Like me! Here (like it or not) is the text of the greeting I sent to McMurdo Station last year on the eve of the seventeenth annual 'Icestock'...
(There are a few arcane Antarctic cultural references in there, but I'm hoping the context will make them understandable...)
Twas the night before Icestock, and all through the town
All the bands were rehearsing, refining their sound.
The Korean guitars were all strung with great care,
And they all fixed the walls with 'the thousand yard stare'.
The bigwigs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of crowd control danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘doo rag', and dad in his cap,
Had just settled in for a New Year's Eve nap.
When out in the cold there arose such a clatter,
They piled out the door to see what was the matter.
Some through the vestibule flew like a flash,
(Except for that one guy who plays just like 'Slash').
The sun bouncing off of the volcanic rock
Gave the whole town the look of a dirty old sock.
When, what by their snow-blinded eyes could be seen,
But a miniature sleigh, pulled by eight wolverines.
With a little old driver, so lively and hip,
They knew in a moment I'd made the long trip.
More rapid than weasels my wolverines came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Dokken! now, Danzig! now, Prince and now Coldplay!
On, Cobain! On, Jagger! on Bowie and Green Day!
Watch out for the Jamesway! Don't hit the Outfall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As plywood before the wild Herbie wind sails,
When it meets with an obstacle, drills it with nails.
So down to the Juction the wolverines flew,
With the sleigh full of drumsticks, and extra strings too.
And then, with a splintering crash on the roof
I gave up all thoughts of remaining aloof.
With a big noisy 'Woof!' and a diesel fuel flash,
Down the old Preway smokestack I fell with a crash.
I was dressed like a clown, from my head to my foot,
My red parka was blackened by ashes and soot.
My windpants were knotted all up in a bunch,
And I looked like a 'fingie', 'bout to lose my boxed lunch.
My eyes-how they watered! My forehead, how wrinkled!
My buttcheeks were frozen, my snotcicles tinkled!
My face must have looked like some freezer-burned meat,
And my frostbitten nose was as white as a sheet.
The stump of a pipe I held tight in my teeth,
And the smoke it encircled my head like a wreath.
I'm sure that I looked like a strange little hobo,
And I shook like a trayful of hot Pork Adobo!
I was skinny and weird, a right old 'leaping gnome',
And they laughed when they saw me, all covered in foam!
A wink and a swig of my almost thawed beer,
Soon gave them to know they had nothing to fear.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And tuned all the 'axes', then turned with a jerk.
And flashing two fingers to make a Peace sign,
And giving a nod, up the chimney I climbed!
I sprang to my sleigh, gave my team a Bronx cheer,
And away we all flew like a shook-up warm beer.
But they heard me exclaim, as I fired up my rig,
"Happy Icestock to all, and to all a good gig!"
...and I hope number eighteen will be another success...Happy Kwaanza, everyone!
(The Ghost Of Icestock Past...)
