Creepy

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Secret Santa [NEW SONG]

Wednesday, December 21st, 2016

When I was a kid, my parents never told me that Santa was real. Quite the opposite, in fact: I was always explicitly told that Santa Claus is NOT real. That guy at the mall? Just a man in a costume — and no, you can’t go sit on his lap.

After all, Jesus is the reason for the season — and don’t you know what you get when you rearrange the letters in Santa? SATAN. Just kidding, my parents weren’t that conservative. But when it came to ol’ Kris Kringle, they were always straightforward and no nonsense.

Which is maybe why I’ve always found the idea of Santa to be so… creepy. You mean to tell me that a bearded stranger man is going to climb on my roof — click click click — slide down the chimney, and tiptoe around? He sees me when I’m sleeping? HE SEES ME WHEN I’M SLEEPING??

Nuh uh. No ma’am. I want no part of this.

Here’s a new song, “Secret Santa,” recorded in Nashville a few weeks back with my buddy Jeff Harper (all talent), and dedicated to my fellow holiday cynics. But I do hope it makes you a tiny bit happy, if for no other reason than I made it up in my head while walking through the Minnesota woods, laughing out loud like a madman.

If you’re craving a 2015 throwback, we recorded “Holly Jolly Melancholy Christmas,” too.

And finally, in lieu of a picture of me with Santa, of which there are obviously none, I give you this gem from my friend Duane. It’s just so perfect.

Happy holidays! Always stay awake!

santa

Creepy shenanigans

Wednesday, July 14th, 2010

Yesterday, my co-worker Molly got a text from an unknown number that said, “I know where you live.”

I have no patience for creepy shenanigans like that, so I had her give me the phone number.  A quick bit of internet/phone sleuthing later, and I discovered the anonymous texter’s identity – a pre-adolescent boy in the Bay Area, most likely pranking random numbers to freak people out.

So I suggested what any gracious human being would: that she write back, “No, Patrick: I know where YOU live.”

So.  Awesome.

And So. Creepy.

– – – – – – – –

Now feels like the right time to publicly declare how much I love and appreciate my co-workers.  I am the only person from my team out in Denver, so I spend the entire day corresponding with my teammates through technological means (IM, video chats, conference calls).  And every day, without fail, I find myself silently giggling at my computer screen.

These people are wonderful.  They make me laugh so hard.  And one of them was in “Ernest Scared Stupid” – I’M NOT EVEN JOKING.

I feel so, so lucky to be a part of a team of people who care so well for each other, who approach each day with a positive attitude, and who keep me thoroughly entertained every single day.

I should probably just stop sleeping

Monday, September 14th, 2009

Last night, I had a horrific nightmare that I walked into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – and my lips had a hard extra layer on them, almost black, like an avocado rind.  I had to peel them off – two big lip-shaped pieces – to get back to my normal pink smackers.

It wasn’t as bad as the time I dreamed that I…

You know what, I can’t even say it.  If I wrote what happened in this dream, I can guarantee that no one would ever come back to this blog again.  Some images get burned into the brain forever – and as much as I wish for someone to bear this burden with me, I won’t do it to you.  I will martyr myself on the altar of nightmares for your sake.

Don’t say I never did anything for you.

But seriously – what is going on here?  WHY am I having these horrible dreams?  I don’t watch horror movies.  I’ve never witnessed true atrocities.  And yet, I go to sleep, and am transported to being the central figure in an episode of “Rescue 911.”  The freakshow edition.

Maybe I’m spending too much time alone.

If left to my own devices, I would hang out by myself all the time.

No, really.  All the time.

For the past 6 months or so, I have spent most of my free time alone.  As an introvert, time to recharge is important – but when does it become too much?  When does the self-care become selfish? When does the coddling result in an inadvertent snapped neck?

See.  NIGHTMARE.

The backwoods of Music Row

Thursday, September 4th, 2008

Things I have seen on my porch in the past week:
A spider
A cicada
A cockroach
A lizard
A possum

A possum. A POSSUM. On my front step, I kid you not. I was approaching my door after dark, and there it was, in the glow of the porch light, just sitting there waiting for me – at which point I said, “Aw, hell no,” and performed an about-face back out to the street. I thought that cockroaches were bad, but they do not hold a candle to the extreme revulsion I hold for possums. God should have destroyed those demons in the flood.

Are you shuddering? I am. Still. Anything with RED EYES gets the middle finger from AP.

Since when did my front porch become a scene from “Deliverance”? Next thing you know, I’ll be blogging about moonshine and inbred albinos.

This Annie’s getting a gun.

Prescription sleep aid commercials: a review

Wednesday, August 27th, 2008

Lunesta:
A gigantic glowing moth flies through your open bedroom window and hovers over your face, its gently-beating wings sprinkling sparkly, magical moth-dust and lulling you into a peaceful slumber. “A great tomorrow starts tonight.”

Rozerem:
During a sleepless night, you wander out to find Abraham Lincoln and a fork-wielding beaver sitting at your kitchen table. They want to play chess and talk about your stress at work. An astronaut is fixing food at the counter. “Your dreams miss you.”

Ambien CR:
A shrill midnight phone call rouses you from your bed, but no one is on the other end. When you silently and suspiciously pull back the curtains and look out your window to the dark, deserted street below, you see the culprit: bathed in the glow of a street lamp, a rooster at a pay phone. “Silence your rooster.”