MAHALO, BRET! MAHALO NUI LOA!

Aloha,

I'm sure most, if not all, of you are deep into the holiday season - roasting chestnuts on an open fire, scurrying from store to store like Santa's little elves shopping gleefully for the perfect presents for your loved ones, sharing warm memories and holiday cheer with family and friends, colleagues and clients, preparing for fabulous festive feasts, celebrating solemn spiritual traditions, and... You know, the usual.

Well, I'm not. I was. But not anymore. Why, you may ask? OK, I'll tell you why.

All of my normally bubbly and boisterous holiday spirit has been sadistically squelched, skewered, squashed and otherwise TORPEDOED by none other than our host, our hero, that paragon of production prowess and the sultan of social schmooze, BRET TEEGARDEN!

Him and his "harmless" little Christmas song contest! Oh sure! I was curious. I was charmed. I wanted to be a team player and support my fellow NMP members. So, I listened to the songs - the songs HE picked. And like a credulous kid I was sucked into his sinister scheme of mellifluous mind control!

Yes, HE willfully planted it there - like a land mine, like a shard of glass on the beach - among the holiday favorites, innovative arrangements and wonderful original compositions. Just waiting for someone like me to come along and step on it.

MELE KALIKIMAKA!

My life has been sheer Hell ever since.

Mind you, there's nothing wrong with the song. In fact, it's the perfect holiday send-up - a delightful dose of campy wackiness and wacky campiness, cheesy kitschiness and kitschy cheesiness. But it has positively possessed my brain like Beelzebub, like Darth Vader, like Lord Voldemort, like... like... like the worst Jennifer Aniston movie ever! Just as HE knew it would!

Now I can't sleep, I can't work, I can't take a dump without hearing Ed and Barbie singing Mele Kalikimaka in my head. I'm constantly hungry for waffles with boysenberry syrup. I walked right into the Franklin Waffle House and tipped all of the waitresses without even ordering anything! I'm bidding on a Casio EX1000 whatever on eBay right now and I don't play keyboards! I whistle it for crying out loud! And here's the worst part... I've sung it to myself so often that I've somehow added a key change that leads into The Pennsylvania Polka!

I HATE POLKAS!

I'm in The Twilight Zone! I'm an "X File!" I've fallen and I can't get up! Mahalo, Bret! Mahalo nui (insert appropriate Hawaiian expletive here) loa!

Tongue firmly in cheek! :-)

Russ

P.S. Are there any NMP members out there suffering the same affliction? Can anyone tell me how to get this freakin' tune out of my head before I go stark raving mad?

Mele Kalikimaka, Y'all!

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Permalink Reply by Russ Kirin on December 21, 2011 at 8:01pm

Mele Kalikimaka Update: The Nightmare Continues!

First of all, I would like to thank the NMP members who have written to console me during this time of crisis and misery. But since absolutely no one has done so, I'll move on to the second point.

My Mele Kalikimaka problem has escalated to an entirely new and downright frightening level. This insidious song continues to haunt my every waking moment. On Monday, I hummed it over and over again as I was doing yard work and putting up the outdoor decorations. On Tuesday, I was listening to Christmas music on cable whilst trimming the Christmas tree. And guess what? Some early-60s lounge singer (Vic Damone or Bobby Vinton) began crooning Mele Kalikimaka in Dolby 5.1 Surround Sound. I nearly blew my egg nog right out of my nose.

This morning I made my daily pilgrimage to the local Starbucks. Just before I ordered, Mele Kalikimaka started playing over the in-house music system. The barista was kind enough to ask me why I was crying, so I told her the song's sordid saga. She looked me square in the face and said in a more than slightly indignant voice that Mele Kalikimaka was one of her favorite Christmas songs. In fact, it was her official holiday ring tone. She then hauled out her iPhone and proceeded to prove it to my great mental distress. It was the last straw.

I ran right out of Starbucks without my hyper-caffeinated venti morning fix, which underscores the severity of my psychosis, sped home and spent the next four hours listening to old Tom Lehrer albums in an effort to exorcise the Mele Kalikimaka demon from my mind, soul and ears once and for all.

No such luck. Now I've got a medley of Mele Kalikimaka, The Pennsylvania Polka and Fight Fiercely Harvard blasting in my brain. I'm a shell of my former self. I'm a formless blob of pored out flesh. I'm Jeff Goldblum in the final scene of The Fly. I'm doomed.

Helllllllllllp Meeeeeee.

Oh, in case you're wondering... I won the auction for the Casio EX 1000 whatever. Now what do I do with it? More importantly, what do I tell my wife?

Russ