Friday 21 December 2018

F*cking Baby it's Cold Outside

At the frontline of the 2018 War on Christmas is the song Baby it’s Cold Outside. It’s a tune I somehow managed to go without knowing for nearly 44 years. It could have been there all along playing in the background in malls, but much like Mariah Carey’s Christmas album, I try to deaden my ears to the sound, because if I do end up in hell, it’ll be playing on a loop while I burn for all of eternity. Plenty of time to reflect on it then.

However, I was one of the performers at a music recital a few weekends ago and, as this was one of the songs performed, I gave it my full attention. Now let me tell you, the first instance of this song does not fall gently on the ears of a middle-aged feminist. It sounds exactly like a young woman is storm-stayed at the home of some randy fucking asshole who’s not listening to a word she’s saying. 

“How bloody old is this song?” I asked when it was over.

“Very old,” was the answer.

Now I like all kinds of offensive and politically incorrect things, especially music. Everything from opera (lots of people hate it, some at a visceral level, and it almost never ends well for the woman) to Rodney Carrington. Remember that song Show them to Me? Fucking hilarious.

But here’s the deal, I don’t expect to hear a song about flashing your tits anymore than I expect to hear Carmen getting shanked in the finale when I’m buying groceries at Sobeys. Likewise, as I’m pushing my cart through the aisles of Costco, I don’t expect to hear about some chick politely trying to stop a guy from humping her leg in a song tarted up in the guise of a Christmas carol.

For everyone who has or will screech it’s all about context. I hear you. The song was a product of the time! Women were “ladies” back then and social conventions of the time forbade them from admitting they wanted sex. They had to pretend they didn’t want it, even if they did.

Because no-means-yes has never gone wrong for any fucking woman ever. We should totally hold on to that nugget of cultural nostalgia. 

“It was written in innocence,” is another popular one. Now this has got to be the most ignorant context-related defence I’ve heard of this song. You’re telling me a song written by a professional lyricist in his mid 30s to be performed at Hollywood Christmas parties is the picture of fucking innocence and the celebrity homes of an industry that literally spawned the casting couch a couple decades prior were veritable dens of propriety. 

It’s a wink-wink, nudge-nudge song about hooking up in a snowstorm, which would have been delightfully well received by its worldly audience. The songwriter’s wife said “We got invited to all the best parties for years on the basis of 'Baby.' It was our ticket to caviar and truffles.” 

Awwww. Caviar, truffles, and career building. Gets you right in the holiday feels, doesn’t it?

Another good one is “he’s not drugging her, the ‘what’s in this drink’ is a reference to a joke in a 1930s movie”. Of course it is. Who wouldn’t know that? It’s not like everyone who laughed at that joke is dead. 

Oh wait, they are dead.

“Rap music is offensive and nobody is trying to stop that.” Well rap isn’t blaring out of the P.A. system at Walmart when you’re buying fucking tinsel now is it? It’s not blasting out of your car stereo either, because we all have choices when it comes to the music we listen to. Except when it comes to a tiny subset of songs played ad nauseam in public spaces once a year.  

The rap comment is inevitably followed by comments about performers wearing their pants too low. Which is apparently perceivable by Christmas warriors through the medium of fucking radio. This makes sense given they also see a war on Christmas when you can shop for Halloween and Christmas at the same time every fucking where every fucking year. 

It’s about context, context, context! Really, the only people screaming louder about context are Jordan Peterson fans. I assure you, Christmas warriors, this is not a mirror you want to hold yourself up too. Aside from being a misogynistic asshole, Peterson’s such a profoundly broken individual he can’t even handle the diversity of more than one food group. Also, given you’re championing a song about casual sex, it’s a little sad for the Peterson fans since they're not getting any, but I’m sure they really love the song.

Because here’s the deal about context. It’s a song. There is no context except the one the song presents in the mind of the listener. The DJs aren’t leading in with “in 1934, this alcohol joke was all the rage!” If you know the context of the song and you like it, you’ll be fine with it. If you don’t, it can turn into what in the hell did I just listen to? Did he really say “don’t hurt my pride?” WTF?

