The game: Patriots at Bills
The beer: Long Trail Ale
The result: Win, 23–3; Chargers win, 19–10
The commentary: Nothing more about the knockout pool until people start getting knocked out again. Three straight weeks at eleven with the playoffs likely coming into play? Gimme a break. In the spirit of “nothing,” I’m a bad father who took no pictures of his daughter last weekend, so here’s one Facebook reminded me about from six years ago. Those cheeks! That skepticism!

Leaving work last week the friendly security guard pointed at my copy of Player Piano (not as good as I remembered, though the second half triumphs) and asked how many books I read a year. “Do you keep track of them?” “Um, no. I should!” I met E. Christopher Clark at a local author fair recently and liked the sound of his Those Little Bastards story collection. One sample download later and the opening “Revelation” was strong enough to earn my three bucks on Kindle—he had me thinking of Vonnegut, for crying out loud. A dozen pages later he lost me with the hateful and tasteless “Hacker.” Two more sexual-awakening romps reminded that a bag of Doritos also costs three bucks. “Deux ex Machina” returned, with less success, to the enjoyable “Revelation” storyline but the juvenile, erectile, bad-fantasy stink lingered like a broken-in Body of Evidence cassette. Several stories remain, some with promising titles “Death by Cursor” and “Two Weirdos, a Shovel and Lots of Open Land,” but Clark has a lot to overcome—keep it to adult themes instead of adult situations, alright? Bokononism weeps.

And hey, sixty-nine (har! har!) cents more and I’ve got Edgar Allan Poe’s Complete Essays, Literary Studies, Criticism, Cryptography and Autography, Translations, Letters and Other Nonfiction Works in response to lingering “complete works” despondency. Now I can read three essays about street-paving techniques of the mid nineteenth century: “Why has not the mineralizing process been adopted in the preparation of the wooden blocks with which we have so frequently experimented in the pavement of our streets?” Compelling!

Speaking of marginalia, is it Christmas yet? Let’s start naming these playlists: I’m Weary All the Time the Time.

1. Billie Holiday – Stormy Weather
“Billie Holiday received numerous awards and accolades while still alive and posthumously. These include being inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame, the Ertegun Jazz Hall of Fame, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the ASCAP Jazz Wall of Fame and the Biff! Bang! Pow! Hall of Early December 2017 Excellence in Holiday Sequencing.”

2. Fuzz – Sleigh Ride
Newly anointed “Christmas music” copied over from my regular library this year, alongside Fuzz’s “Sleigh Ride”: Guided by Voices’s “Snowman,” Nazz’s “Under the Ice,” the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “High Gear,” the Groundhogs’ “Snowstorm,” Unwound’s “December,” Captain Beefheart’s “Steal Softly Thru Snow,” the Mothers of Invention’s “Uncle Bernie’s Farm,” DR Hooker’s “Winter,” Six Finger Satellite’s “Deep Freeze,” the Misfits’ “TV Casualty” (“Christmas cards to which I never reply!”) and Metallica’s “Trapped Under Ice.” Ridiculous.

3. Ginger Baker’s Air Force – We Free Kings
That Blind Faith redesign is my crowning achievement.

4. Second Hand – Death May Be Your Santa Claus
Merry proggy Christmas! These are the seasonal problems I create for myself: ten minutes deciding between the standard “Death May Be Your Santa Claus” and its extendo-jam “Reprise” for inclusion in a blog post no one will read.

5. Bobby Timmons – Deck the Halls
Timmons’ great Prestige Records release Holiday Soul from 1966—not to be confused with Don Patterson’s good Prestige Records release Holiday Soul from 1964—is a welcome addition this year since A. is embracing more of jazz’s depth. Meanwhile, G. just wants to hear “Christmas Wrapping” over and over. How much better would new wave bands have been without bad eighties saxophones?

Up next: Sure, go ahead and schedule that InterContinental VaGina holiday party during the Pats on Monday Night Football. Cheers!