A Santa Baby Nighthawk

+ The Polar Plunge

Vol. 76, November 28th, 2023 Published a day early online

Taking the Plunge

They Spoke, I Listened

A splash. Go time. The arctic ooze of the pond’s floor grabbed my poor yellow converse shoes. Everyone hollered and shrieked. My shins froze. My knees iced. With a quick breath, I dove, finally taking the request of many ladies. I jumped in a lake.

Oh, it was cold and muddy...and thrilling! The frigid waters of...well, it wasn’t THAT bad. It was fifty degrees outside, but the water felt right tingly. You see, a local charity called Love Heals hosted a polar plunge this Sunday. How could I not?

The strategy: turn the tables, and make the cold intimidated of ME. I donned a Santa hat (set aside for the swimming), a turquoise button down shirt, lime green swim trunks, and yellow shoes. Bopping up to the winter-coated guests, I raised a few eyebrows. Hey man, where’s the volleyball?

(Summer is a state of mind, and astonishingly bad fashion is never out of season.)

I even talked a reluctant teenager into joining the crowd and plunging. He’ll be able to refute his mother when she asks “If everyone is jumping into a pond in November, would you?”

The highlight? I won “best dressed.” What a chilly good time!

Book of the Week

Selected Poems (T.S. Eliot)

Boy, I sure don’t understand ‘em, but they’re mysterious, intriguing, and beautiful. It’s good to be a bit baffled.

Little Green Men?

Jocelyn Bell realizes she’s discovered a pulsar, a rotating neutron star (and not aliens) causing blips in radio data, tonight, 1967. Far out, man!

Original August ‘67 chart showing first observations of something weird. Could it be Little Green Men?

Bell in the 60’s

A Pulsar (Think “cosmic lighthouse”, with a beam sweeping around in a pattern so regular, it might be the most accurate clock in the universe.)

Quote of the Week

“We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows.”

–Robert Frost

A Country Christmas Season

Found the perfect little fresh-cut spruce on Friday. Deck the halls!

Share Your Story

What’s your favorite Christmas song? Have you ever played in a hand-bell choir? Share a memory: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #162)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal: Late Night Radio “Santa Baby”

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Have you seen that meme/cartoon of the hysterical ladies pointing and screaming, captioned “No Christmas music before Thanksgiving!” next to a photo of a white cat smirking the reply “Do you hear what I hear?” Classic.

It’s still November, but with Thanksgiving gone, it’s open season for the jingling bells and many tunes to rock around the Christmas tree. Walmart’s been piping them in through crackly speakers, warming up with the knockoffs and b sides, so cheesy they’re good.

Once I get over the shock of hearing the carols on the radio (it’s time already?), I hop into the spirit. When not pretending to be a newspaper radio host, I’m a live disc jockey for parties and events, mostly at retirement homes. It’s always a festive time. Dropping the needle on Elvis’ “Blue Christmas” is pretty darn fun. The dust on the record sounds like a fire in the hearth.

Maybe it’s the DJ personality, but I like to look at each tune like a cherished ornament, appreciating the stories and memories. Burl Ives was always first out of the crate when mom decorated the tree lifetimes ago, and “Holly Jolly Christmas” kicked off the festivities. To this day I can smell the pine needles when the tune plays. “O Tannenbaum” brings my grandfather back, and choral music seems the ghost of Christmas past.

But “Santa Baby” stresses me out. Years ago, hosting a tiny radio show in Richmond, my new girlfriend’s best friend called the request line to test me. “I’d like to hear ‘Santa Baby’ and send it out to ____.” Trouble was, I didn’t quite have the pronunciation of my Santa baby’s name down pat, which was...regrettable. When around her, I mumbled through it, or called her by her nickname, BG. But there, on the airwaves, with all the world listening, I understood how Rudolph felt, staring into that first foggy Christmas eve. Could I navigate? If life was a movie, the world sat on chair’s edge, popcorn paused halfway between the bin and a bite, midair. Will he say her name right?

Summoning up that casual rock jock voice, everything the opposite of the suave and charming announcer: “Annnnd this one goes out to BG listening way up in the city. Rock on!”

Oh why did I do that? Rudolph didn’t crash into a snowbank, but I did.

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY MY NAME!”

“Sure I do! I was just...just...being cool.” (The “easy way out” isn’t.)

Yes, Christmas songs sure bring back memories. As they ramp up in the stores and on the air, I hope they shine a warm glow on some pleasant recollections for you. But even if they don’t, next time you feel stressed, start singing “Santa Baby” for a chuckle. It could always be worse. Trust me.

Catch ya on the flip side (and rock on),

Josh