Last night, I finished "Christmas Stories from Mississippi" {how apropo, eh?} and am about to consume "The History of the Snowman"; a riveting biography of the King of Kitsch, from birth to white-trash years thru the cameo years {Frosty was everywhere, with everyone}. I've not even truly began, and I'm already tickled with Bob Eckstein's dry wit which snowballs into just the right amount of wetness to form good packed lasting impressions of this top-hatted, carrot-nosed, corn-cob-pipe tokin', coal-smiling critter. Just the ticket for snuggling under the comfy cozy covers on this freeze-ass day.
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