Ho-Ho-Hum

Get a song in your head and go crazy for Christmas

I HOPE BY the time this is read that the irritating song that has been going through my head has finally gone away.

Ahhhggggh! Just writing that sentence brought the song back. It's kind of like when someone tells you: "Don't think about a polar bear," and then of course the only thing you can think about is a polar bear. I thought of a polar bear until I heard that song creeping up, and then the polar bear disappeared and was replaced by:

"I'm getting nothin' for Christmas

Mommy and Daddy are mad.

I'm getting nothin' for Christmas

Cuz I ain't been nothin' but bad."

I'm sorry if writing that little verse made you start singing the cursed ditty in your head. Maybe you were lucky and managed to squeeze the tune out of your brain cells, but you now find yourself humming the tune of "I'm getting nothin' for Christmas" in a small child's voice.

I used to like the song. It isn't a classic like "Silent Night." That song was stuck in my mind during the winter of 1984, and I finally managed to shake it out by spring. It was replaced by the sound track from the movie "Footloose."

(Excuse me, but I must digress here. Each Christmas, the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston likes to put one Christmas album or disk or whatever they are called in the record player. We listen to this record until we know each and every melody as well as all the words to each and every song.

(I don't think Mrs. Johnston does this to drive me insane — at least I hope not — but she gets so busy bustling around like Mrs. Claus that I don't think she notices that the same song is being played over and over. To change the album would require her to stop decorating the tree, the house and the yard. I don't know if Mrs. Johnston really loves Christmas, but I can say she enjoys the thought of Christmas.

(For example, one recent year we had my immediate family down on Christmas Day for dinner. You would think Queen Elizabeth was dropping by for a snack. Mrs. Johnston scrubbed the house from attic to basement. I kept telling her that it was family coming by, and if they found a dust ball in the corner, they wouldn't leave. After all, they were getting a free meal — and no Johnston ever passed that up because of a dust ball.

(It didn't matter to Mrs. Johnston. She went Christmas crazy and kept playing that song about "getting nothin' for Christmas." She was in such a fret mode that I don't think she noticed how often that song was played. I'm through digressing now, and will return to my point.)

There are a few Christmas songs that I don't mind nesting in my noggin. I'm OK with humming that one by the cowboy choir that goes on about "the girl I love," and then the cowboys throw in a cheerful "I'll be home for Christmas." But the radio stations didn't play it enough so I could get to know the words, and I always start humming "Gitty up, let's go. On to the show" because it sounds like a cowboy choir should sing it, but it's a different song.

After Christmas, other seasonal songs will come along to drive you nuts. I figure it will take a Beach Boys oldie to wipe out the Christmas tunes. But let's put that theory to a test.

Clear your mind and try not to think of a polar bear. OK. Now try not to sing — or say — these words: "I'm getting nothin' for Christmas."

I'm finishing the first verse. You can sing the second verse.

Steve Johnston is a retired Seattle Times reporter. His e-mail address is stevejonst@aol.com. Paul Schmid is a Times news artist.