Full disclosure: Mrs. LDBC has nurtured a white-hot hatred of the Christmas classic “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” since she was a wee lass in the hinterlands of suburban New Jersey. Mommy two-timing Daddy with a bearded guy in red velvet who shows up once a year to chow down on milk and cookies? HELL TO THE NO. Add in a Tawny-Kitaen-maned Coug, fiddles, and acid wash, and the white-hot hatred morphs into apoplexy. My fervent Christmas wish: that folksy, homespun music types swear off making zydeco-infused versions of creepy Yuletide tunes. They won’t, of course. But ain’t that America? —Mrs. LDBC