You can put something in context and, when needed, alter it to fit the times or you can let it become a piece of history. The Little Mermaid doesn’t vaporize into air anymore. Rapunzel isn’t knocked up, and Cinderella's bitchy step-sisters don’t hack off bits of toes and heels to fit into a glass slipper. We catch a tiger by the toe now and I will never forget that day in elementary school when an no-bake oatmeal chocolate cookie was renamed a “chocolate haystack”.

Disney would just as soon you forgot they ever made a movie called Song of the South

I assure you no publishing house is reprinting the first Agatha Christie book I read, which was based on a song, under its first edition title. Nor do recommend sitting down a pack of youngsters to watch Old Yeller. 

The Little Match Girl is no longer a good bedtime story. 

I have seen zero, zip, nada, posts by people on Facebook about how Baby it’s Cold Outside is offensive. I’ve seen dozens and dozens of posts about people offended by the fact that other people find it offensive. Seriously, you’re all behaving like someone called your baby ugly. We don’t all have to like the same things. If you like a song that in its historical context may not sound like a date from hell, fucking download it! Listen to it! Play it on fucking repeat till Easter! Just don’t expect everyone press ganged into listening to Christmas playlists in public spaces to feel the same way.

As a final shot across the bow on the War of Christmas 2018, I’m not sure if many of its staunch supporters have ever listened to the lyrics, because here is the real kicker -- it doesn’t have so much as a sniff of Christmas in it. No Jesus, no Santa, no boughs of holly, no star of Bethlehem, no stockings hung with care, no angels on high, no wise men, no reindeer, no trimming of Christmas trees, and no fucking presents. I know, because back at that music recital, after watching two young vocalists perform this song (a squirm-fest and a fucking half), this bitchy old feminist offered to write them new lyrics and, in the process of rewriting it, now know the song to a syllabic level. See below for parody version. 

PS: For those who trotted out the “rap music is offensive” defence, maybe you just need a little context. ;-)



Baby it's Cold Outside #2018

I really can't stay (Baby it's cold outside)
I gotta go away (Baby it's cold outside)

This evening has been (Been hoping that you'd drop in)
Rolling the dice (I'll hold your hands they're just like ice)

Is this where I start to worry? (Beautiful what's your hurry?)
It’s time for me to head for the door (Listen to the fireplace roar)

No really I'd better scurry (Beautiful please don't hurry)
Fine, maybe just a half a drink more (I'll put some records on while I pour)

The neighbours might think (Baby it's bad out there)
Did you roofie my drink? (No cabs to be had out there)

I wish I knew how (Your eyes are like starlight now)
To cast a spell (I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell) 

I am saying, no, no, no sir (mind if I move in closer?)
Everyone will know that I tried (what's the sense in hurtin' my pride?)

You’re not getting laid (oh baby don't hold out)
But baby, it's cold outside

Ah, you're kinda rapey you know?
I like to think of it as opportunistic

Your company blows (Baby it's cold outside)
The answer is no (But baby it's cold outside)

The welcome has been (How lucky that you dropped in)
Like a bee swarm  (Look out the window at that storm)

My sisters will be suspicious (Gosh your lips look delicious!)
Don’t treat women like we're property that’s yours (Waves upon a tropical shore)

I’m about to become vicious (Gosh your lips are delicious!)
I will hammer your ass to the floor (Never such a blizzard before) 

I've got to get home (Baby you'll freeze out there)
Give me my coat. (It's up to your knees out there!)

You're a walking gland (I feel when I touch your hand)
Dude, Bill Cosby! (How can you do this thing to me?)

There's gonna be talk tomorrow (Think of my lifelong sorrow!)
And not one single bit will be implied (If you caught pneumonia and died!)

I'm not your prey (Get over that old out)
Weinstein’s going away (Who cares what you say)

Everybody! (Everybody?)
Yes, just ask Gomeshi

Give me my coat! (I’ll see you out)
Baby it's cold
Baby it's cold outside