. It was so beautiful to me. A little boy, having nothing to offer the baby Jesus, plays him a song on his drum, the only means by which he can pay tribute to the Messiah. I think I recognized a kinship between me and the little drummer boy. Fifty cents or a bucks' worth of allowance doesn't buy a good present for a parent, let alone tribute worthy of the king of the universe. As a child, I think I understood these terms (I may just be reading adult reflections into my childhood). In any case, I loved hearing the song.

Now, I think it's kitsch. Overly sentimental, saccharine kitsch. If Thomas Kincade painted a song, it would be "Little Drummer Boy."