The game: Patriots at Bills
The beer: Shipyard Blue Fin Stout
The result: Win, 34–3
The commentary: Once again I rocked a Starbucks iced chai as a warm-up, obtained during a pre-storm errand scramble. And then the Blue Fin Stout. Mmm… as tasty and comfortable as December football against a Thurman Thomas-less Bills team. This and my homemade Chex Mix (homemade because I add unsalted peanuts to a bag of original-flavor Chex Mix, which for some reason does not already contain peanuts) eventually treated me just fine as it grew more and more beautiful outside. Nothing much stands out from the game except for future All-Pro Tight End/Goofball Rob Gronkowski having his way with all defenders and Ryan Fitzpatrick proving once and for all that he is not the bearded droid Buffalo fans are looking for. And honestly, watching an opposing team march up the field on its opening drive and then be forced to settle for three points is almost reassuring at this point—why teams continue to not go for it on fourth and goal when Brady’s about to get the ball is beyond me.

Though the victory (and the earned bye week and home-field advantage) made it pleasant enough to deal with being trapped at home, I was still trapped at home. This was some real snow: between Sunday and Monday I shoveled for about three hours—curse my corner lot!—and that doesn’t include the driveway, which we have plowed. But it wasn’t so bad because the original Sonik Truth helped me catch up on PFW in Progress podcasts (that’s Patriots Football Weekly.) I was a study in primary colors—red hoodie and blue hat with proud yellow stripe—and if the wind- and snow-driven whiteout thought I would surrender like some Bears cornerback then it was mistaken. (Meanwhile, two assholes up the street still haven’t cleared their front walks.)

The storm (technically not a blizzard, according to the smug forecasters on the news who couldn’t help but celebrate rare accuracy) officially canceled work on Monday, thus saving me a vacation day (A. and I had already taken Monday and Tuesday off). I spent that day alternately shoveling, watching Caddyshack: The Inside Story and stealing my wife’s Snuggie. It was as stress-riddled as the AFC East contest the previous afternoon—even having to occasionally clean up after uncooperative drifting snow couldn’t get me down.

Earlier in the weekend, Christmas and Christmas Eve were all kittens and pancakes if you ignore the two hundred fifty miles worth of driving, and that wasn’t so bad either with Sonik Truth II providing the greatest Christmas playlist of all time. Belatedly, here are a handful of seasonal recommendations for readers (!) to track down in the next eleven months:

A Very Sonik Truth
1. Nat King Cole – The Christmas Song
The original trio-only 1946 recording with no overdubbed strings. Taken from The Complete Capitol Recordings of the Nat King Cole Trio.

2. The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion – Big Yule Log Boogie
The early part (0:22 to 0:47) served as the outgoing message on my answering machine each December from 1996 to 1999. Twenty-five seconds is a long time. Currently found on the two-disc reissue of Extra Width.

3. Virus – Xmas Submarine (Es Kommt Ein Schiff Geladen)
From a wonderful 1971 (West) German compilation called Heavy Christmas. I just discovered it this month.

4. Johnny Cash – The Ballad of the Harp Weaver
“Just. My. Size.” Deeply, sincerely moving. From The Christmas Spirit.

5. Drifters – The Bells of St. Mary’s
My favorite Christmas song. No collection is complete without the Drifters doing this and “White Christmas.” Both are available as a “digital 45” on iTunes and Amazon. Hmm, that sounds familiar!

In closing I’d like to pay respects to Captain Beefheart. The man’s music isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but our world is a better place if only for this exchange from Trout Mask Replica: “The name of the composition is ‘Neon Meate Dream of an Octafish.’ [Chuckles, strikes match.] No, it’s ‘Hair Pie.’” Once I track down and read the contextual 33⅓ volume I’ll be ready to write about an album that once scared the hell out of me.

Up next: Tom Brady plays three quarters of a meaningless football game against the lousy Miami Dolphins because that’s what he gets paid to do. Happy new year!